Mellificium Musarum: THE MARROW OF THE MUSES.  
OR, AN EPITOME OF DIVINE POETRY.  
Distilled into Pious Ejaculations, and Solemn Soliloquies.  
By JEREMIAH RICH.  
Junii 19 1650.  
Imprimatur,  
JOSEPH CARYL.  
LONDON, Printed by T. H. for JOHN STEPHENSON, and are to be sold at his shop on Ludgate hill, at the sign of the Sun, 1650.   

 modern bookplate 
GEO. CHALMERS ESQ. F.R.S.S.A.  SPERO   

To the Honourable, and most Excellently well accomplished, the great Patron of Piety, Example of Valour, and chief Asylum of Learning and Ingenuity; NATHANIEL RICH, Esq. Governor of Deal, Sandowne, and Walmer Castles, Major General of the South-Easterne Parts of ENGLAND, and a Member of the Right Honourable the House of Parliament, my Noble Colonel, etc.  
THese Poems, being on their ma●ch, have ranked themselves under the Conduct of Your Honour's Patronage, which is able to screen them from the Irradiation of Envy, or the malevolent effects of folly. My first Works devoted to the Noble Countess of Warwick, had the happiness to kiss your hand, which happiness gives me a new boldness to present this Epitome of divine Poetry, to your gracious protection, that flying through the World under the shadow of your Honour's wings, many may read it o'er, having the glory to be dressed in your Honour's Livery.  
I could produce prolixer Arguments to make an Apology for the Poem: indeed I cannot surrender the account of my study more properly to any then to your Honour, to whose Command all my actual employments are daily devoted: let this one Reason silence, and supersede the plurality of a longer Prologue. It is requisite I should sometimes wait on your Honour with my Pen, as well as always with my Sword.  
As for the Offering it is too mean for so magnificent a favour, your acceptance.  
Yet the mightiest Monarches, amidst their highest triumphs have been sometimes pleased with trifles, and the stateliest Cedars shade the shortest shrubs.  
But your affable and indulgent Cander being beyond compare, I shall with that great Artist Timanthus, shadow those lineaments my imbecility cannot draw  
Your Honour's goodness is far above your greatness the knowledge of which, forced me in all humility to tender my winged Pegasus at your Honour's feet, and rest,  
Your Honours most humble and faithful Soldier and Servant, to Command. Jeremiah Rich.   

To the Reader.  
ME thinks 'tis long to morn, sure Phoebus should have braved the Air an hour ago: It cannot be much longer sure ere darkness be down, and the sable cloud be puffed away, that once was set round to rain: Oh that the Curtains of Heaven were drawn, that the Daystar would usher Sol from his blushing bed of Roses, that glorious Aurora would open his golden Gates, and let in the winged Chariot of the Day.  
Sure it cannot be long: say Reader, art thou ready? I have beat up a Travallee here, that you may stand to your Guard against you be relieved; and like the early Bell man, I have given you a midnight Verse, that your wakeful eyes may welcome in the Morn: Peruse it gentle Reader, not as men wear powder on their heads, but as the Women that wear their busks in their bosoms; use it not as a Glass to make your selves trim, but as a watch to see the shortness of time: here be eight things (in this short Manuel) that offer themselves to thy view, namely these; the evil of envy, the fullness of folly, the continuance of labour, the inconstancy of love, the prosperity of the wicked; yet the poverty of the world, the vileness of some things, and the vanity of all things: Peruse it not as some do the Rhimes of Homer, which turn to the end ere they know the beginning, and pass by the leaf before they understand a line: Art thou hurried to horror? It may be I have writ that here that may barricado up the way; peradventure thou art almost lost, and something here may whisper thee the way to Heaven, and love may bear thee on his unseen wings, and lift thee to Elysium; perhaps it is the last of my labours, read it before thou rend it, and if the lines deserve any love, though the Stationer has the profit, let me have thy prayers, take thyself the utility, and let Heaven have the glory.  
Thine, JEREMIAH RICH.   

Ad amicum charissimum Dominum RICH, in elucubratissima Poemata.  

QVis novus hic nostris hospes accesserit aris?  
Aeonidum & tactas ment veavit aquat  
Miramur Calamum Richi charissime, dives  
Nomine, at ingenio ditior ipse tuo.  
Cuncta prophanorum sileant hinc Carmina vatum,  
Exemploque tuo metra sacrata canent.  
Delphica qui sacro pandis laquea iasocco  
Grandiloquoque feris Sydera summa stila.   
E. P.   

To his Friend the Author.  Tam Marte, quam Mercurio. 

'tIs strange, yet true, that in a twinning breast  
The God of War and Eloquence should rest.  
Hear Ajax and Ulysses strive again,  
As once for Arm●s, so now for heart and brain.  
For he's no Soldier that can down right hit,  
Only by strength, and not take aim by wit.  
Nor is that Oratory which does steep  
The tongue alone, and leave the heart asleep.  
Let the old Stagerite or Galen tell,  
In which the principality doth dwell:  
Both excellent, and both maintain their part,  
The brain pumps forth that which was sprung in heart.  
I know not which rules thee: but to us, far  
Nobler than Mercury is the god of war:  
Yet while his Oaten Pipe, or Phoebus' Lyre  
Sound with the Trump, we seem to cool in fire.   
D. L. C.   

To his ingenious Friend Mr. Jer. Rich, on his excellent Poems.  

What Guest approacheth our Altars here, to bring  
A Verse to bless the heliconian spring:  
We all (dear Rich) admire thy quill; now Fame  
Shall with her loudest blast proclaim thy Name  
Unto the World, that Ingenuity  
May speak, if there be one so Rich as thee.  
Let Poets Rhyme no more, but in thy praise,  
And sing by thy example holy Lays:  
While thou with sweetest Rhetoric charmest our ears,  
We dream we hear the music of the Spheres.   
J. Steevens:   

To my Worthy Friend, Mr. JEREMIAH RICH, on his Poem.  

What strange Poetic fury does inspire  
Thy towering fancy with such Promethean fire  
Able to illuminate the world, and constrain  
The Muses to do homage to thy brain?  
Admired Rich, since every Verse of thine  
Centres in Heaven, and grows thence divine.   
L. F.   

Ad Amicum Charissimum Dom. RICH, in Mellificium Musarum.  

QVis furor Aetheriis accendit Corda favillis?  
Quis novus arrepsit per tua Metra Calor?  
Ecce tibi Cunctis Musarum turba Camaenis,  
Assurgunt famulis officiosa Choris.  
Sed mage Melpomene dominatrix Carminae gestit,  
Singultu miscens gaudia vana pio,  
Peccati quae monstra domat, dum murmure masto,  
Emollit mentem lacrimulasque ciet.  
Quam bene Davidicis calefiunt Pectora ulnis!  
Et resonant magnum Carmina celsa Polum!  
Dum geminos t● Riche refers virtutibus axes,  
Et Caelum spirant, & tua corda solum:  
Nempe simul Terrae mulces sermonibus aures,  
Et saltat Cytherae Caelica turba tua.   
L. M.   

To his dear Friend jer. Rich, on his Mellificium Musarum.  

NEstor was aged when he undertook  
The Trojan Wars, thou young and writ this Book;  
His age both wit and eloquence required,  
Thou young in years, yet hast to that aspired:  
'tis strange, sure all the Muses do agree  
In one, in spite of fate to honour thee.  
Oh, that our Iron age could be refined  
To purest gold, that thou reward mightst find  
To thy desert; but worth shall make thy Name  
Ride through the world upon the wings of Fame.   
JOHN AVIS.   

The Entertainment.  

Was it a Dream? or is the world bereaven  
Of all her glory? what has the lamps of heaven  
Left mortals in a maze? and are the skies  
O'ercast? will Phoebus blind our darkened eyes?  
Are Mars and Juno come to play their parts  
Again on earth, and shoot their fiery darts?  
The world's great fabric sure will fall in sunder,  
Being rocked so often with great cracks of thunder  
In dreadful war: Rise Phoeb, and come away,  
Why hast thou robbed us of so fair a day?   

Our Tapours burn but dim, our music's shrill,  
The Poet here may blunt his idle quill  
In writing Tragedies, time changed our stage  
And turned our golden to an Iron age.   

O Lord of glory, bear my dulled Muse  
Through this sad Poem, and do thou infuse  
Love in my Lines, and pleasure in my pain,  
That all my labour may not be in vain.   

Guide me as thou didst David's hand, when he  
Writ to the world his divine Poetry.  
Lift me on eagle's wings that I may fly  
Aloft, and conquer death before I die.  
Turn Poetry to piety; crown this story  
With grace, and crown my grace with endless glory,  
Where everlasting joy did dwell before  
All ages, and shall be when time shallbe no more.   
J. RICH.   


The evil of Envy. In the Example of Cain and Abel, Genesis 4.8.  

I.  
Go pelt faced wrinkled envy, fly away,  
thou cam'st too soon:  
Go take thy horrid darkness and display  
about the Moon;  
Let not thy shadows dim our dawning day,  
or fairest Noon;  
Because thy tempted Father fell,  
What didst thou well,  
To eclipse so fair a morn: but born and then rebel?   

II.  
How soon this bloody Tragedy began  
upon our stage,  
The day grows dark before the morning Sun  
has three hours' age:  
O cursed Cain, what has thy treachery done  
thy boiling rage,  
Because thy sacrifice of sin did smell:  
what? didst thou well,  
To kill thy brother too: but born and then rebel?   

III.  
The night grows horribls, both Sun and Moon  
are shadowed o'er,  
The boisterous whirlwind now even at high noon  
gins to roar:  
Now sin hath played her part, ah me! how soon  
death's at the door,  
Because thou lost thy sacrifice, Oh tell!  
what? didst thou well,  
To lose high glory too: but born and then rebel?   

iv  
What glory didst thou gain to be so sly  
in that foul deed?  
Caused thou not live unless thy Brother die?  
or must he bleed  
Because thou art not blest? hark! vengeante cries  
against thy seed:  
Thy ears were shut when humble Abel fell:  
but didst thou well,  
To shut up Heaven to: but born and then rebel?   

V  
Thus blinded worldings are you all befooled  
in your false aim,  
To think the fire of envy may be cooled  
in fury's flame:  
What honour can you boast of, if you should  
win endless Fame?  
This flattering blast may blow thee into Hell:  
ah! dost thou well,  
To sell thy heaven for hate: but born and then rebel?    

The first soliloquy.  
IF love be the School of Arts, the Model of Virtue, the Glory of Learning, the Palace of Pleasure, the Whetstone of Memory, the Castle of Delight, the Map of Honour, the Wonder of the World, the Mystery of Mortality, and the Type of Eternity: Then surely Envy must needs be the Child of Ignorance, the person of idleness, the follower of foolishness, the bringer of sadness; it is a pit of poison, a cup of corruption, a part of division, a piece of delusion, a hell of horror, a sink of sin, a sea of shame, a line of absurdity, and a blot of deformity: It is attended with contention, with distraction, with delusion, with peevishness, with paleness, with falseness, with faintness, with inconstancy, with infidelity; it shuts man's glory up in darkness, and makes his memory die in forgetfulness; it doth eclipse the clearest morn, and writes deformity upon the fairest brow: He that is a Child of envy is a burden to the earth, and an offence to heaven; he lives unregarded, and dies unlamented; he is borne to extremity, and banished out of glory.  
What my son! and what, the son of my womb! and what, the son of my vows! Give not thy strength unto women, nor thy ways to that which destroyeth Kings. Prov, 31.2.3. 

I.  
DRaw near, brave Lovers, you that use to light  
your blazing Torch in Cupid's flame,  
That for a wanton Mistress dare to sight  
in face of death, to purchase Fame.  
And thou that sweetest Rhetoric canst indite,  
To make a timorous Virgin tame;  
Come hither if you please  
To purchase ease,  
View but Love's vanity, 'twill cure your disease.   

II.  
Were she more fairer than the blushing morn,  
Sweet as the Arabian spice:  
N●y were she Virtuous too, and nobly borne,  
and pure as high Paradise:  
These rarities will leave thee soon forlorn,  
and Love well vanish in a trice:  
But Gallant if you please  
To purchase ease,  
View but Love's vanity, 'twill cure loves disease.   

III.  
See how victorious Samson conquered lies,  
rocked in his Love's deluding arms;  
How gallantly she sings him lullabies,  
and drowns his thoughts in Love's dull Charms!  
Poor soul he knows not what conspiracies  
his Foes did hold 'gainst him in swarms:  
Ah! had he but addressed  
Him to the breast  
Of heaven, he might have slept in glorious rest.   

iv  
Where is thy strength and daring valour now?  
Thy skill and rare agility?  
Thy warlike arm that made whole Armies bow?  
what? rocked upon a Lady's knee?  
Wake sluggard, wake; or hast thou passed a vow,  
to live in infidelity?  
Ah fool! go be possessed  
In Abraham's breast:  
So mayst thou rest indeed in loves eternal rest.   

V  
There mayst thou flumber in eternal Joys,  
whose rarity so far excels  
Base earth: that all her treasures are but toys,  
whose Altar smokes with fuming smells:  
There are no plots, no murders, no annoys,  
but there the highest glory dwells:  
If love thou needst wilt try,  
Go, go, and lie  
In thy sweet Saviour's arms, ravish a while and die.   

VI  
There is the most resplendent purest love:  
alas what constant love is here?  
The amorous sweet embraces dwell above,  
in Titan's golden Hemisphere,  
Which time, nor fortune's wheel, can ne'er remove,  
Thou art his Darling, he thy Dear:  
If love thou needs wilt try,  
Go, go, and lie  
In thy sweet Saviour's arms, ravish a while and die.     

The second soliloquy.  
unconstancy of Earth are all extreme in love, orescorcht in Envy, or led by Folly, or enveloped in Vanity, are drowned in sensuality; the strong man boasts of his strength, the Soldier of his valour, the Scholar of his learning, the German glories that he can drink Wine, the Usurer sacrifices to the god of gold, the Prodigal to his pleasure, and the Lover to his Lady, and of all the rest the last is the most deluded, making his life laborious while he is tired with such unacquainted passions: Her frowns or smiles give him an earnest of life or death; he spends his years in disquietness, his months in frowardness, the day in fancies, the night in dreams; he tires his passion, corrupts his invention, deludes his affection, disturbs his rest, cracks his brain, wearies his bed, and breaken his sleep, he makes earth his heaven, pleasure his paradise, beauty his felicity, and prosperity his glory: Poor soul he knows not that bravery is a vanity, that beauty is a vision, and love a delusion; that as Sirens can inchant, so Ladies can allure; that extremity attends prodigality, and the greatest temptations the strongest affections, that the comeliest blossom is the soon blasted, and the sweetest Rose the quickliest withered: That poison lieth by the sweetest herb, and death is mingled in the fairest bait.  
The deluded Lover stands in his own light, he puts out his own eyes, he stops his own ears, he is clothed in darkness, he wanders in blindness, lives in lasciviousness, and dies in forgetfulness, while these poor rarities fan him with silken wings of mildest air breathed from a whispering wind.  
Look back fond Lover, thou sure hast dreamt, all past is but delusion, thy sordid affections deserve not the name of love, 'tis but a moral blaze, a piece of humane glory, a glance of beauty's bravery, a spark of Cupid's candle, a flame of Vuicans' forge, a flash of Nature's fire, hot in a minute, and cold in a moment.  
But Oh Divine Love! how much art thou abused? How strongly neglected, who art chiefly to be beloved?  
Thou indeed art a bed of Roses, a mountain of Spices, a Garden of sweetness, a Type of blessedness, a Messenger of fullness, a Mirror of faithfulness; with thee there is no respect of persons, nor no regard of places, thou mindest not vanity, nor art deceived by folly: Thou strivest not for honour, thou lookest not after gain, thou thirstest not for revenge, but hopest all things, believeth all things, endureth all things: Thou fillest the soul with virtue, with valour, humility, fidelity, love, peace, joy, patience, and perseverance; thou art he that preserveth earth, that guideth the Heavens; and lest the Universe should return to its first Chaos, thou rulest the unruly Elements, thou turnest the spheres, and commandest the wand'ring Planets in their several Orbs: And when thou smilest upon the soul, thou makest earth resemble heaven, deformity become purity, and dust immortality; how fair and how lovely art thou, oh Love, for delights?  
ARe they Ministers of Christ? I speak as a fooole. I am more: in labours more abundant: in stripes above measure: in prisons more frequent: in deaths oft: Of the jews five times received I forty stripes save one. Thrice was I beaten with rods, once was I stoned: thrice I suffered shipwreck: a night and a day I have been in the deep. In journeying often, in perils of waters, in perils of robbers, in perils by mine own countrymen, in perils by the heathen, in perils in the city, in perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in perils amongst false brethren, in weariness and painfulness, in watch often, in hunger and thirst, infasting often, in cold and nakedness, 2 Corinthians, chap. 11. vers. 24.25.26.27. The SOUL. 

ANd does the pallas of immortal glory  
Stand by death's darkened throne? Is this story  
True, that many a fiery dart  
Is shot to wound the tired travellers heart;  
And yet before he comes into the arms  
Of love, must conquer death, and hell's alarms,  
Enduring many a storm: oh where is he  
That shall arrive at immort allitie?   CHRIST. 

What's he that questions heaven, or his power,  
And ties eternity to a short lived hour  
By words that darken knowledge? Canst thou tell  
His thoughts of love, say wortall dost thou well?  
Is mine arm shortened, or dost thou fear  
Mine ear is heavy that it cannot hear?  
Or is my truth decayed? Do I require  
Fond man, that thou alone shouldst travel through the fire,  
Except I go before, whose power can tame  
The scorching furnace, and the fiery flame:  
Have not I power to save, that locked up hell,  
And conquered death? Say mortal dost than well?  
Is man more righteous than his maker? why  
Dost thou then mourn, dry up thy watery eye,  
And read thy way to heaven in this story,  
Go on, i'll crown thee with a crown of glory.   SOUL. 

But ah I am entangled in this vale of tears,  
While I sit down in sorrow, numerous fearet  
Beset me round, such rubs lie in my way,  
I look for death's embassage every day,  
In which my heart is faint, my fears are full,  
My faith is feeble, and my senses dull;  
And Satan triumphs, for no power at all  
Is in fond man, since his rebellious fall:  
How hard a task, how short a time have we,  
And who can wander to eternitio?  
It is enough, oh Lord, thou know'st that I  
Am vanity; let me lie down and die.   CHRIST 

What mean these murmurings that do pierce mine cares?  
Why (faithless sonle) art thou so full of fears?  
Heaven is not gained at every idle breath  
Love attends labour, life is gained by death:  
This is a debt, eternity will not pass:  
Thy glory (earth) is like the withering grass;  
Thy soul is too impure, till thou dost pay  
That debt. [soul] how will mine eyes endure this day?  
My soul that once was glorious sin hath stained;  
My hands are fettered and my feet are chained.  
How black hath horror made my darkened face!  
Can Heaven love me now? can he embrace  
Me in his Royal arms? can he endure  
A soul that's so deformed, that's so impure?  
It is enough, O Lord, thou know'st that I  
Am vanity; let me lie down and die:  
Alas! the least temptation throws me down.   CHRIST. 

Yet (soul) press forward, thou shalt have a Crown  
Of endless Royalty set on thy head,  
In a victorious Orb. [Soul] 'Tis true, the dead  
That die in thee, are happy, they are blest  
Indeed: they slumber in eternal rest.  
But I that have not strength enough to strive,  
Through my disasters; how shall I arrive  
At my desired haven, when I read,  
'Tis such a difficult way? [Christ] why I will lead  
Thee through the sea of sorrow, till the Cup  
Of wrath is passed over, I'll bear thee up  
In ever lasting arms; do but endeavour  
To conquer death, and thou shalt live for ever:  
As pleasure, so is torment transitory:  
Strive, and i'll crown thee with a crown of glory.     

The third soliloquy.  
YOu traitorous thoughts, assault my sense no more; oh mine eyes; whither do you wander? to what great step of pleasure, to what great pitch of honour, to what illustrate sphere, to what celestial orb are you hurried in a distracted dream, while all your golden imaginations vanish into air.  
What is the silver Mine? what is the golden Ore? what is the world's dignity? what is beauty's rarity? what is the pride of pleasure? what is a blast of honour; the first is vexation, the second delusion, the third a distraction, the fourth brings the worldling to a fool's paradise, and he that hath the last is but a glorious slave.  
Me thinks as when the Giants warred against heaven, and with their imperious looks threatened the Palace of Olympic Jove, till from his golden sphere he lashed their folly, and puffed out their bravery, by hurling against their mountains hasty thunderbolts from his angry arm: even so the world's Peacock's children of transgression, sons of Rebellion, the pride of nature, and the scorn of art, befooled in folly, besotted in security, sin in despite of heaven, till with his angry breath he sweeps them from the world, laying their glory grovelling in the silent grave.  
Poor heaven borne soul, no wind blows fair for thee, but all thy life is a continued ill: thou art borne in a tempest, and art hurried through a storm, while thou wanderest through this vale of tears, and while thou sailest through this red sea of sorrow; so have I seen a weatherbeaten vessel torn by the fury of the surges, tossed from wave to wave, by the confused melody of threatening scas, roaring winds, fiery flashes, horrid thunder, and the darkened air, continually in restless motion, sometimes by an angry billow fling up to heaven, and in a moment plunging down again, seems to be swallowed in the furious Ocean; as if nature to set forth the rarity of union, who would show to man the harmony of confused elements.  
Art thou a child of heaven? thou shalt be then a son of sorrow, think not too much to suffer, if thou makest account to Reign, if thou wilt have a Crown of Royalty, be patiented in suffering adversity. The way to heaven is through a fiery Lake, thy treasure shallbe torment, thy wealth shall be want, thy portion poverty, thy beauty deformity. Thy adoption foreruns thy extremity, and thy conversion is a Prologue to a following Tragedy.  
The World indeed is full of deceit, nor will she favour any but her own, and on them she confers pleasures, and profits, honour, preferment, beauty, glory, wealth, and case. She sets them on her idle knee, and charms the Worldling to a glorious slumber.  
While the godly sits all day, despised, disgraced, afflicted, tormented; with his watery eyes bend on the Earth, and his silent groans piercing heaven: the unfrequented places are his delight, and the melancholliest passions are his best music: In which the poor soul mutters to himself these, or the like speeches.  SOUL. 
Ah me! how am I hurried to and fro in the valley of this shadow of death? how am I tossed from misery to adversity, from trouble to torment, from temptation to affliction? my life is almost spent: and what will the Lord do with me? if he do with me what he please, if he throw me into hell, I will lay my hand upon my mouth, and be silent for ever: for I have been unthankful, unholy, unfruitful, unprofitable, discourtious, disloyal, ungracious, rebellious.  
But will the Lord be angry for ever? and hath he forgotten to be gracious, or is his loving kindness quite decayed? My Lord Jesus Christ he is gone to Heaven, where he is crowned in Majesty and glory, and every day he takes one or another after him. And here he leaves me to feed on Wormwood, and drink the poison of Asps. Alas, poor soul, what findest thou? what knowest thou? what seest thou, in this vain world? is not her beauty momentany, and all her glory transitory? Why was I borne to be an object of cruelty, a Map of misery, the mockery of Art, the scorn of nature? or being borne, why died I not in my sad mother's arms?  
Well soul, lament no more, wait but a while and thy sorrow shall be converted into joy, thy mourning into praising, thy emptiness into fullness, thy low poverty into high dignity, thy short suffering of the world's hate to the embraces of eternal love, thy time to eternity, thy misery into glory. Alas! the joy of the wicked is as the thorns in the fire, the bubble in the water, the flowers in the earth, the Clouds in the Air: they blaze and consume, they flourish and fade, they vanish and fly away: but thou for a few angry frowns shalt have everlasting joys, for earth's indignity, shalt wear the Robes of Royalty, and for a moment's heaviness, shalt be crowned in eternal happiness: Though here thou walkest sadly, and drivest on heavily, piercing the air with thy sighs, and watering thy cheeks with thy tears; mourning and weeping for the absence of thy beloved, when he hath withdrawn himself and is gone. Yet hold up thy head with joy, for thy redemption draweth near.  
Thou shalt meet him in Elysium, and arm in arm walk through the hallowed Courts, and change a thousand kisses: canst thou not tarry a little time? canst thou not persevere a minute? canst thou not suffer a moment? canst thou not watch one hour? would it not be worth thy pains, if after all thy troubles on earth, to arrive at heaven? there the poor Pilgrimme may rest his tired limbs in the sweet lullabies of ever blessed eternity; where there is joy without sorrow, health without sickness, wealth without want, fullness without famine, love without labour, life without death.  
Arise my Love, my Dove, my fair one, and come away. Canticles 2. vers. 13. The AUTHOR. 

I.  
Go tired Mariner, go hoist up sail,  
The weather will no more be contrary;  
The wind blows prosperous with a pleasant Gale,  
The angry air ne more will vary,  
The heavens are fair, thy journey cannot fail:  
Up weather-heaten Voyager, why dost tarry?  
Where safer? O! where safer canst thou be,  
Then in so sweet an arm? soul this is he,  
Whose power uncurls the wav's, & calms the furious sea.   CHRIST. 

II.  
Rise Phoeb, and come away, the headstrong day  
Rides in his glorious Orb, the night is gone,  
The flowers appear, the little Lambs do play,  
And glittering Sol does kiss the torrid zone,  
The careless wand'ring flocks are gone astray,  
Upon the hills, and love is lest alone:  
Come lie in my soft bosom, where no fear  
Can break thy dream: why dost thou flumber here?  
Awake my purest Love, arise my fairest Dear.   

III.  
Rise Phoeb', and come away; this Sunshine morn  
We'll travel through the fairest territories,  
Where in some flowery Garden I'll adorn  
Thy brow with love: I'll tell thee what those glories  
Are, that crown eternity, I will not scorn  
To tell my sufferings and my passion stories:  
Let me enfold thee in my loving arms,  
If thou wilt rest secure from numerous harms:  
Arise my fairest dear, love strikes his loud alarms.   

iv  
Rise Phoeb', and come away: how sweet a smell  
Comes from th' Arabian hills! my pretty Love,  
The little birds warble their music well,  
And yonder sits the Lark and turtle dove:  
Come, let's go walk, and we will parallel  
Love with eternal glory: in you Grove  
we'll take the subtle Fox, nor will we spare,  
To hunt the light foot Dear, or timorous Hare:  
Come then my love, my dove, arise my fairest fair.   

V  
Rise, Phoeb' and come away: thy blinded eye  
Is lulled to ruin in dislumbring dream:  
Why art thou rocked in such a lullaby,  
And drowned in various wanton streams?  
Come let us travel to eternity,  
And languish in the purest sweet extremes:  
Wherefore, my dear, so greedy dost thou crowd  
To danger? why to darkness dost thou shroud,  
And leave thy love alone, wrapped in a sable Cloud.   

VI  
Rise Phoeb', and come away: thy short Reposes  
Are flattering slumbers: leave thy slippery hold  
Of sordid earth, come on a bed of Roses;  
I'll knit thy hair in knots of fringed gold;  
we'll puss the flying day in entercloses  
Of dearest love, with glory uncontrolled:  
I'll teach thee how to surfeit in the fire  
Of loves immortal flames, while some desire,  
To spena their time in prais; thou rather shalt admire.   

VII.  
Rise Phoeb', and come away: we'll make great Jove▪  
To stop his fiery horses swift career,  
Whose nostrils vomit flames: we'll mount above,  
And hold the Reins of Titan's hemisphare, sgrove,  
And guide his Chariot wheels through pleasures  
And view the hallowea walks. Come, come my dear,  
Let's wander to Elysium, whose bright ray  
Outshines great Phoebus in his new born day,  
Or the most fairest noon, rise Phoeb' and come away.     

The fourth soliloquy.  
AH! Lord, thou commandest us to seek thy face, that we may shun death, and yet thou sayest none can see thy face and live: Ah! let me live, that I may know thee; or die, that I may see thee. It is the happiness of those glorious Angels that they continually behold thee, and therefore they encompass thine Altar, with sweet Odours, unspeakable Rhaptures, and high Hallelujahs; but we, poor mortals, pressed down with sin, with guilt, with flesh, with fear, cannot worthily praise thee.  
Ah me! why do I seek thee, If thou be'st not where absent? why do I not find thee, if thou be'st every where present? sure to the eye of darkness, thou wrappest thyself in thick darkness, and thou art discovered to the eye that is enlightened, thou art seen in thy power to sinners, in thy terror to Satan, in thy Son to thy Saints; thou art seen in thy judgement to them that are against thee, in thy Justice to them that fly from thee, in thy Sacraments to them that seek thee, in thy Laws to them that love thee, and in thy Love to them that know thee.  
Whence proceedeth this thy condescension, and thine infinite humiliation, that thou didst leave thy Throne in Heaven to live in the form of a servant on earth? Why didst thou change thy Crown of Royalty, for a Crown of Indignity? Why should aninfinite Creator love a finite Creature, and Heaven stoop to Hell?  
Alas, oh Lord Jesus, here was no Royal Throne for thy Majesty, no Glorious Temple to entertain thee, here was no winged Cherubins to bear thee, no Armies of Angels to stand before thee, no sweet faced object to delight thine eyes, no musical Raptures to salute thine ears, no costly odours to anoint thy feet, nor spangled Canopy to spread over thy head; but sin and shame, guilt and fear, hell and horror, blackness and darkness, extremity, poverty, impurity, deformity; and canst thou love so poor a thing as man, oh thou that inhabitest in Heaven, in light inaccessible, in glory incomprehensible, who canst with a frown overturn thine enemy's fame, and by their ruin purchase thyself glory, and if the World should totally revolt from thee, and set herself against thee? Couldst thou not command a sudden clap of thunder to spurn her from her Poles, shake her from her Centre, crack her Axeltrees, and break her Chariot wheels? Couldst thou not let lose the Elements that the Heavens should be hid in blackness, and the Sun should be clothed in darkness, that the Waters should drown the earth, and the fire should devour the air, or with an angry breath couldst thou not puff them all away, that earth, and air, and water, and fire should vanish, and the world should be no more, and in the room thereof create in a moment to perfect thy praises, ten thousand several Orbs?  
Why then (oh man) art thou so much deluded? Why is Heaven and his sweet invitations so much disregarded? sure there be four days in which thou wilt call thyself fool for neglecting so great salvation: And they be these.  
The day of public calamity.  
The day of private extremity.  
The day of death.  
The day of doom.  
First in the day of public calamity, if the world should be governed in blackness and darkeneste: If nature's fabric should be smitten, if the powers of the world should be shaken, if the waters should be loosed, if the fire should be kindled, if the air should be infected, if the earth should be poisoned, if the sword should begin to range again, and thou shouldst see thousands of mangled bodies about the streets; if the trumpets should sound the alarm of war again, and the drums beat doleful funerals for the soldiers, if whistling bullets and fiery granadoes should fall like hail on the earth, and roar like the thunderclaps in heaven, if every man's sword should be set against his fellow, if the earth should be paved with dead men's bones, and the channels run down with blood, if this flourishing Kingdom should be made a  offering, & her people lie beeding like a new slain sacrifice; where then couldst thou find a chamber to hid thee in, but in thy beloved's arms, and under the shadow of his mighty wings: when the Lord comes to make inquisition for blood, and his fury shall break out in fiery flames to lick up the sinners of the world; then will Jesus Christ be as a shadowed grove in a thundering storm, as a cooling rock in a scorching day, and a fountain of water in a weary land, when the worldling shall lose his anchor of hope and suffer shipwreck, thou shalt safely be set a shore.  
If the famine should run after the sword, & the stoutest heart should grow faint, and the fairest face should begin to wax pale because of pining hunger.  
If the pestilence should follow famine, if terror should walk in darkness, and the arrows of the Almighty fly at noon day; if a thousand should fall on thy right hand, and ten thousand on thy left hand, and thou beginnest to fear because of the evil that is come upon the world; who then can protect thee that judgements may not touch thee, but Jesus Christ? Tell me then, hath he not cause to be beloved, would he not be worthy to be desired?  
Secondly, in the day of private extremity, when thine eyes shall be opened, and thy heart shall be awaked, when thy mind shall be troubled and thy conscience tormented, when sin and all its terror shall come to make thy life intolerable, when the remembrance of thy pollutions shall be bitter to thy soul; when thine eyes shall be a flood of tears, thy tears a sea of sorrow, thy sorrow a clog upon thy spirit, thy spirit a trouble to thy mind, thy mind a torment to thy heart, thy heart an enemy to thy life, thy life a burden to thy days, when thy conscience shall gnaw thee like a ravenous Vulture, and guilt and fear shall sting thee worse than an Addar, when thou shalt sit down in sorrow all the day feeding on wormwood, and drinking the poison of Asps; how wilt thou be ready to tear thyself in pieces, when thou shalt feel a little of the weight of sin, which made thy Saviour groan? when thy heart shall be affrighted, and thy mind shall be amazed, when Hell is discovered, and the Heavens are darkened: then would not that glorious arm that now invites thee, be welcome to thee? nay, would he not be worth a thousand worlds, that shall ease the anguish of thy soul in such an hour?  
Thirdly, at the day of death, thy beloved will be desired, when the Sun, and the light, and the Moon, and the Stars, shall be darkened; and the clouds return after the Reign; when thy joints shall tremble, and thy knees knock together; when thy courage shall be faintness, thy beauty shall be paleness, and thy rest shall be weariness, when thy memory shall fail thee, when thine eyes shall deceive thee, when death shall shake th●e, thy riches sly from thee, and the Mourners stand about thee; when sin, and fear, and g●●●●, and horror, and death, and terror, shall conduct thee through the gates of mortality, and launch thee forth into the Gulf of eternity; when all about thee seem to dance around thee in the dance of death: then sinner see in all thy inventory, what wilt thou prise none but Jesus Christ? and welcome Jesus Christ to the sinner in such a day.  
Fourthly, at the day of Judgement, thy Saviour will be welcome, when at the sound of the trumpet, and the shout of the Arch Angel, the sleeper shall be awaked, the world shall be started, the living shall be changed, the graves shall be opened, the dead shall be raised, when the heaven shall be covered in thick darkness, when the Sea shall boil up in such mighty waves, as shall seem to drown the world, when thou shalt see the earth surrounded by fire, and the heaven's sweltering in flames; when thou shalt behold the great Judge of the world sitting upon his glorious throne, borne by winged Cherubins, surrounded by Armies of Angels, before whom shall stand millions of naked mortals to receive their eternal doom: then a smile from the Judge on the throne will revive ●●●e at the last, and thou wilt hold up thy head with joy; then that arm that now invites thee, will be able to crown thee in immortality. These are the four days in which thou wilt repent thy neglect of the proffers of Love.  
And now Reader, mayst thou shut the Book, and stand amazed, an hours contemplation upon the thoughts of eternity may well take room. Ah, that Jesus Christ should come from the bosom of his Father, from the company of his Angels, from the pleasure of his Paradise, from his Chair of dignity, from his Crown of glory, to put on mortality, to suffer indignity, to live in poverty, to endure extremity, to be a man of sorrow all his days, to be buffeted, scourged, persecuted, tormented, reviled, reproached, despised, disgraced, disparaged, and abused from his cradle to his Cross, and then wander through the shadow of death, and hell's dark groves, from his Cross to his Crown! How soon (when the Heir of heaven was smitten) was natures Fabric shaken? how soon (when the Sun of glory was extinguished) was the Sun of Heaven eclipsed? What means the Heavens to frown, the Earth to quake, the Soldiers to tremble, the Temple to rend, the Graves to open, the Dead to arise? Why must Heaven be feign to suffer, and nature's Fabric be out of order? Was all this for man? Alas! and what is man? A little mouldering dust, a piece of moving earth, a mask of mortality, an inch of eternity, whose life is but labour, whose wisdom is but folly, whose grace is but impurity, whose comeliness deformity, whose substance is sin, whose glory is his shame.  
Say Reader, didst thou ever see Royalty woo Indignity, Honour look on Lowness, Highness sue to Baseness? Didst thou ever see a King serve a Slave, Gentility woo Poverty, and Beauty love Deformity? Then Reader recollect thy wand'ring thoughts, and before thou passest to the other page pay here the tribute of a tear.  
How hath the Prince of darkness besotted blinded mortals? How is man (poor man) befooled? How doth he sell his Corn for Chaff, his Silver for Dross, his Treasure for Torment, his Paradise for Pleasure, his Glory for Honour, his Heaven for Earth, his Earth for Hell? How doth he set his heart on vanity, and slights the richest rarity? God calls once and twice, and the carnal heart hears not: he comes with all the purest expressions, and sweetest invitations, with all the words of Art, and the allurements of love, yet blinded man regards not, but wallows in impurity, and slumbers in a lethargy, till he perishes to eternity.  
Ah Lord, thou dwellest in that light inaccessible, and brightness incomprehensible, that no eye can see, and not be struck blind; thy glorious Palace stands in eternity, and thy sparkling Throne is situate in immortality, in the midst of brightness in such a circle of glory, that no mortal can behold unless he drop down and die.  
Dominion and fear are with thee, and of thy Government there shall be no end: What gain is it to thee if we be Righteous, and wherein art thou damaged, if we be polluted? If the world should revolt from the Prince of darkness, and veil her Crown to thy Supreamacy: If all Nations should be willing to be swayed by the Sceptre, and bow before thy immortal Throne, this cannot add to the greatness of thy Majesty; nor if the disobedience of thy Children, the frowns of thy Foes, the envy of thy Enemies, the subtlety of Satan, the wickedness of the World, the help of Hell, were against thee set in battle Ray, they could not darken thy Dignity, they could not eclipse thy Glory.  
Yet albeit thou couldst gain honour by our destruction, yet thou delightest in our conversion: and therefore thou offerest thy Word, thy Gospel, thy Sacrament, thyself and thy son; thou givest us Reprovements, Allurements, Precepts, and Promises, Comfort, and Counsel, Direction, Dehortation: But we poor mortals are too unkind to reward thy love with disdain, thy courtesy with distoyalty; but what shall we say? Shall we that are but dust direct Eternity in his unsearchable actions? Thou commandest us to seek thee: Alas, we cannot find thee: Thou bidst us apply ourselves to know thee; Alas, we never saw thee: Thou bidst us be fruitful, and we be unprofitable; thou commandest us to be cleansed, and we be polluted; when our eyes should be enlightened, than our hearts are most darkened; when we should be most washed, then are we most defiled; and when thou callest us to thee, even than we fly from thee. We lost our dignity when our Father Adam lest his glory; he breaking his League with Heaven left us (his poor children) nothing but our mother, Earth, who rocks us a while upon her idle knee of ignorance, and then lays us to lullaby in eternal darkness. Yet though we have lost a Subjects loyalty, thou hast not lost thy kingly dignity; thou still retainest thy prerogative Royal; yea Lord, thou still hast power to command, though we (poor we) have no ability to obey. Oh that thou wouldst, instead of commanding us, compel us! Oh thou that bidst us follow thee, draw us, and we shall run after thee! Oh thou that commandest us to seek thee, show thyself that we may find thee: so, though the world lies drowned in a sea of vanity, yet we that follow thee shall live holily, and die happily: forasmuch as our happiness is wrapped up in heaven, and dwells in the light of thy glory.  Now will I sing a Song to my well-beloved, touching his Vineyard: my well-beloved hath a Vineyard in a very fruitful hill. And he fenced it, and gathered out the stones thereof, and planted it with the choicest Vine, and built a Tower in the midst of it and also made a Winepress therein: and he looked it should bring forth Grapes, and it brought forth wild Grapes. Isa. 5. v. 1, 2. 

I.  
NO more,  
Deluded England, fool thyself no more,  
But go implore  
The heavens to open thy dim and slumbering eyes:  
No more,  
Let blind delusion keep thee shadowed over,  
And make thee soar  
Too high in wanton pleasures rarities:  
Ah sin! thou oft dost mix our sweets with sour;  
Thou makest a Judgement in a short lived hour,  
To blast the purest herb, and crop the fairest flower   

II.  
Away,  
Deluded England, with thy works away;  
A newborn Ray  
Gins to dawn, and glorify the air:  
Away,  
Thou art discovered poor: can miry clay  
find power to pay  
Peace offerings? no, thou art more foul than fair:  
The figtree brought forth leaves; but we know who  
Did blast her: is this all that thou canst do?  
Go veil thy Crown in dust, lest thou beest withered too.   

III.  
Sat down  
Ye glorious stars, go, in the dust sit down,  
Whose glory shone,  
Sometimes like Phoebus with his glittering train:  
Sat down  
In silent sorrow, go and quench the frown  
Of heaven, thy Crown  
Being veiled, then shalt thou wear the Crown again:  
Why are we thus befooled and do not cry,  
To be transplanted? Ah Reader! thou and I,  
Whose brach is withered here, may soon lie down & die   

IU.  
How soon,  
Oh flourishing England! didst thou swell? how soon  
Thy fairest noon  
Was darkened o'er, and turned a glimmering day!  
How soon  
Thou didst grow glorious, prodigal, and boon!  
As the pale Moon,  
In her black throne bids Phoebus fly away:  
Oh it thou wilt have justice to reprieve thee;  
If still thou wouldst have mercy to relieve thee.  
Trust not thy hollow self, thyself will but deceive thee.   

V  
Arise,  
Oh then! and open thy unregenerate eyes;  
How fair a prize  
Is there laid up in everlasting glory:  
Arise,  
And be adorned in virtues rarities,  
whose glory lies  
Drawn in the Records of this following story:  
But if thy actions shall be still but vain,  
Led by the folly of a light haired brain,  
Thou wilt be trampled down, and withered over again.   

VI  
Then shine,  
For fear thy glimmering torch her light resign,  
And thou decline  
From thy first glory to a darkened shade;  
Then shine,  
Like Phoebus in the Equinoctial line,  
With fire divine,  
Lest thou art blasted and thy flower does sade,  
So shalt thou flourish in th' enlarged store  
Of wealth and Peace, thy temples arched o'er,  
In a victorious Orb, and war shall be no more.    

The fift soliloquy.  
A Gloomy Cloud may black the fairest Morn, till Phoebus ariseth in his midday Majesty, and with his glory clears the darkened Air, when times black Daughter Night have wrapped her mantle about the virge of day, and drowned the World in a forgotten dream; all things seem alike to all, the withered Weed, the purest Herb, the comeliest Blossom, and the fairest flower: But when the day star appears, ushering in the morn, and blushing Sol arises as from a bed of Roses, whose burning Horses chafe up the Olympic hill, and with their fiery fetlocks draw up the Golden Chariot of the day, the World lies then discovered.  
Even thus the Gospel of our Lord Jesus having unmantled his glory from behind a darkened cloud, shining in full Majesty, discovers the errors of our lower World; but because time will be too short to serve our turn, and we shall tire the Readers eyes with too large a soliloquy: we shall therefore look upon but the latter part of our subject: And first by the Vine we can only understand the Church of God, and then our subject will lie as a stumbling block in the Readers way; this seems to be strange (say some) that the Church of God should be a fruitless Vine: No, this Vine bears pleasant fruit, yet there are many worthless Branches that sprout among them bearing great show, but little substance; but when the wise Husbandman shall lop them off, the Branches that remain shall sprout higher, the fruit shall be the sweeter, and the Vine shall flourish the more.  
And first we shall endeavour to discover eight sorts of Branches that will be cut from the Vine: And they be these.  

1. The Adulterer.  
2. The Drunkard.  
3. The Robber.  
4. The Lyar.  
5. The Sabboth-breaker.  
6. The Swearer.  
7. The Usurer.  
8. The Hypocrite.   
First the Adulterer is a barren branch and shall be cut off. Thou Adulterer whose blood boyles in thy veins, and thy marrow is burnt in thy bones, who art scorched in fire, and sweltered in flames, who swimmest in vanity, and art drowned in a forgotten Dream; thy Morning is risen, and thy Sun hath aspired to the top of Noonday; thou seemest to ride upon the wings of Time, commanding Pleasure as if she were thy Captive; Come we will take a short survey of thy life, which if the Scripture deceives us not, is but the way to death.  For at the window of my house I looked through my casement, and beheld among the simple ones, I discerned among the youth, a young man void of understanding, passing through the street near her corner, and he went the way to her house, in the twilight in the evening, in the black and dark night: and behold, there met him a woman, with the attire of an Harlot, and subtle of heart. (She is loud and stubborn, her feet abide not in her house: Now is she without, now in the streets, and lieth in wait at every corner.) So she caught him: and kissed him, and with an impudent face, said unto him, I have peace offerings with me: this day have I paid my vows. Therefore came I forth to meet thee, diligently to seek thy face, and I have found thee. I have decked my bed with cover of Tapestry, with carved works, with fine linen of Egypt. I have perfumed my bed with myrrh, aloes, and cynamen. Come, let us take our fill of love until the morning, let us solace ourselves with loves. For the good man is not at home, he is gone a long journey. Proverbs 7. vers. 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19 
But what is she end of all this? if we look on the end of the chapter, we shall see the end of the Adulterer: Her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death, verse 27. Thou dost not dream thou shalt be blasted; I tell thee, ere long thou shalt be lopped off, and fling into eternity: I grant thou hast aspired to the top of thy Olympic Palace; but thou shalt shortly fall: thy life hath been (at best) but a Tragicomedy, and thou hast acted the fools part with pleasure: but I tell thee, death ere long shall strike the Epilogue, and thou shalt go away.  
Secondly, the Drunkard is a barren Branch.  Woe to the crown of pride to the drunkards of Ephraim, whose glorious beauty is a fading flower, which are on the head of the fat valleys of them that are overcome with Wine. Isaiah 28. vers. 1. 
Thou Drunkard that carowsest care away, and on thy Alebench, blasphemest the God of Heaven, that takest no felicity but in swinish company, and knowest no other happiness, but the colour of the wine; thou burdenest the earth, thou inflamest the fire, thou infectest the air, thou art as a flower drowned with the dew of Heaven, and bowest thy glory to the earth: go drunkard, take thy fill of Wine until the morning: but I tell thee, the hour is coming, when (it may be) the hand of Heaven shall write thy doom upon the plaster of the wall, Daniel 5.25, 26. ere long thou mayst Read MENE MENE TEKEL UPHARSIN: God hath numbered thy days and finished them, and being found too light, thy glory is departed from thee: then shall thy loins be loosed, thy countenance changed, and thy false heart affrighted: thou that drinkest iniquity like water, I tell thee, ere long thou shalt wash thyself away; thy fruit is already withered, and thou shalt be lopped from the Vine.  
Thirdly, the Robber is a barren Branch, Leviticus 19 vers. 11.  
Thou that by the Art of Legerdemain adoptest every man's goods thine own, I know thou wouldst have joy without sorrow, wealth without want, fruit without faith, and life without death: but remember, the pitcher at last comes broken home. There is a way seems right in the eyes of man, but the end thereof is the path of death. Proverbs 14. vers. 12.  
What though thou hast wheeled off fairly once, or twice, or thrice? yet thou shalt shortly fall: Agememnon after all his 10 year's wars at Troy, was slain in one night among his friends at Greece. The valiant Hector, whose temples were so often arched in a victorious Orb, while he was quitting his Country with gallantry, and affronting his enemies in the height of bravery, received (in a moment) the Embassage of death: and upon the ground measured out his grave. The mighty Achilles, whose arm seemed a Postilion of death, was slain at last by a little winged Arrow, and sent to his long home.  
Tell me, thou that canst draw thy sword, and bid defiance (upon the high way) to truth and fidelity, where lies thy brother Cain, or Akan, or Judas, or Ahab? does not their glory grovill in the ground? or are they not sweltering in eternal flames? It may be thou hast endured many a blast: but there may come a blast ere long that may puff thee quite away. Thou that art acquainted with the Law so well, that thou canst sometimes confute the Reverend Judges, and yet performest never a tittle thereof; believe me, thou canst not plead with death: he will come with a Habeas corpus, and remove thee to eternity: Forasmuch as thou art found unfruitful in the Vineyard, thou shalt be cut from the Vine, and have thy portion in that lake of terror, where time shall be no more.  
Fourthly, the liar is a barren Branch. Leviticus 19 vers. 11.  Why boastest thou thyself in mischief, O mighty man? the goodness of God endureth continually. Thy tongue deviseth mischiefs: like a sharp razor working deceitfully. Thou lovest evil more then good: and lying rather then to speak righteousness. Selah. Thou lovest all devouring words, O thou deceitful tongue. God shall likewise destroy thee for ever, he shall take thee away, and pluck thee out of thy dwelling place, and root thee out of the Land of the living. Psalm 52 vers. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. 
Thou that so oft dost call the God of heaven (who is truth itself) to witness to a lie: tell me thou sordid piece of earth? canst thou blind the eyes of heaven? or canst thou draw a curtain before the face of the most high? does not his eye see thee? does not his ear hear thee? does not his heart ponder thy ways? tell me? is he excluded any where, that can be comprehended no where? if thou goest to heaven, he is there; if down to hell, he is there; if thou take the wings of the morning, and fly to the uttermost parts of the earth, from thence the hand of God shall find thee out. Come thou liar, Read the story of Ananias and Sapphira, Acts 5. vers. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10. The tree withers soon away that is perished at the Root, and thou shalt shortly fall, who art rotten at the heart: Alas, thou art nothing but a walking shadow, a guilded piece of air, whose wealth is but poverty, whose bravery but vanity, whose truth infidelity, and thou shalt ere long be ●hut out of eternity. Revelation 22. vers. 15. thy present tense ere long shallbe made a preterimper●ectense; and it shall shortly be said of thee, he was, and is not; yet a little while, and thou shalt be no more, but shalt fade as the withering grass, and whither as the dying flower.  
Fifthly, the Sabbath breaker is a barren Branch.  Ye shall keep my Sabbath therefore, for it is holy unto you: every one that breaketh it shall be cut off from among his people: for whosoever doth any work therein, that soul shall surely be put to death. Six days may work be done, but the seventh day is the Sabbath of rest, holy to the Lord: whosoever doth any work therein shall surely be put to death. Wherefore the Children of Israel shall keep the Sabbath to observe the Sabbath throughout their generations, for a perpetual memory. It is a Covenant between me and the Children of Israe● for ever: for in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, and on the seventh day he rested and was refreshed. Exod. 31. vers. 13, 14, 15, 16, 17. 
Come thou profane Sabbath breaker, thou findest fault of the shortness of thy time: I tell thee ere long thy time shall be cut away; the candle thou now dost waste in pleasure, thou wilt hereafter beg to spend in prayer: what (thou wretch) if thy God had required six days in the week to sanctify his name, and celebrate his praise? how wouldst thou have done, that if thou canst not give him one in seven? Go sordid earth, imbalm thyself in tears; thou knowest not what felicity the godly take in this day's progress, while they travel through the celestial Groves, and while they wander through the fair Elysium walks; aspiring beyond the reach of this unworthy earth, to change their hourly intercourse of love with Heaven, whose service is perfect freedom, redemption from slavery, and a path way to glory: every day's progress sends thee nearer to eternity, and thou makest but a few Sabbath days journey towards Heaven: why tell me? whither dost thou wander? Is it because there is no God in Israel, that thou servest the god of Ekron? or because thou hast dined on earth, wilt thou now go sup in hell? away blind man, thou runnest to thy ruin: retire a while to thy forgotten self, and reckon how fast thy winged hours fly away.  
Ah Lord! thy Sabbaths in former ages have been celebrated to thy praise, when thy people spoke often one to another to thy glory, when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy; thy Saints in former ages (upon thy holy day) have met to offer up their perfumed oblations, and daily sacrifices to thee who dwellest between the Cherubins: but now the beauty of Israel is gone from the high places; Oh how are the mighty fall'n! tell me thou wretch that sayest, when will the Sabbath be over, that we may sell our Corn, and Wine, and Oil, that we may put on our gallant apparel, and heap up bags of gold? what gain is in riches, what beauty in bravery, what profit in pleasure, what glory in honour? thy riches are but poverty, thy beauty deformity, thy pleasure a penalty, thine honour slavery; therefore fool thyself no more, by omitting thy duty, and robbing heaven of his glory, lest thou be'st struck with leprosy like Miriam, lest thou be'st swallowed up like Corah, Dathan, and Abiram, lest thou art consumed with fire like the sons of Aron, lest thou hast a shower of stones like Akan, or art shot with an arrow from heaven like Julian, lest thou be'st lopped from the Vine, and cut from the earth, and shut out of Heaven, and fling into Hell, lest thy possession be made a desolation, and thy memory perish from the earth for want of a memory.  
Sixthly, the swearer is a barren Branch.  Ye shall not swear by my Name falsely, neither shalt thou profane the name of thy God: I am the Lord. Levit. 19 vers. 12. 
Thou profane Wretch, that with thy breath infectest the air, and with thy body burdenest the earth, and with thy heart dost blaspheme heaven, what became of the profane Rabshekah, or the blasphemous Senacherib, that with their tongues sounded such thunderclaps in fearful israels ears? but when their lips upbraided the God of Heaven, how soon did he bow their proud imperious necks, and laid their glory grovelling in the ground: thou black mouthed swearer, that with a flash of Oaths dost exalt thyself to Heaven; I tell thee ere long thou shalt be spurned down to Hell: thy life seems yet a merry Comedy, but thou knowest not how soon thou shalt speak the last scene, which being done, thou shalt exit, to the attiring room of earth, and undress thee in the silent grave: thou foul mouthed swearer thou feign wouldst be accounted a Christian, yet livest more deboyster than the Heathen. Come if thou art a Christian, try thy Copy by thy Saviour's Precedent, and see how thou obeyest his command.  But I say unto you, swear not at all, neither by Heaven, for it is God's throne: nor by earth, for it is his footstool: nether by Jerusalem, for it is she City of the great King. Neither shalt thou swear by thy head; because thou canst not make one hair white, or black. But let your communication be Yea, yea: Nay, nay: for whatsoever is more than these, cometh of evil. Matthew 5. vers. 34, 35, 36, 37. 
Poor man, thou art so far from dishonouring thy God by this, that by thy Ruin he will purchase himself glory: as the Traveller that spits against the wind, hath it blown in his face; so thou that with thy breath blasphemest heaven, blowest but the fire of Hell, which shall torment thee to eternity: thou that dost waste thy time in trifles, and thy days in a dream, thou art at the best but a piece of perjury, and a flash of vanity, that walkest by the light of thine own fire, and the sparks thou hast kindled. This is the portion thou shalt have from the hand of Heaven, thou shalt lie down in sorrow.  
Seventhly, the covetous man is a barren Branch, and shall be cut from the Vine.  
What's he that so profanes all purity, and scorns the power that others do adore; that curseth his Taper for burning so fast, his provision for spending too soon, his hours for flying too swift, and his purse for filling too slow? Thou grovelling worldling, that Viperlike, dost tear thy Mother's womb, and off rest sacrifice to the god of gold, that art as politic as Achitophel, as proud as painted jezebel, as churlish as Naball, as swift as Asahell; hadst thou the policy of Ulysses, the strength of Hercules, the beauty of Adonis, the wealth of great Nilus, or the gold of rich Tagus: thou art but a house of clay, and thy foundation is in the Dust. Nevertheless man being in honour abideth not: he is like the beasts that perish. Psalm 49. verse 12.  
The time is coming when delicates shall not be delightful, life shall not be desirable, pleasure shall be painful, Riches unprofitable, death unavoidable, and eternity most terrible: when thou shalt find evidences enough for earth, but no assurance for Heaven: than it may be thou wouldst give ten thousand pounds for a share in Jesus Christ, but Jesus Christ makes no such bargain. Dives had not been in Hell, if his money would have purchased heaven: but then thy Riches shall take to themselves wings and fly away: thou knowest not how soon thou mayest come to thy journeys end; when thou shalt be deposed from thy glory like Nebuchadnezar, Dan. 4 30. or slain in the midst of thy gold and mirth, like drunken Belshazzer, or lie in the cold like poor Lazarus, or be kicked into Hell like rich Dives; go view the Monuments of thy Fathers: where lies the Crown of Shyhon, King of the Amorices, and Ogge the King of Bashan? Where be the Perizites, the Jebusites, or the Children of the East, or Zeba, or Zelmunna? Where is the Tower of Babylon, the (sometimes) glorious Caanan, the wavering Egyptians, the warlike Philistines? Do not they sleep in the dust? Thou knowest not how soon thou mayest be gathered to thy Fathers.  
The Earth in the Spring time puts on her mantle of green to entertain her Lover Phoebus; but when the golden Chariot of the Sun is fled to the Southern World, the Earth puts on her mourning withered weed, the Moon shines fairly for some certain nights; but when time hath turned her from her silver throne; she resigns her glory to the following day: The blazing candle for a time shines clear, but having past the age of a short lived hour, it glimmers a while and dies; the glorious Lily that is dressed in such bravery, is in a day disrobed of its glory, and turned to withered Hay; there is no such thing as a continuance here, though thou flour●●● 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 green Bay-tree, yet thou shalt perish like a withered weed.  For evil doers shall be cut off: but those that wait upon the Lord, they shall inherit the Earth. For yet a little while, and the wicked shall not be: yea thou shalt diligently consider his place, and it shall not be. Ps. 37. v. 9.10. 
Eightly, the hypocrite is a barren branch.  
Go march among thy fellow's painted earth, and then sometimes retreat, and yet march on again, thou lookest indeed to Heaven, but thou travelest to Hell: Go on, yet know false Absalon, 'tis not thy beauty that can save thee; no, Judas, 'tis not a dissembling kiss shall secure thee; no, Simon Magus, 'tis not thy money shall redeem thee, thou art as various as the winds, as dissembling as the seas, as deceitful as the grave, as dark as hell, as vile as villainy, as graceless as impurity, and as black as horror can see itself in the blackest glass: Thou washest thy hands indeed, but thy heart is defiled, thou trimmest thy body, but thy soul is deformed, honey indeed is in thy lips, but thy tongue is poisoned; well, fool thyself no more, though thou dost blind the World, thou canst not hid thyself from Heaven. Psalm. 94.8.9.10. He that planted the ear, shall he not hear? He that form the eye, shall he not see? Oh ye fools when will ye be wise? He that teacheth man knowledge, shall he not know? Though thou hast the speech of Jacob, thou hast the hands of Esau, thou hast the devotion of Abel, but the dissimulation of Achitophel, the mantle of Elias, but the hypocrisy of Judas, thou hast fidelity in thy words, but impurity in thy deeds, a heaven in thy mouth, but a hell in thy heart, and though thou dost prosper while blinded man adores thee, yet thou shalt perish when God shall come to judge thee: It is not thy smooth language, nor thy Syrean tongue can take in Heavens ears; no, 'tis not a painted face, nor a garment of gold that dazzleth Christ's eyes, that did delude the young man, that Solomon entitles fool, Prov. 7 vers. 8. 'Tis thy heart that God pondereth and as the Sun of Heaven will show, thee the foulness of the house; so the Son of glory with his all descerning eye, will soon discover the blackness of the heart, though to the world thou seemest a piece of purity, a flash of fidelity a gloriou star, a glittering sphere; yet to Heaven's eye thou wilt appear but an Heir of Hell, a child of darkness, a servant of sin, a son of shame; and thou that hast so often deluded others in thy life, shalt deceive thyself at thy death, and thy departing soul shall but exchange misery for mortality, though (by thy actions) the deluded world shall think thou art transported into glory.  
And shall our story have a period here? And shall we veil our subject with a blank? Shall we present to the Reader the black and dark night, and draw a Curtain before the shining day? Shall we discover the barren branches that are in the Vineyard, and wrap a black cloud about the lofty flourished Vine? No, though many have the mark of the Beast, yet some are loyal to the Lamb, though there be thousands do bow their knees to Baal: Yet there is a remnant do humble their hearts to heaven, though there be a seed of falling Adam, yet there is a generation of faithful Abraham, though many are not israelites, yet all are not Sodomites; among the thousands that shall perish, there is a remnant that shall flourish, whose united beauty shall make one glorious body: And this is she that looketh forth as the Morning, fair as the Moon, clear as the Sun, terrible as an Army with Banners, Cantie. 6. vers. 10. whose heroic heads look higher than this inferior World, who are not drowned in the dirt of earth, but watered with the dew of Heaven, who are not branches of infamy, but clusters laid up to inherit glory: And indeed believers you have done well while you have made so fair a choice, though you suffer here a little pain, hereafter you shall have endless pleasure, though ye have had a time of heaviness, ye shall have hereafter eternal happiness, though ye have had tokens of infamy, ye shall be adorned with Robes of glory, though you have been acquainted with the terror of the Cross, ye shall be required with the glory of the Crown: Alas, how momentany are the pleasures of the World? What is here to be desired? Nay, rather what is there not here that may well be quickly loathed? Is it honour? That is but a blast that will deceive thee: Is it dignity? That is but a dream that will delude thee: Is it beauty? That is but a shadow that will enslave thee; Is it credit? That is but flattery that will befool thee: Is it wealth? That will take wings and quickly fly from thee.  Come then let us get up early in the Vineyards: Let us see if the Vine flourish, if the tender Grapes appear, or the Pomgranats bud forth. Can. 2. 
I am sure if the hand that planted you did not protect you, your fruit would be blasted, and your blossom would be withered: How soon would your honour turn to disgrace, your credit to shame, your beauty into vanity, your affection to delusion, your wind of wealth to a weathercock of woe, your full sea of plenty to an ebbing tide of poverty? Did not the Vine flourish? How soon would you poor branches perish? Did not the head find power to stand, how soon would you the weaker members fall?  
I think the World can better subsist without the Sun, than you without a Saviour; if the Sun were gone, would not the forsaken Universe put on a mantle of mourning? Would not the World return to her first confused Chaos? Would not all our Chariot wheels drive on heavily? Would not our actions prosper slowly? The Philosophers say we are beholding to the Sun for all secondary causes: and Divines affirm we are engaged to our Saviour for his secret cares, while you bring forth the fruits of the spirit, which is not Rebellion, but Humiliation, not expressions, but Actions, not Chaff, but Wheat, not Pebbles, but Pearls, not Leaves, but Fruit, not Dross, but Gold: I mean Unity, Fidelity, Meekness, long suffering, Patience, and Perseverance; ye shall have a shield to save you, a chamber to hid you, an arm to protect you, a Fountain to cool you, and a Rock to over-shaddow shadow you, and a Pillar of fire to guide you while you travel through the valley of the shadow of death, and while you are sailing through the red sea of sorrow.  In that day, sing ye unto her: A Vineyard of red Wine. I the Lord do keep it; I will water it every morning, lest any hurt it, I will keep it night and day. Isa. 27. v. 2, 3. 
Thus were you not protected alas, how soon would you be destroyed? How weak would be your strength? How strong your weakness? How soon would your persons be abused, your sense deceived, your wills corrupted, your apprehensions deluded, your constancy contemned, and your fidelity befooled?  
But now had I a quill snatched from the lofty eagle's wings, or were my ink distilled from Gold; had I the Curiosity of Cleo, the Learning of Plato, the Poetry of Apollo, the Eloquence of Cicero, or the Love of Queen Dido: I should rather darken their Dignity, then illustrate their Royalty.  
I think Readers I must deceive you all, and ●hut the Book, and make an end of my subject; For he that will speak of the worth of a Picture must himself be a Painter; so he that will discourse of the Saints dignity, must himself be wrapped first in the Palace of high glory; this only may suffice, they shall have wealth without want, purity without perjury, health without sickness, wisdom without folly, life without mortality, there shall they have eternity for time, glo●y for indignity, a Crown for a Cross, and a Kingdom with a Crown: But since the heart is too narrow to conceive it, it is unlawful for the tongue to utter it, 2 Cor. 12. ver. 4.  
Thus are we forced to draw a Curtain about our subject and hid our glorious scene, and because we dare not speak of such a price, silence shall now be the Epilogue of the Play.  
How lovely looked the Son of Glory in our terrestial sphere, earth was too unworthy to be possessed of such a glorious guest, how powerful was that tongue, that with a short command could dispossess the devil, & make his enemies in a moment drop down and die, that could give feet to the lame, eyes to the blind, health to the sick, salvation to sinners, and life to death? How did his lips out pass the sweet lipped orator, while in sundry places he poured forth the sweetest words that Art or Love could frame, enough to melt the beholder's hearts and charm the hearer's ears? How full of sweetness is that bosom that was wounded with a spear; I think Love lay there entombed, having power enough to bring the lost soul to seek for sanctuary in his circled arms: how full of comeliness was that face that so often was hit with the blows of scorn, and flurts of disdain? that head, the fountain of knowledge, that was crowned with the thorns, had power enough, by wisdom, to control the world. How full of Majesty were those fair eyes that so often were drowned in silent tears?  
Had the ungrateful world no better entertainment for so Royal a babe, but must mantle him in a Manger, and from his Cradle hurry him to his Cross. Ah man! how obdurate was thy heart to him that was as kind as heaven: well mayest thou cast dust on thy head since thou art so foul in thy heart: go, weep thyself away: go, go, be sad all mortals; let your down east eyes present a silent sorrow; let your days be as dark as the silent grave, as when the eclipsed Sun leaves the world in a mist, or the angry air covers heaven's glory in a sable Cloud: let every mortal mourn, and be like a monument cut out of marble.  
But is it so, that Jesus Christ is the Vine, and that so many of the branches shall be cut off? then our subject sounds an alarm in the ears of all mortals, and bids the Inhabitants of the world look about them: Is it so that none but the engrafted Members shall stand, and the others fall? then this tells us that your condition is not so good as you imagine: If those that seem to be Members shall be cut away, what shall be done to them that are enemies to the body? if some of the branches shall fall that grow on the Vine, what shall become of them that come not near the Vineyard?  
How hath the Prince of darkness besotted all Mortals? how is poor man befooled? perhaps thou measurest by another man, and thou art higher by the head and shoulders; and thou thinkest God must love thee, because of thy person: King Saul was higher than all his brethren, yet little David was advanced to the Crown, and he was fling from the Throne. Perhaps thou art a Scholar, and for thy wisdom and learning thou thinkest God must love thee, and thou must needs be a branch in the Vine: I tell thee thy wit is but like a sharp Razor; when God shall come, and set thy wit to gnaw on thy accused Conscience: Oh the anguish of thy soul! in that day there is no such torment as a sharp with will inflict upon itself.  
Perhaps thou art a rich man, and thou thinkest God must needs love thee because of thy Riches, and engraft thee in the Vine: no, I tell thee, Jesus Christ can pass by all the King's Courts, and the Prince's Palaces, and enter in the house of poor Martha, and be a companion for Lazarus that had nothing to entertain him: If Christ had been taken with gold, he could have planted his Vineyard among the Indies where his Temple might have been all daubed with gold.  
Perhaps thou art beautiful, and thou thinkest Heaven must love thee because thou art lovely: Believe me, that will whither away when sickness with her afly hand shall sweep off thy colour, thou shalt resemble earth: though thou art like jezebel, death will pluck thy feathers, and thou shalt be banished to the Grave, and call the worm thy sister and thy Brother.  
Therefore if thou hast any excellency in thee, or parts, it is but cumbered stuff, and the harder it is to pull thee into heaven; God must be feign to take more pains with thee, then with a poor creature that hath nothing to boast of: every external part thou hast is but a block to lie in thy way, and thou must leave them behind thee, or thou wilt never crowd through the strait Gate.  
Thy table that's a snare to thee, while sometimes thou eatest more than does thee good.  
Thy gold, that's a snare to thee, while thou settest thy heart upon it, and forgettest Heaven.  
Thy portly body, thou mayst boast of it well enough, it may be it is all thou art like to enjoy; make much of it, and much good may it do thee. Thy wisdom is but a puff of pride: and the more learning thou hast, the more mad thou art.  
Therefore since there is no ability in man to gain immortality; let this summon in the great and mighty men of the world; let them sit under the shadow of the Vine, and eat his pleasant fruit. Objection. But it may be said, this seems to be false you talk all this while; we see no glory in the Vineyard, nor taste no sweetness in the Vine: wherein is his fruit so pleasant?  
Answer, I will tell you in four particulars.  
First, his fruit of humiliation, that is pleasant fruit, this will adorn thee with such amorons graces, that thou shalt pass by the flurts of the World with a gallant scorn, yet knowing sin to be the Author of thy shame, thou shalt often inbalme thyself in tears.  
Secondly, his fruits of meekness, that is pleasant fruit; thy crooked nature now (it may be) admits of no second but thy sword, thou art now but a word and a blow, thy heart is like a tinder box, the least spark of envy will burn to a mighty flame; but then thou shalt stand as a marble pillar immovable; the envy of thine enemies shall not trouble thee; the frowns of thy friends shall not startle thee; the principalities of hell shall not have power to shake thee; the world's disdain shall be thy dignity, their infamy thy glory, their hate shall inflame thy fire of love, and their reproaches shall fill thy mouth with praises: nor wilt thou regard the most grievous pain, while thou art running to so glorious a prize.  
Thirdly, this fruit of love is very pleasant fruit: all the mountains of misery thou sufferest when they are drowned in the Sea of love, will appear but like Atoms in the Air, when love shall cover thee under the shadow of his wings, when thou shalt see how dear thou art in heavens eyes, that he did not only give Ethiopia but his own life to the Father for thee: what wouldst thou not endure for the love of such a Saviour? does he suffer hell to pursue thee? it is because thou shouldest press forward to heaven, which is set before thee: is thy journey tedious in the beginning? it is because thou shouldst long to be at thy journey's end: and wilt thou not run when thy Race is only to life, and thy companion love? and wilt thou not despise any worldly loss, when thou shalt be triple sharer in eternal glory, and inherit immortal gain?  
Fourthly, his fruits of patience, and perseverance are pleasant fruit: now a few discouragements will daunt thee, than thou shalt be willing to undergo a thousand dangers every day: now if thou receivest not what thou didst ask, thou art ready to give over ask: if God openeth not at the first, thou art ready to give over knocking: and if thou findest not what thou didst seek, thou art soon persuaded to give over seeking: But then thou shalt wait with as much patience as the poor watchman that stands upon the Tower, expecting the dawning of the day, till the panting horses of time have finished their journey, and ended their tired task: then shalt thou receive the fruit of thy faith, and Heaven shall crown thy labours of love with undisturbed rest.  
Awake then, Oh North wind, and come thou South: let the Inhabitants draw near, let them come into our garden, let them taste the fruit of Faith, let them be drunk with the Wine of love.  Eat, O friends, drink, yea, drink abundantly. O beloved! Canticles 5. verse 1. 
Come take his fruit of Justification, that justice may not condemn thee: take his fruit of Redemption, that hell may not devour thee: take his fruit of sanctification, that sin may not deceive thee: take his fruit of glorification, that happiness may crown thee.  
Art thou hungry? He is food to suffice thee: Art thou thirsty? He is water to refresh thee: Art thou naked? He is a garment to  thee: Art thou cold? He is a fire to warm thee: Art thou scorched with heat? He is a Rock to shelter thee, Art thou in sickness? He is a Doctor to heal thee: Art thou alone? He is a friend will not forsake thee: Art thou in danger? His arm shall protect thee: Does the plague walk in darkness? He is a chamber to hid thee, does the arrows of the Almighty fly at noon day? his wings shall overshadow thee; Art thou poor? He hath laid up treasure to enrich thee: Art thou disgraced? He will Crown thee with a Crown of Glory.  
And now Reader mayest thou imbalm the Book in tears, if thou considerest the misery of man, and how the World does lie befooled: What horrid Earthquake is this that shakes the foundation of our troubled World? What black cloud hath overspread our Universe, and gins to murmur in our whispering air, eclipsing the light of Divinity, extinguishing the Lamps of purity, and endeavouring to darken the son of glory, making poor ignorant mortals grope all their lives time in the dark, and yet shall never find the door? How happy are those priety babes (who with a little flood of tears, be waileing the misery of mortality) die in their slumbering Nurses armees? Sure it were happy for the wicked, if they measured but a short lived hour between the Womb and the Grave, for not being found in the Vneyard, they shall have no share in the Vine, and bearing no fruit as the Corn, they shall be burned with the Chaff: But thou for a few evils on earth shalt be rewarded in Heaven; thou shalt set thy foot upon the Adder, and tread upon the young Lion; for thou shalt be hid in the secret places of the Almighty, and under the shadow of the wings of the most high; thou shalt be free from the dominion of sin, and thou shalt conquer Satan, thou shalt overcome Principalities and Powers, and thou shalt gain by life and death: And he whose undiscovered actions are too deep for our dim eyes, shall bear thee on his wings through deaths dark Groves, and lift thee to life eternal, while the wicked that now does flourish like a green Bay, shall perish ere long like a blown off blossom, and he that is a shining flash, shall whither like a dying Flower.  
All flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. 1 Pet. 1. v. 24. Man. 

STay Phoebus, stay: Oh wherefore dost thou run  
So fast? the shades will come too soon:  
Hold in, hold in thy horses, their nostrils boil  
In flames; Oh let them rest a while!  
Stop thy bright Chariot wheels, and gild the day  
In glorious pride: why dost thou haste away,  
Into the western world? stay gentle Phoebus, stay.   Phoebus. 

Jove lend me a breath of thunder, that my flashes  
May mingle terror with my lashes:  
My pampered horses linger out the day:  
I surfeit with too long delay.  
Fond man thou fearest to die, and oft dost groan  
To live, and blamest only time alone:  
Come guide my winged hours, and hurl me from my throne.   Man. 

Why was I borne? or being borne, Oh why  
Did I not weep one hour and die?  
Ah me!  
What torments do attend us while we see  
The Sun? how short a time have we!  
Phoebus, although thy Chariot makes away  
So fast, and will admit of no delay:  
Yet lend more hours to the year, or minutes to the day   Death. 

Drive on dull Phoebus, drive away! my bow  
Is bend: and thou dost fly too slow:  
Drive on again, or by my unknown power,  
I'll blast the glory of this flower.  
Time. Stay death, thou caused not strike the blow till I  
Shall say amen [Death] Yes Phoebus if thou high  
Thee not away, this Lamp shall soon drop down and die.   Time. 

Black monarch of the shades, kerb in thy heels  
Awhile; attend my Chariot wheels,  
Death. I cannot, for thy beams are too too high:  
The shades adorn my black browed eye:  
I'll cut this flower away and then retire  
To the dark groves. [Time] wherefore dost thou desire  
To eclipse so bright a star, and quench so fair a fire.   Death. 

Thy glass exceeds her hour, it has too long  
To run: thou dost me too much wrong:  
I'll strike the blow [Time.] Cut not this flower away,  
For as I am the god of day,  
And son to high borne Jove who taught me how  
To guide my wand'ring Orb, I'll make thee bow  
Thy Pride, when next thou furrowest up our brow.   Time. 

Poor man thy time is short indeed: alas,  
There's but a little in thy Glass:  
But yet thou shalt not die awhit, before  
'Tis out, nor live a minute more:  
My fiery horse are hot, and wondrous proud;  
I can scarce rule the Reins, but must go shroud  
My head, and leave thee wrapped within a sable cloud.     

The sixth soliloquy.  
COme huffling gallants of the times, draw near, lay down your sallow Garlands by you, and the thing you call honour, and let your eyes behold our subject, let it pull down your imperious necks, and strike your top sails: let it give to virtue constancy, to profaneness penitency, to the proud man humility: But gallants you are not sad, me thinks, you look too well, as if you should live eternally on earth, or had an everlasting inheritance in Heaven, as if you could command the horses of Time, or stop the golden Chariot of the day: what comeliness is in your spots of complexion? what righteousness in your choicest Recreation? what goodness is in the great man's gallantry? what beauty in the proud man's bravery? what glory in the Covetous man's gold? o● what great ratity in the spend thrifts prodigality how wavering are your words? how deluding are your deeds? how disloyal is your love? how inconstant is your care? how weak are your desires to Heaven? how strong do you dote upon the earth? how poor is your evidence of immortality? yet how richly do you flourish in the garb of world's glory? And yet poor man, what art thou? but a walking shadow, a piece of moving earth, a gliding flash, a blasted flower, an inch of mortality that art travelling to eternity, whose wisdom is but folly, whose strength is inability, whose grace is impurity, whose comeliness deformity, whose substance is sin, whose glory is thy shame: take man in his best time, and he is but a piece of vanity: look on him in a full Sea of plenty, or an ebbing tide of poverty, in the bloom of age, or the blossom of youth, and this piece of earth is but a debtor to Heaven, and this handful of dust hath but a handful of days, in which he is as restless as the Sun, as various as the Moon, as wavering as the winds, as unconstant as the Clouds, as dissembling as the Seas, as foul as earth, as flashy as the fire, and as fickle as the Air; and having acted his part upon this transitory stage, death strikes the Epilogue, and the play is done; and notwithstanding all his dignity, he must lie down and die: For all flesh is grass, and the glory of man but as the flower of grass.  
Ladies (for in your Ivory hands my Book may sometimes be:) here's a glass for you, not to represent your beauty, but to discover your frailty, not to show you how to deck your heads, but to tell you how to adorn your hearts, not to learn ye how in curiosity to set your embroidered hairs, but in true penitency how to drown your wanton eyes: What mean's your  perfumed with so many savours, your Apothecary's shop of sundry salves, your new sangled braveries you boxes of beauties, your wavering affections, your wanton Recreations? look in your glass, see if pride be not enthroned on your majestic brows, and if your bravery be set off with any thing else but vanity: 'tis only vanity and nothing else but vanity which dances upon your plumes, as your feathers fan the air: What will you do when death shall summon you to eternity, when sickness with her ashy hand shall sweep the colour from your cheeks? when your stripped off bravery shall discover your deformity, and you shall resemble earth; when you shall lay down your ornaments of beauty by you, when the dismal Ewe, and the flattering Ivy shall grow about your graves, and Time shall puss away the remembrance of your glory.  
Ladies, did I but know the scope of your desire, as your singing Master knows your skill in an air; I could teach your eyes to weep faster than he your fingers to play, and fit you as well with a sight, as the Musician with a Song; but being a stranger to your Sex, I forbear, only thus much, be as virtuous as fair, that you may be the glory of our days, and that your names may flourish in after Ages. Instead of love and loves delusion, go spend some hours in divine contemplation; instead of the Poetry of Ovid, read the Piety of David; instead of the falseness of beauteous Absalon, follow the faithfulness of blessed Abraham; instead of the love of Philasten, read the life of Francis Spira; behold the ruins of Edonezedick King of Jerusalem, of Korah, Dathan, and Ahiram, of Nadab and Abihu, the sons of Aaron, of Hoham King of Hebron, of accursed Miriam, and Apostate Julian; these had all the glory of nature, and were famous in the World, yet were they lost in a confused Chaos; shun therefore their pride, that ye be not ruined with their plague; let your love be without disloyalty, your faithfulness without formality, your fashions without foolery, and your beauty without bravery; so shall your names flourish by the Poet's pen, and live till time shall be no more; so shall ye be adored for your goodness, more than honoured for your greatness, and famed for your grace, more than feared for your glory; so shall your inward excellency exceed your outward bravery, and your perfumed rarities smell sweeter than your Conserves of Roses.  
Come hither deluded Lover, that findest no felicity but in thy Mistress company; and hast placed thy joys in thy fair Mistrefle eyes; that like foolish Paris, bowest to the Shrine of Venus, whose happiness and life lies in thy Lady's love; remember the Peacock hath fair Feathers, but foul feet, the Bee hath Honey by her toil, but a sting in her tail; the finest Rose may have pricks at the stalk, and the fairest Apple may be rotten at the Core: Nay, though thy Lady may be civil, worthy, and virtuous; yet time may make her lascivious, wanton, and various; the fairest Blossom may be the soon blasted, and the sweetest Flower the quickliest withered; the blustering Winds may swell the mightiest waves, and a glorious Morn may turn a gloomy day.  
The Philosophers say the life of man is nothing but opinion: Alas, thou dost but dream fond Lover: here are no hallowed Groves, no fair Elysium walks, no Palaces of pleasure, no high borne Imps of honour, no heads arched in Royalty, no beauties decked in glory: But wanton Cupid's moral blaze, which is as a shining flash, or a seeming fire, hot in a minute, and cold in a moment, which will blast thee if thou behold it, and burn thee if thou come too near 〈…〉 will come when thou shall dread that which thou dost now adore, and loath the thing thou now dost love; e'er long the stoutest heart shall be faint, and the fairest face begin to wax pale; then pleasantness shall turn peevishness, and kindness to coldness; plenty shall be poverty, and beauty deformity: then shalt thou behold the rottenness of youth when thou comest to the ripeness of age, and see the uncertainty of life, when thou receivest the summons of death: For all flesh is grass, and the glory of man but as the flower of grass.  
And thou fond muckworme, that servest the gods of gold, what needest thou labour for an Inheritance in earth? Thou hast too surely earth already, go labour for an Inheritance fool that will not fail thee, lest either thy Riches fly from thee, or thy Money perish with thee, lest the rot take thy heart as the rust may eat thy gold, lest thy possession be made a desolation, and instead of having a Treasure in Heaven, thou purchase with thy Coin an eternal Tomb in Hell.  
And likewise thou young man, thy morning is but now risen (and it promises to be a Sunshine day) and thou dost not dream, that all flesh is grass, and the glory of man but as the flower of grass; yet flatter not thyself too fairly, though thou were not strangled in thy Nativity, yet thou mayest be cut off in thy maturity, though thou wert not blown away in the fondness of thy youth, yet thou mayest be cut off in the fullness of thine age; therefore let this rectify thy reason, and purge thy pollution; let it raise thy love, and humble thy heart; thou knowest thou shalt die, but thou canst not tell when, thou art sure thou shalt fall, but thou dost not know where: Well, walk so on earth that death may conduct thee into Heaven; expect Death every where, but fear it not where, for when thy present tense shall be made a preterimperfect tense, as thou hast lived holily, so shalt thou die happily, and reign in immortal blessedness in the Palace of high glory.  
Tell me, thou old man (I think thou art acquainted well with our subject, that all flesh is grass, and the glory of man but as the flower of grass) what pleasure hadst thou in those things whereof thou art now ashamed? With much pain thou hast passed thy pilgrimage, and worn thy wearied days: thy life has been but a longer prologue to an eternal Tragedy.  
Go look on the Monuments of the old World, old man, and see how those mighty sons of Annak sleep in earth? How death has given them their qu●●cus est: In the house of darkness there is no striving for dignities, nor purchasing of places: An Army of Soldiers that are there cannot march in Battle Ray not in their Warlike Triumphs thunder about their Tombs: The greatest Merchant when he takes that house he loses all; the richest Usurer that was worth thousands here, if you go to him there he has not a penny in his pocket; but is as poor as he was sometimes proud: The wisest Lawyer, and the eloquentest Orator, when they come there give over their practice, and will plead no more; the Lord is there but a Companion for his Lackey, and the Judge on the Bench sleeps safe with the Prisoner at the Bar.  
How doleful (me thinks) is the alarm of yonder passing Bell, ushering Death's Language in every ear: If it goes for an unprepared sinner, the sound thereof strikes terror, the night grows horrible, and every object shows his black actions.  
Oh the Conscience of the lost sinner, now how is he hurried? Now for an hour of life, but it will not be: Let the sinner see in all his Inventory what will he prise, or what can give one hour of ease? None but Jesus Christ; Alas, but he hath no share in him: Unhappy soul, how hast thou spent thy time, and worn out thy precious days?  
Was it in love, thou hast spent thy life? Oh hadst thou been acquainted with Heaven, how mightest thou have been swallowed in the Sea of love? Tell me who made the earth so full of variety, the Sun so glorious, the Moon so beauteous? Who made the glittering Stars that aspire the Olympic Hill, that the lower Orbs might be relieved by the spangled spheres, when the Sun has done the day? Say sinner must not he that gives beauty to deformity, be himself much more lovely?  
Or what? was it profit thou hast laboured for? what greater profit then to be a Prince? or what higher happiness than holiness? what greater riches than righteousness? or what higher gain then to wear an immortal Crown?  
Or was it pleasure thou hast sought after? I think the pleasure of the world is pain: remember how often thou hast called thyself Fool, when thou hast been retired alone; when thy fancy hath been wearied in folly, and thy Recreation hath gone beyond thy Reason? deluded soul! what pleasure is like that which dwells in Paradise? in those blessed Groves which cannot be described by the pen of the Writer, nor expressed by the tongue of an Orator; whose glory (had any but the Art to paint forth in the language of love) 'twould leave the writer in a Maze, or strike the Reader dead!  
But now poor soul, in seeking the things that are but momentany, thou hast lost thyself eternally: who now can intercede before the immortal throne, that the sinner may be saved? none but Jesus Christ, and alas, the soul is not acquainted with him: unhappy soul! thou art now struck silent, go, drown thy closed eyes in Tears; lie down in dust, forgotten earth, for thou shalt rise no more, till the Axeltrees of the world shall begin to flame, and time shall break his Chariot wheels, till the Heavens shall pass away with a great noise, and the world shall swelter in flames; then thou among the rest of those dreadful Comets appointed for horror, shalt fry for ever in this unquenchable fiery Chaos.  
But here's good news now for thee that art prepared to die; thou poor soul, that standest upon thy watch tower, expecting the dawning of the day; thou sayest my Love, he dwells in Heaven, that hath Captivated my heart with the glory of his Graces, before whom I offer up my hourly oblations, with silent tears from these my weeping eyes: but sure he regards me not, but leaves me here as a monument of misery, or an object of the world's scorn: remember poor soul, All flesh is grass, and grass you know hath no long continuance on the ground; believe me thou shalt shortly go: thou mayst hear thy beloved almost every day, telling thee thy time is but short, and thou shalt ere long be transported to eternity: thou mayest hear his sweet voice to charm thine ears, though thou canst not see his face to wound thy heart: thou receivest love-Letters from him, but yet thou canst not see him; for this wall of flesh doth stand between, but ere long it shall be taken down, that you may enter together in Communion, and talk of the time of trouble, that you may inherit eternal joys, while your eyes shoot equal flames that you may ravish in the sweetest embraces, and lose yourselves in love.  
And further by these my son, be admonished: of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh. Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter: Fear God, and keep his Commandments, for this is the whole duty of man. Eccles. 12. vers. 12, 13. 

I.  
ALas, and is this all? come, spur away  
My Muse, and let's have done before the day  
Be down, let's leave the heliconian springs,  
And sacred Delphice, let our untuned string  
Be screwed up higher yet, until our ears  
Can counterfeit the Music of the spheres:  
Then drown yourselves no more (this glorious prize  
Is given free, the purchase cannot rise  
From floods of flowing tears) no more my wearied eyes.   

II.  
But does the Crown of high immortal glory  
Arch his victorious brows, that keeps this story  
True. Yea and his undefiled soul shall shine  
Like Stars of the first magnitude: divine,  
And glorious ornaments, he shall wear,  
And sit enthroned above the hemisphere  
In a garb of purest gold; this is the same  
That Heaven Will honour, and his honoured name  
Shall live, and rise up higher than the trump of fame.   

III.  
Fool that I was, because the verse was soon  
Read o'er, I thought 'twas easily done;  
But thou O Lord, that mad'st this little span  
Of earth; must recollect poor uncollected man  
Keep thy commands? O Lord, Is it not more  
Than all the World can do? am I before Them all?  
Oh drown these unregenerate eyes that shine  
Too clear, that I may offer to thy shrine  
A shower of tears, for every drop of blood of thine.   

iv  
Oh I am lost! how shall poor I aspire  
Thine Altar, Without diviner fire?  
Whose hallowed smoke may make a sacred fume  
Before thy throne; Ah how dare I presume  
To come? Thou shalt have power from above:  
I'll be thy Lord, and thou shalt be my Love;  
Only confess thy sins, and I'll adorn  
Thy brow with beauty; teach thee how to scorn  
The World, and make thee fairer than the fairest morn.   

V  
Well then my honoured Lord, I'll come and try,  
To tread the path of immortality:  
Oh that my wand'ring eyes could see the way!  
That I might travel to it every day:  
Where once arrived, our lips shall strike up loves  
Alarms, in the blessed hallowed Groves.  
Do soul, eat death, for earth is transitory.  
True Lord: But shall I (if I keep this story)  
Live? I'll give thee life, wrapped in immortal glory.   

VI  
Too soon I wandered in an unknown way,  
Till I was almost lost, had not the day  
Star rise, to guide my wand'ring Orb, for all  
My power, I had stooped to the imperial thrall  
Of some temptation which had cried aloud  
To Heaven, and left me in a sable Cloud:  
I knew not then to whom I could repair,  
To have one hour of ease, but now my care  
Being passed, I'll put a period to a well-tuned air.     

The last soliloquy, Or, The Authors Farewell.  
THE day breaks glorious in our darkened Orb, 'tis an illustrious morn, clear up my glimmering eyes; Ah me! now I see how much I was abused: I wondered (indeed) the way to Heaven should be so hard, and that such extremity should lie in the path to immortality: alas, I was befooled; it is not care can conquer a kingdom, nor industry win the Crown of glory; it is not heaviness that works holiness, nor holiness that merits happiness; nor can the price of labour purchase the Palace of Love. I wonder not now why the skilful Astronomer has been misguided by his star, and why the fancies of the Learned Poets have been befooled: alas, can ingenuity merit eternity? no, 'tis love, 'tis love, that unlocks the gate of glory!  
Poor man, where is thy power now, that with thy triangle heart invelopest the water, buildest Castles in the air, backest the winds, devourest the earth, and sometimes darest Heaven; yet when thou comest to try thy force, a feather will scarce wag at thy fury? alas, though thou crawlest, thou canst not climb, though by thy fear thou mayest rule on earth, yet without Faith thou shalt not Reign in Heaven; though by thy policy thou mayest comprehend all things, yet by thy power thou canst command nothing.  
Hence let your winged battlements grapple, go veil your transitory glory, let your dignity lie down and die, let him that has the most rarity study humility, and be like a monument cut out of marble; let the ginger put no confidence in Astronomy, nor the Naturalist study curiosity; let the learning of the Law be turned to the language of love; and yet let the sweet lipped Orator lay down his Rhetoric and plead no more: it is not the language of learning, nor a life of labour, nor ingenuity, nor sidelity, nor greatness, nor gallantry, nor profit, nor pleasure, nor glory, nor honour; it is not a garment of gold, nor a lofty look, nor the charming tongue, nor the enchanting eye, nor the fairest face, nor the heroic heart, nor the conquering arm, that can win heaven; no, these do but chain thee to the world, and hinders the soul from climbing up the Ladded to his Joy.  
I should rather look for heat in painted fire, then think to find ability in the creature: I should rather believe the wind comes but to fan us with a gentle gale, when Aeolus unlocks his blustering Gates, and rocks the world in a tempestuous storm; or that the Clouds do but shade us from the flaming Chariot of the Sun, when by their thundering noises they seem to crack the Axeltrees of the World, and by their dismal darkness banish out the day; or that the Sea (when he furrows up his brow, and calls the dancing billows up aloft) does weep to hear the ruined Mariner complain.  
Hence let the tongues of profane Papists be silent, and sing no more their idle Lays, lest while they trust to the memory of their Saints they lose the merit of their Saviour, and seeking Saint Peter's Key to open the gate, they stand with the foolish Virgins knocking at the door. It is not penning many books, it is not praying with many beads, it is not a new slain Sacrifice, nor the blood of Bulls, nor the fat of Rams, nor a thousand Rivers of Oil, nor the Hypocrites humility, nor the worldling's beauty decked in glory, that can save from the day of wrath: (Reader) I'll tell you why, because they are nothing; all the Consonants in the Alphabet can spell nothing without a Vowel: ten thousand Ciphers stand for nothing without a Figure: all the Nations of the earth are but as the drop of the Bucket, and the small dust of the Balance, (not only vanity) but lighter than vanity; till God unite the sinner to his Son, and makes him something, he is nothing, but then God the Father calls him something, and by calling him so, he makes him so: But before the power of the Prince, the pen of the Poet, the valour of the Soldier, the skill of an Orator is nothing, they themselves are nothing, the best of them are but Ciphers, and though one cipher is bigger than another, yet they all stand for nothing.  
Much study indeed is a weariness to the flesh: but to keep thy Commands, that is impossible for flesh and spirit. (Ah Lord!) the glory of nature may work the one, but the gifts of Grace must do the other; the power of earth may practise the first, but the Prince of heaven must perform the last.  
Keep thy Commands! There is not a sentence so hard among all the learned Synods of the world: it strikes dead at once all the faculties of the soul; the poor creature here does stand amazed! Alas, it is as hard for the poor soul to do this as for the earth to ascend to the stars, and wander with the Spheres; and therefore like St. John, the soul weeps sore when he sees there is none found worthy in the world. But soul retire thyself from tears, advance thy slumbering eyes; though thou art not worthy that dwellest on earth, yet there is a Lamb found worthy that does inherit Heaven: nay, he is not only worthy, but willing; he every day approacheth the Altars, and mingles his blood with thy sacrifices, and sweetens thy prayers with his perfumes, when they ascend before the immortal Throne. Sinner, thou hast a Saviour who is able to do the work, if thou canst but find a will.  
Oh Love! how transcendent are thy Laws! I feign would pry into thy glorious precepts, yet dare not, lest I am too soon lost, and drown myself in pleasure, and never heard of ravish; lest a glance of immortality do strike me blind, and I surfeit with excess of joy, and die.  
With showers of tears O drown my wanton eyes: thou sayest I am nothing, (Ah Lord) and now I see I am nothing: let my downcast eyes present a silent sorrow; and let my heart resemble the dusky evening air, when the Sun has done the day: or as poor Luna, in her eclipsed hour, descends her silver throne, and having lost bright Sol, resigns her glory to the spangled train of wand'ring stars, mourning for the absence of his Chariot wheels. And since I am nothing, humble this heart that would too soon be high, and like the wavering Plumes, swell with every breath of praise.  
It is not reading the Bible will save me from Hell; nor writing a Book will send me to Heaven: as some gifts of Grace cannot secure me, so all the gifts of nature will not have power to save me; I may die for all the first, and be damned notwithstanding the last. Then if love be better than labour, and utility goes before ingenuity; if the lowest faith be better than the highest fancy, and a dram of grace be heavier than a tun of gold; what need I go round about to Heaven, when there is a nearer way? no, I have done, this is the last of my labours; now I will trouble the world no more with a Poem from my Pen; the way to Heaven is by low contrition, not high speculation; by private prayers, not by public praises, and by the truth of fear, not by the trump of fame.  
Feet, find me out the way; I have none to direct me now but the Counsel of a troubled heart: yet I will try: Shine fair some glittering star, you that enlighten your darkened journey with your borrowed glory, and in your blessed Orbs, continually behold the day: say gentle guides, how lies my journey to the immortal hill? lead me and I will follow you. And O God hid all my faults in thy love, and show me how to creep through the straight gate, upon my tender joints and bended knees in this my youthful age: show me my inability, that I may admire thy Majesty, and though by others I should be thought something, yet to myself let me appear nothing, that thou mayest be all in all.  
FINIS.