DIVINE POEMS AND MEDITATIONS.  
IN TWO PARTS.  
Written by William Williams of the County of Cornwall, Gent. when he was Prisoner in the Kings-Bench, in the Sixty second, and Sixty third year of his Age.  Psalm 5.1. 
Ponder my words, O Lord, consider my meditations.  
LONDON, Printed by J. Redmayne for the Author, and are to be sold by John Williams at the Crown, and John Crump at the Three Bibles in St. Paul's Churchyard, 1677.   

LICENCED March the Seventh.   

To the Honourable Sir Francis Winnington Knight, Solicitor General to His Majesty King Charles the Second, and a Member of this present Parliament. And to Sir John King Knight, Solicitor to His Highness the Duke of York.  
NOble Gentlemen, your words spoken for me in the High Court of Chancery, the First day of Trinity Term, 1675. were, like Apples of Gold in Pictures of Silver, they are fit to be Recorded to posterity, to encourage other Worthy Persons that now live and may succeed you, to be kind and take part to assist Prisoners, for they can be grateful (if ingenuous,) you little thought what you then spoke for me, would be the subject and occasion of all these following Lines. The First, I took it to be my duty to present to God as my Thanksgiving; And then to you (which bountifully rewarded and encouraged my gratitude.) This unexpected mercy did so raise my contemplations, (which were formerly exercised in vainer fancies) 'twas God and you that raised my Meditations on more Diviner Poems, if there be any thing in them that be good, let God have the Glory, and you as his Instruments, and the for ever most thankful acknowledgements of your favours, to the infinite comfort of  
From my lodging in the Mint in South-wark, March 10. 1676. Your Honour's most faithful and obliged Servant. William Williams.   

To the Worshipful Arthur Sprye Esq; one of His Majesty's Justices of the Peace, for the County of Cornwall, and a Member of this present Parliament.  
Worthy Sir,  
REnowned Homer, (for whom Seven Cities contended for the Honour of being the place of his Birth,) when he first betook himself to Poetry, thought himself obliged to express his thankfulness to his Benefactors, and first to Mentor who took care of him when he had sore eyes, and to his Master which brought him up in Learning, and he gratefully requited Tychicus the Leather-seller, that received him into his House.  
If I endeavour to imitate the worthy example of this darling of the Muses, and render you my most hearty thanks and record to all ages, your so Generous, Free, and Bountiful love to me, and care of me when a Prisoner deserted by my Kindred and Relations, not sparing your pains in Travel, and cost on my occasions, with your bounty to me other ways, (never to be forgotten) which hath set me sometimes into Admiration of God's great mercy to me, in raising me such a Friend, that hath sent me so many comforting Letters, which as so many Cordials have revived my sad and drooping Spirits. And that you who are so eminently employed in the public, and have so many great affairs of your own, should lay all aside, and Travel, and expend on my occasions, which did never, nor ever was in a capacity so highly to engage you. And all this done, when I was cast down so low, when no satisfaction from me was visible, your favours were then so clear, and continued without any reserve to yourself. Your indefatigable pains in being the instrument in God's hands of setting me at liberty, which is to me the beginning of a new life.  
Should not these so eminent favours call me to gratitude, I were worse than the beast that perish.  
Sir. It hath not a little rejoiced my soul that God (in my old Old age) hath enabled me, (amid all this more than Three years' calamity) to have something of my own to present you with (though not worthy of you.) They are my Two last years exercises by way of Meditations in the Kings-Bench. They were for the most part written in the House, But Corrected, and Enlarged in the Rules. I beseech you accept them as the most grateful acknowledgement of your so much Care, Pains, Travel, and Expense for me. It is the only requital that ever I can be capable of, and that I can tell afterages that I can be thankful.  
I shall be most rude and ungrateful, if I forget the favours which I have so cheerfully received from the Right Honourable Right worshipful and many of my noble countrymen, and others, by whose bounty and favours I have been supported in this my so long imprisonment. Most thankfully acknowledging their favours (especially of some) which have exceeded far beyond my expectation and all beyond my deserts.  
Sir, I pray that you will take these papers with the author into your protection, and continue your favour, that God will continue his grace and favour to you, shall ever be the desires of my heart while I breath and remain.  
Your ever obliged Servant William Williams.   

TO THE READER.  
Courteous Reader,  
IT is not unknown to many that have been, and some that now are prisoners in the Kings-Bench, in what a sad, disconsolate condition I was for many months after I came Prisoner to that uncomfortable place finding myself reduced from so plentiful a condition, to the sad calamities of a Prison; neglected by my kindred, and relations, from whom I had most cause to expect comforts. And to add to my griefs, I was encountered with railing Rabshecahs and cursing Shimei's to the great discomfort of my soul.  
In Trinity term 1675 I was called by Habeas Corpus to answer a bill in chancery, endeavouring to turn me over to the fleet for a contempt as the adversary pretended. It grieved me much to think of a remove, and renew a new place of Torment, I not thinking myself able to answer the court, as might be acceptable, did retain council; But before I was called, my council went of, pretending he had business to attend the Parliament, then sitting, So I was left to myself. But it pleased God soon to supply that defect to my great advantage, by inclining the hearts and tongues of the eminent, and ever to be honoured persons, Sir Francis Winnington and Sir John King To improve the reasons I then delivered, with so much pious and charitable zeal for me, against council retained against me, that they got me an order for my return. And at another time inclined one Mr John Hearl a council at law, and my noble Countryman in like manner, to defend my cause at the Rolls unknown to me, and without a fee, for which I make him this my thankful acknowledgement. These so eminent mercies from God, and so great favours from persons of so high place and parts, with whom I had never spoken, nor seen their faces as I knew of, made me admire Gods great mercy to me a Prisoner, merely upon principals of Honour and Charity.  
These providences my Adversary observing Gods dealing with me stopped the violence of his proceeding, and the Matter indifference is like to have a better composure, and my Adversary is become my friend. When I returned to the Kings-Bench I took it to be my duty to return thanks and praises to God for his so great a mercy never to be forgotten. The which I did in the manner as is hereunto annexed, which I hope God hath accepted of. For since which time I began to write these following meditations, which never before did dare to adventure on such subjects. But since I am never well nor at quiet with my soul, but when I am about such exercises, and I was so far from helps, as it is well known that I had to many hindrances.  
I will not say to you that I present you with the fruits of idle hours, but of the best hours that ever I spent. For it hath set more gladness in my heart than when the Corn, and wine and oil increased.  
It may be that the reverend Clergy will be offended with me, for presuming to take upon me to descant on Scriptures. I humbly beg their pardons. Yet I hope I have not abused any text that I have insisted on. But kept close to the matter of it, without making any vain fictions and truly I had scarce any book but the bible. And I was without that too, until I complained of it, as one of my greatest wants for my spiritual refreshment to a very good Lady Madam Scawen who presently sent me a very good Bible. And I was beholding to Mr Stretch the Minister of the King's Bench, which really is a very civil person to prisoners doing them any good offices that lies in his power; he lent me also Doctor Featleys' Sermons. And from thence as in my daily practice, and observations, as my fancy led me, I took some things to meditate on for my divertisement. The which I hope they will charitably censure these weak exercises, and accept them not as coming from a college, but a Prison. I have much hopes of their favours, for I have communicated some of these to several good Divines, from whom I have had good encouragement, which I shall ever most thankfully acknowledge.  
I believe, that there be some that will tax me for too much boldness for coming forth in print, And condemn these as weak and indigested. I am sensible enough of the weakness of them, and therefore they may save that Labour. But should I be without reproof, I should far much better, than many far my betters, who cannot escape the tongues of such carping Zoilus', who have only wit to censure, and not to amend, and think nothing well done, because they do it not, yet will quarrel at the private divertisements of a poor Prisoner.  
Should I to add to the heat of their fiery tongues burn these papers, or let them rot by me, I am sure it would do less good, than they will do now. For though they want the rethorical strains of great learning, yet they are the plain and harmless exercises of an old man a Prisoner, that may have the good hap to meet with more charitable and courteous persons, that will friendly accept them from a Prisoner under so long, and severe a Calamity.  
These Boanerges, or Sons of Thunder I shall not Court, but leave them to their carping dispositions. But you whose pious Charity will be pleased to take this little Babe into your hands, and despise it not, though born in a Prison. It speaks the language of the Scriptures. I have some eminent predecessors, and precedents even from Prisons, and I hope I do show the duty and honour, I have ever born to the doctrine and discipline of the Church of England, In which I was born and bread. And I have ever taken it to be my duty to defend it even in the worst of times to my irreparable ruin, as is too visible. Therefore I hope it will meet with more charitable, humble, and good dispositions, that will friendly accept of and charitably pass by a Prisoners failings. And if they may have the good fortune to find acceptance, It will give much satisfaction for the pains taken by  
Your hearty well wishing friend William Williams.  Psalm 32.11. Whoso putteth his trust in the Lord, mercy embraceth him on every side.  

INTRODUCTION. A Prisoners thanksgiving, that was by Habeas Corpus brought to the Chancery Bar (by one that he had trusted with his Estate) the first day of Trinity term, where having expressed himself, it moved so much pity, that it pleased God to raise to his assistance, Sir Francis Winnington, and Sir John King most effectually to plead his cause, without ever being spoke to, or retained, merely out of principles of pity and charity, for which the Prisoner at his return to the Kings-Bench wrote as followeth.  

CAn I forget thy mercy's Lord, this day,  
So freely showed me? can I make delay  
To give thee praise oh Lord, 'twas by thy power  
I spoke so feelingly, that happy hour  
Wherein thou showd'st thy goodness, Lord, 'twas thine  
All powerful providence, not art of mine,  
Thou didst direct great council to assist  
A prisoner poor, encountered in the list  
With other council, whose design yet missed me.  
Lord, thou didst ' open their mouths for to assist me,  
For which I shall for ever praise thy name,  
Too weak my pen for to express the same.  
Accept dear Lord, my thankful heart's expression,  
That's filled with praises, let not the Transgression  
Of my frail heart, be hindrance to declare  
Thy prasses in a work so ploughs, rare  
That Lawyers which are men designed for hire  
Should freely speak, 'twas cause thou didst inspire  
Their hearts, and made them unto pity bend,  
To plead the cause of the poor innocent;  
That was by wiles and promises seduced,  
Being assured much good should be infused  
To me and mine. But, Lord, thou truly art  
The God of truth, and searcher of the heart.  
Thou knowst what cruel threats I have endured,  
That did expect relief, and be assured  
Of some kind usage, but that I must see  
My whole dependence is alone on thee.  
Thou hast still by thy own Almighty power  
Preserved me, to this very day and hour.  
Dear Lord, 'twas thou that dost provide for me  
Means of support, when pressed with misery.  
Continue still thy all preserving power,  
Leave me not helpless in my latest hour;  
A waken still in me a thankful heart,  
That from depending on thee, may not part,  
But let my hope be cast on thee that can  
Preserve me from the cruel rage of Man,  
Whose projects are to starve this body frail,  
Oh keep me, Lord, that they may not prevail.  
Thou that canst bless the little stock of meal  
And by thy power art able to reveal  
 providences, to preserve  
The weakest mortals, who in faith thee serve.  
Give me content, oh let me not repine  
At thy just deal for those sins of mine.  
Pardon my youthful wander, aged faults,  
My many weaknesses, and numerous halts,  
My crooked walks, oh let my sad condition  
Excite a pious grief, for my transgression  
Against thy sacred name, let me implore  
Thy heavenly grace to help me, oh restore  
To me an humble heart, that may submit  
To what thy knowing wisdom shall think fit  
For me poor mortal, who am weak and frail  
Whose only hopes in Christ is to prevail.  
Lord, wash me in his blood, then shall I be  
Though black by nature yet made white by thee,  
And though I am in Prison cast full low,  
Raise me again good God, and now bestow  
Thy abundant graces, let thy will be done  
I am resolved thy will to wait upon,  
Until my change shall come, do not delay  
That happy hour, that I may see the day  
When thou by death with'lt perfectly restore me,  
Lord, let a prisoners sighs now come before thee.   Psalm 86.17. 
Show some good token upon me for good, that they which hate me, may see it, and be ashamed: because thou Lord, hast helped me, and comforted me.   

Phillippians Chap. 4. v. 12. 
I know how to abound, and how to suffer need, etc.  

DIvinest Saint, there's few on Earth but thee  
Have learned contentment, a felicity  
Beyond all Arts; th'Apostle only can  
Approve himself the best contented Man.  
A Lesson which the World hath long forgot  
To set in practice, (Men affect it not)  
This is a thing unpleasing to their taste,  
Therefore in sad repining time they wast.   

Were Heavens delightful Paths beset with pleasures  
For Sense to revel in, our chiefest Treasures  
Would there be placed, our sensual hearts would be  
Too full of Joy, in Earth's felicity.  
Were there no rubs, nor stops to make us faint,  
Who would not be a Convert, and a Saint?  
The Crown of Glory, it would truly be,  
As the sweet Garlands of Eternity:  
But he that enters Heavenly bliss must wear,  
A Crown of Thorns  he attain that Sphere.   

Fond Worldlings are so vainly stuffed with Pride,  
That a Holy meekness can not abide,  
Unless it carry pleasing Pomp aloft;  
Religious Meekness, it is seldom l●●●  
Preaching of Patience, it doth Clearly Show,  
There are sublime enjoyments which we own  
Due reverence to, and yet we will not learn  
This holy Lesson, fully to discern  
Our vain repine at the Almighty's ways,  
Who can cast down, and in a moment raise  
Our better fortunes; But th'Apostle here  
Hath nobly learned, for to Sustain and bear  
His pinching wants, sans Murmur or grudge  
At his Corrections, that's a righteous Judge.   

He that hath bid us seek the heavenly glory,  
Tells us that earthly things are transitory;  
And after this vain Heathens, they do walk;  
And shall we Christians like the Heathens talk?  
And have no higher prospect, than this world  
For which the Angels from the heavens were hurled?  
Shall we lie grovelling in this lower Sphere  
Rolling ourselves in Carnal pleasures here,  
Making morality our only bliss  
And have no other thoughts of Heaven than this?  
Was it for this that the Eternal Lord  
Bowed the high Heavens, and came with free accord,  
Leaving his Throne, to bring us unto glory?  
Then let us cease from things so Transitory;  
And raise our souls unto sublimer Joys,  
For terrene pleasures are but foolish Toys.   

Vain is that Man, which foolishly doth wrap  
His chief felicity in nature's Lap;  
And all the dull enjoyments of his Sense  
With care, and vehement Toil, to fetch it thence:  
Tell me then man, That dost in pleasures swim,  
And hast the Cup with joy filled to the brim,  
Hast thou forgot thy God, thy Guide, thy Maker?  
Be not so stupid, lest thou be partaker  
Of endless Torments, should the Luminaries  
Lose their bright Lustres, that but seldom varies,  
And put on purple Robes, that Direful sight  
Of bleeding planets, would thy soul affright;  
Or if the air were turned into a stream  
Of blood, by that most powerful hand Supreme;  
Or could thy deafened ear, but hear the blast  
Of the last direful Trump, what speedy haste  
wouldst thou then make? & be most fully bend  
To check thy Fancy, posting to repent?  
Such things prodigious greatly would affright  
The Boldest profaner, that took delight  
In actions, Sacrilegeous wicked ways,  
The memory then of former sinful days  
Will fill the inner man, with dismal fright,  
And make the Sinner restless day, and night.  
Oh man remember this! 'Tis truth alas  
The enjoyments of the world are poor, and pass  
Away like empty air, there's no fruition,  
But Dives like, we make a sad petition.   

So doth the vain voluptuous worldling laugh  
At pure religion, and do vainly quaff,  
Scorning the poor oppressed Suffering Man,  
And show him all the envious spite they can;  
As though a pious life could not enjoy;  
Some tides of pleasure; but have still annoy  
His sight's bemisted, he can't yet descry  
The expected hopes of blessed eternity;  
He thinks himself Secure, and free from strife  
And knows no Joys, but in this present life.  
Did we but know, these rich rewards will fall  
On the religious poor, to crown them all,  
What happiness attendeth on the Motion  
Of suffering Saints, in their most pure devotion?  
'Twould make us triumph in our low estate,  
And be in love with hardship at this rate;  
Embracing poverty with a holy zeal,  
To enjoy that bliss, which we cannot reveal:  
'Twould comfort in our very low estate,  
When suffering by the cruel hand of fate  
From Men enraged, but we are still to learn  
The Apostles rule, to wait, till the return  
Which crowns, with bliss, the patiented waiting Soul,  
That still expects in faith without control.   

And yet how hardly do we grief endure,  
When smallest troubles do our souls inure  
With so much passion, that we hardly can,  
Bear the least brunt of Scorn! so vain is man;  
So senseless are we of God's greatest power,  
Forgetful wretches, that even every hour  
We censure, and accuse thy providence,  
Like faithless persons, scarce enriched with sense.   

Lord open our eyes, and make us plainly See  
The world's vain shows, Man's insufficiency,  
That empty air, the pleasures here below,  
Grant these Joys that from thy presence flow;  
To these good Lord let our hearts still stand bend,  
So shall we evermore have full content.    
Job 2.10. 
In all this did not Job Sin with his Lips.  

WAs Job a statue, was his noble heart  
Impenetrable? could not Sorrows Smart  
Move his so fixed Soul? nor yet Hells hate,  
His so Strong bulwark conscience penetrate?  
Behold him then, mirror of patience,  
Whom all the Legions could not fright him thence!   

Nay he could breathe divinity in groans,  
Make sighs his Music, and in sacred tones,  
Turn sorrows into Sermons, and his pains  
To pious Lectures, improving for gains  
Even saddest sufferings, and did never vent  
The least invective, from foul discontent.   

How wondrous is that soul, that is so fixed,  
Valiant in conflict, and indeed not mixed  
With base repine, but can bear his Cross,  
And triumph in it, without sense of loss!  
By suffering much humility hath taught  
Job patience, which with greatest care he sought  
So nobly that it doth adorn his parts,  
And makes them lovely, even beyond all arts;  
Like the Philosopher's stone, that with each touch  
Turns all to gold, and doth the same enrich;  
His very grave becomes a cabinet  
Of precious dust, the which is all beset  
With Saphires, like a Rock that stoutly braves  
The raging Sea, and its tempestuous Waves:  
Or like the morning Sun that shines most bright  
After it hath long been clouded from our sight,  
And more transparent shines to the eye of sense,  
Attracting many muddy vapours hence.  
For like the conquering palm, that still doth flourish  
Under its pressures, which do never nourish  
His spreading limbs, into a full extent  
Maugre the clogs, and weights of punishment.   

Job these are but poor emblems of thy glory,  
Like as the Lower Spheres are transitory,  
Hurried with storms, but still thy highborn soul,  
Like the true loadstone, points the heavenly pole,  
And turns no other way, although surrounded  
With griefs abounding, thou art not confounded.   

Tell me of stones, whose power can expel,  
Or herbs whose virtue, can indeed repel  
The dangerous Thunder, these are of small power,  
Compared with that most glorious sparkling Tower  
His soul, that these flames only purify  
And brighter made, so that we may descry  
Our conquering glory, o'er the world's great same  
In which he is a Mirror still the same.   

And shall our light afflictions temporary  
Discourage us from climbing to thy glory,  
And drive us from thy service, by such Toys  
As Satan casts to hinder purer Joys?  
No, thou dost screen thy love in discontent,  
And showest thy goodness in our punishment;  
And whilst we do most foolishly repine,  
And grumble at this providence of thine  
Being too much troubled, at the smallest cross  
Of wealth, and Honour, which do us so toss  
With vain affections, shows we cannot take  
Danger of sufferings for thy blessed sake;  
But are without true sense, of thy dear Love,  
And the Celestial Glory that's above,  
Treasured for us, our duty's to submit  
To thy blessed will, and all thou thinkest fit,  
Triumphing in our sufferings, not repine;  
Lord bow our wills unto that will of thine  
Eternal wisdom, Let it now be done  
To thine own Glory, and thine only Son.    
Romans 6.12. and part of 21. 
Let not Sin therefore reign in you mortal bodies, that you should obey in the Lusts thereof: For the end of these things are Death.  

THe Blessed, and Learned Apostle here doth Preach  
Atonement made by Christ, doth likewise teach  
Th'effects and pour of Baptism here on earth,  
Saying, we'er all Baptised into his Death,  
And shall be surely raised from the Grave,  
By th'only power of him that did us save  
From Death Eternal, and may freely walk  
In a renewed Life, and thereof talk  
To th' comfort of our Souls, and Crucify  
Our foul affections wherein we descry  
Sins large dominion in us, it's recoiled  
Which only Christ in Love did reconcile,  
Made us alive to God by's intercession:  
Therefore, let sin not reign to the transgression  
Of Gods most Holy will, nor yet obey  
The raging Lusts thereof, which do bear sway  
Within our mortal bodies, while  breath,  
Remembering that the end thereof is Death.   

Who'll fancy such felicity on earth,  
Which quite expireth with this present breath,  
And the reward of Lusts will surely be  
Filled with horror, and calamity.   

Had we no hopes, and were our senses gone,  
Had we no thoughts of a Resurrection,  
To raise again decayed natures frame,  
To a more noble shape, than is the same,  
Then might we well thus drown ourselves in pleasure,  
And think on Heaven at our remotest leisure;  
Like Epicures Study, and still invent,  
New fashioned Luxury with an intent,  
For to be thought ingenious, Rich in Wit,  
And take felicity to revel in it.  
Thinking that all confusion would do well,  
And make no reckoning either of Heaven or Hell;  
But mingle all into a wild confusion,  
By making such Athistical conclusion:  
Yea, deem't no scandal for to be thus hurled  
To Blasphemy, as for to think the world  
Is without God; no, stop thy profane breath,  
Sins certain wages is eternal death.   

'Tis not the fear of death that takes thee hence,  
But the horror of a guilty conscience  
That doth affright thee: when the sting of death  
Seizeth our vital parts, and stops our breath,  
The memory of our sins doth smartly sting  
Awakened conscience; when we'er hover  
Over our Graves, where we must soon be laid,  
Then Hell and Judgement make us most afraid  
Who suffered sin to vaunt thus in our blood,  
Following our Lusts, and shunning what is good.   

Tell me O thou, who makest Earth thy Treasure,  
And wrapst thyself up in the softest pleasure;  
'Tis but a little Span before thine eyes,  
With age grown weak and weary, yea despise  
Such objects, when each tired limb doth crack  
With anguish of those pains, thy crimes did make,  
Which were th'officious instruments to act  
Sins fatal Scene, and following the tract  
Of Lusts, and Luxury, rev'ling with heat,  
That sets thy darling body in a sweat,  
Afflicts thee with the terrors of these fires,  
Which thou hast kindled with thy foul desires.  
Strictly examine now thyself, vain man,  
Whether these flattering false enjoyments can  
Restore thy soul, which they have stolen from Heaven  
Recover it again, and so make even  
That long and vast account, which heretofore,  
Thou hast laid by, and set it on the score  
Of thy blessed Saviour, stop, I say, bewail  
The memory of thy crimes, and so prevail  
To get that pardoning mercy, that doth heal  
All broken hearts that unto Christ appeal;  
Breathing such airs, whose Music soon would charm,  
Like David's Harp, 'twill drive away all harm;  
Still conscience cries, make Music to delight  
Th'Almighties ears, and bring thee to his sight.   

Where are those fond diversions, that did take  
Up thy vain thoughts, and did as shadows make  
A transcient splendour, which proved little gain  
It could not bribe thy pardon, nor obtain  
The least reprieve to keep thee from the Grave,  
Or be a means at all thy soul to save.   

See ye blind Lovers, of this Mass of Clay,  
How quickly your enjoymonts fade away,  
Being built on such Foundations, which do slide  
And turn to Rubbish, it will not abide  
Your vain felicities, they have no power  
For to secure you in the latest hour.  
Yea, that impartial Conqueror, pale Death  
Will seize your Vitals, and stop your Breath:  
Such as delight in pleasures, live in flame,  
And Death will bring them Torments, Hell, and Shame  
All that now spurn at Virtue, and it Scoff,  
Following vain pleasures, and the Lusts thereof.   

Bewitching World, thou, thou betrayest our sense,  
And smoothly wheels us to impenitence,  
Making transitory pleasures our delight,  
And through dark mists, leads to Eternal night.  
Yet we embrace, and hug the ways of Sin,  
And with a pleasing madness live therein;  
Stopping our ears to the proffers of thy Love,  
The which would raise us to the joys above,  
Wildly we follow the dictates of sense;  
And all those vile affections flowing thence.   

Pity, O Lord, our Captived natures frail,  
And give us such desires as may prevail  
Over our Lusts, that our whole Souls may be,  
Breathe in perfect long after thee,  
With holy fervency, whilst we have breath,  
Knowing that sins reward is certain Death.    
Matthew 15.28. 
And he said unto her, O Woman great is thy Faith.  

Blessed importunity, that did procure  
An answer so Divine, that did assure  
The poor impatient woman in distress,  
Of'r Daughter's cure, to ease her heaviness.  
Her answers were so pious, they did tell  
That in her breast did all the graces dwell,  
And richer Mines of Treasure there were hid,  
Then Prince's Crowns, though highly valued.  
All Palestine, and the rich Spices there,  
Can not procure a Cordial, to compare  
With her strong Faith, which could have no denial,  
But cured two Souls, sans any further trial,  
Save only this, the great Physician saith  
Unto this suppliant, Great is thy Faith.  
Faith is a grace, prevails with God above  
To work great wonders, Mountains to remove,  
To smooth the rugged Ocean for a walk,  
For Peter's feet, to hear his Saviour talk.  
It stops the Mouths of Lions, quenches fire,  
'Twas the Centurians Faith got his desire:  
It cures the blind, in Scripture we may see,  
Our Saviour saith, Thy Faith hath saved thee.   

And yet the Faith, that hath such wonders wrought,  
Is quite neglected, and not duly sought,  
Some place the greatness of their Faith in merit,  
And think thereby Salvation to inherit:  
In many such a fancy there doth dwell,  
They think it Faith enough for to do well.   

But naked speculations will not get  
The heavenly prize, 'tis vanity to set  
Our faith in our abilities & parts;  
This is a doctrine which exceeds all arts.  
Faith's rooted in the soul most firm and stable,  
By which the Blessed Abraham was able,  
For to believe Gods promise true, to bless  
His seed, which God did count his righteousness;  
'Tis not profession only, that makes noise,  
But we must practise to obtain true Joys:  
Yet mourning souls, when they do sigh and groan,  
Are in the road unto the heavenly Throne:  
They'll find acceptance, pardon for defects,  
Which doth our souls, and bodies thus perplex.  
Let no one think he can take to much pain  
To be assured that Heaven he shall attain.  
Thus was the Woman's faith, so firmly fixed  
That it no show of doubting with it mixed,  
The echo of the voice did strait affright,  
Foul Satan from his hold, not all his might  
Can keep possession, when our Saviour Spoke,  
He quickly vanished, and did her for sake.   

Thus doth our faiths divine all powerful Charms,  
Drive Satan to his Chain, and free all harms,  
Raiseth immortal statues to the Just,  
And makes their names venerable in dust;  
Yea, seals their happiness for ever sure,  
With Christ in glory ever to endure.   

Thou sentest thy Son, O Lord, for us to Die,  
That we through him might gain eternity;  
Him whom thou hast advanced above all things,  
Is pleased to take us under his blessed wings;  
That we may have the triumphs of his Cross,  
And afterward, Heaven's glory without loss.  
Let not the miseries of our patures frail,  
Which first did with thy mercies rich prevail.  
Oh let not these which only know thy power,  
More zealously acknowledge thee each hour:  
Than we to whom thou manifests thy love,  
And claim an interest in thy Christ above.  
Let us be ever thankful for his merit,  
By whose rich bounty we shall sure inherit  
The heavenly mansions, and shall ever be  
Above faith there, to wait all times on thee:  
That faith with which thou givest every grace,  
And without which, we ne'er shall see thy face.  
Teach us thy mercies, so far to apply,  
That we neglect not means, and so rely  
On faith, that's dead, or on a vain dissembling,  
Salvation's had by faith, faith's Joined with trembling.    
John 12.2. 
But Lazarus was one of those that sat at the Table with him.  

DId Jews take Council for to put to Death  
The blessed Lord of Life, which gave them breath?  
Was he ware of their most barbarous talk,  
That openly with them he would not walk?  
But came to Bethani where Lazarus lay,  
And there he freely Supped, and made some stay,  
Where Martha ferved, as well as she was able,  
And Lazarus one of them that sat at Table.   

Can Lazarus eat, and did his stomach crave,  
That was so lately risen from the Grave?  
Is his late Tomb a Table, now his dress  
That bond his head, his Napkin at that Mess?  
He that but now feasted the worms for meat,  
Doth feast himself, and with the Living eat.  
The Mercies of our God's above all things,  
He sets at Table with the King of Kings.   

There hath been some, all liveless pall stretched out  
For Coffin, until others went about  
To tin that spark of life that close lay hid,  
As glimmering in the heart not wholly dead.  
And by endeavours have called back that heat,  
Which hath enabled them again to eat.  
But here 'twas otherwise with Lazarus  
As Holy Writings testify to us;  
He's raised from real death, yet Martha cried,  
Lord, if thou hadst been here, he had not died.   

Behold, him now as risen from his bed,  
All flesh and life, no whit disfigured,  
Perfect, and whole, really rendered able,  
To feast himself with joy at the same table  
Where his redeemer supped, a blessed feast,  
Where Lazarus is admitted to be Guest!  
He's thronged with multitudes, aged, and younger,  
Which came to be spectators of the wonder;  
Yet would not believe the power that wrought it,  
But wickedly opposed, and never sought it.  
Thy thought of heaven on earth, enriched with treasures,  
Elysian fields, or such like feigned pleasures.   

Restored Lazarus though thou hast new breath,  
There is a time will bring a second death:  
Yet thou art happy in the sacred story,  
Enriched with that entitles thee to glory.  
A happiness indeed beyond expression,  
Death will thee bring unto the full possession  
Of the blessed Mansions, with the Saints in bliss,  
Where Angels Sing and every Comfort is.  
Come, tell me Lazarus, didst thou e'er believe  
T'enjoy the world again, and to receive  
Thy rise from grave, before the general day,  
And grand assize, which we must obey,  
Thy sisters doubted it, but yet did see  
This miracle of mercy showed to thee,  
Who wilt so walk, and be a great adorer  
Of breath divine, That was thy great restorer.   

What numbers of expiring souls are frighted;  
At the horror of those crimes, that once delighted  
Their sensual appetites? (The dying man)  
Scared with his pains would leng then out his Span,  
And gladly turn their late profaner airs  
To penitential sighs, and earnest prayers;  
New tune their lives into most pious strains,  
And be sufficient gainers for their pains.   

He that defers it to the latest hour  
Shall find his weakness, will not have the power  
And vigour of that zeal, that should invoke  
Mercy divine, for to remove the Yoke  
Of sin, that doth so heavy on us lie,  
And so benumbs us that we can't descry  
Our sins aright, the which we must confess  
With truth of heart, and humble holiness;  
Therefore, we should make use of strength and parts  
To invocate that God, which searches hearts,  
And though his Judgements high are and sublime,  
He saith to wand'ring sinners, at what time  
You shall repent indeed, and humbly mourn,  
I'll meet you, (if with faith) you do return.  
And he whose piety hath any taste  
Of heavenly Joys, will never vainly waste  
His precious time, nor no more fond range,  
But long, and be ambitious of his change.   

Lord, it was thy Almighty power did save  
Good Lazarm being carried to his grave,  
Returned him Living. IT was thy love divine  
That made thy Almightiness, so far to shine,  
And made thee to discover that great power,  
Which can raise mortals, every day and hour.  
Oh let thy grace concur in me, to raise,  
And to reform my soul, that all my days  
I may improve endeavours to fulfil  
Thy pious precepts, and perform thy will  
Which bind my conscience, dear Christ, do this rather  
By that dear love, which drew thee from thy father,   

To save lost Man, let th'Scepter of thy word  
Have influence on me, that may afford  
All spiritual comfort, which may ne'er departed  
From me, but live for ever in my heart,  
That I may live a Life of Joy and bliss,  
'Mongst the blessed Saints in perfect happiness,  
Where nothing else but Sin can shut me out,  
Lord, grant thy mercy, than I shall not doubt.    
Genesis 2.8. 
And the Lord God Planted a Garden Eastward in Eden.  

WAS God a Planter? Did he thus take pain  
So early for us, with some hopes to gain  
Our Souls Immortal? how hath poor vain Man  
Fancied some other place? tell me, who can?  
Where was the Garden placed? Leave thy vain quest,  
It was in Eden Eastward, be at rest.   

See, how ambitious Mortals; here are tossed  
With nice inquiries, since Old Adam lost,  
That there was such a place, we need not doubt it,  
Our Parents sinned, and therefore went without it:  
So quickly doth our sin blast our enjoyment,  
Man walked, and viewed, and lost it in a moment;  
Was suddenly expelled, the rising Sun  
But newly warmed the Earth, Man's Joys were done.  
This Ball was withered, into a dry complexion,  
And Man depressed to servile base subjection:  
The Heavens scarce seated well in their right Orb,  
By Pride the Angels fell, that did disturb  
The frame Divine, and the base Serpent's breath  
Cast out contagion over all the Earth,   

In that sweet Paradise epitomised  
For its rare fragrancy, was Man surprised,  
Shut out, excluded from those purer smells  
Of new created flowers, took his farewells:  
Thus man being stripped of his most glorious prize,  
By that foul friend the father of all lies;  
He takes the figtree, for his last retreat,  
His leaves for clothing, and his fruit for meat.  
How perfectly, hath Adam's issue spent  
Their vain desires, and their affections bend  
On fond felicities, and gainless Toys,  
Selling Heavens Paradise, and all its Joys!  
Covetous man dotes on his god of gold,  
As though there were no other to behold  
Counts his chief happiness is only there,  
Though stamped in hell itself, and if it were  
The Image of the beast, it will not deter  
Man from it, But he'll be competitor  
With Prince of darkness, for some glorious Toy  
Of Terrene pomp, slighting his chiefest Joy;  
Makes wantonness his heaven, and carnal pleasures  
His chief divinity, wanting right measures  
In this his choice, But he will quickly find  
These upstart lights, but darkness to his mind  
Sent by the King of darkness, in derision  
To cast affronts, and puzzle our religion;  
Eclipse the Gospel by their vain pretences  
To bleer our eyes, and to benight our senses.  
When they pretend to  us with more skill,  
They strip us of our clothing at their will.  
They'd shut us out of heaven, I'd rather be  
For ever blind, than by their balm to see  
Of Satan's making, nor yet be partaker  
Of such a lesson to distrust my Maker.   

So miserably are we by frailties tossed,  
Not only Paradise, but Heaven is lost.  
We loof not only pleasures here below,  
But joys divine, which thou wilt sure bestow  
On us poor Mortals, he that then was chief  
Monarch of the whole world, doth now with grief  
Groan under his great burden, and doth fly  
Amongst the shades in sad obscurity.  
We might even all have been, for ever cast  
Out of God's sight, but he that's first, and last  
Breathed a new life into our ' clipsed state,  
By his prevailing merits, and he sat  
A mediator for our bold transgression.  
Lord, grant in mercy we may have possession  
Of Heaven, and heavenly Joys, disdain the Dross  
Of pleasures, and indeed may fear the loss,  
Of our poor souls; that when we do expire  
We may be carried to the heavenly Choir,  
Into that paradise, that never fades,  
To sit for ever in celestial shades.    
Luke 10.25. 
And behold, a certain Lawyer stood up and tempted him, saying, Master, what shall I do to Inherit Eternal Life.  

BEhold, Christ's mission he doth freely send  
His chosen seventy for this blessed end,  
To preach the Gospel, and he doth admonish  
Them to have humble hearts, and not astonish  
His zealous ones, that do desire to learn  
The mysteries of faith, and would discern  
The way unto salvation, by such guide,  
Not following the over active pride  
Of fond Enthusiasts, and their bold intent,  
That skip so fast, and run before they're sent.  
No, God's the God of order, law and right,  
As the lawyer here observes, at the first sight  
His faith was quick, ingenious, bold and rife,  
What shall I do to attain eternal life.   

'Twas the best query, that ever he made,  
It gained him more, than all his pleading trade  
Can ever get him, he was bid to look  
Into the law, for fear that he mistook.  
'Twas no disgrace to follow such a suit,  
As did concern his soul, had he been mute,  
Then he had missed the time for to inquire  
The way to bliss, which was his chief desire.   

This was the highest cause, he'ere could plead,  
'Twas for himself, God's spirit did him lead  
To make that happy question in such sort,  
For he had never read of a report  
Given in this case, no, not, in all his reading  
Of judged cases, 'twas not his learned breeding.  
Philosophy indeed doth reach no higher,  
Than moral virtue, it doth not inspire  
The spirit of grace, 'tis that which works by love,  
That doth acquaint us with the joys above.  
'Twas this inspired our Lawyer to this task,  
To run to Christ, and him so boldly ask.  
'Twas now high time indeed for him to run  
To move this question, or he'd been undone;  
For he had been retained too long to plead  
In others causes, leaving his own in dread.  
He almost had forgot his better part,  
I mean his soul, which pricked him to the heart,  
And it did all his vital senses seize,  
Which made him strongly plead for writ of ease.   

How natural are inquiries after bliss?  
Even pagans study it darkly, and amiss;  
The joys they fancy, Paradise will yield  
Are mere Chimeras, their Elysian field  
Of carnal pleasures filled, are thought to be,  
Which they affect as their felicity.   

But it's the  sense of a good mind  
Full fraught with virtue, carefully to find  
Something above the world, therefore, how vain  
Are worldlings, which so foolishly take pain,  
Making their chief inquiries, but for dross,  
Vexatious vanities, subject to loss  
Without a holy care! this Lawyer, wise  
Makes right enquiry, and demands advice  
Of the best council, T'whom he doth resort,  
Even him that best can answer, and report.  
Some, Some, there are that only do inquire  
After good titles, make it their desire.  
'Tis there divinity, lead them that way,  
So they grow rich, they care not who decay:  
If they cant Rant, and swagger, cheat and prate,  
They'll sell eternity at any rate.  
So sadly do our vices drown religion;  
That to inquire of heaven, is held derision.  
There's no such airy questions in their books,  
It's trivial, of no worth, it will spoil their looks,  
And mar their pleading, yea their gain, that's chief,  
Have no such memorandum in their brief.   

Stop then vain Man, consider with thyself,  
Why dost thou covet to grasp so much pelf;  
It's not the flattering title of a name,  
Guilded with massey Gold, can keep thy shame  
From the Almighty's eyes, so full of light  
That do observe thy plead wrong or right,  
Plead like the Lawyer here for a possession:  
It's suitable to every Man's profession  
To plead for Heaven; The client must not leave  
That suit unfollowed, lest he doth deceive  
His Heaven born soul, for they must both appear  
Before one bar, in trembling, and in fear;  
There's no delay when called, no writ can move,  
Our day of hearing's fixed in Heaven above.   

Lord let us with delight approach to thee,  
Which art chief counsel in extremity,  
And not reflect on parts, demurs of wit,  
But eye that Throne, whereon indeed doth sit  
The Judge of all the Earth, from whose clear sight  
No flesh can hid itself, Let our delight  
Be to inquire thy ways, which chief tend  
To that true glory ne'er shall have an end.  
The Lawyers most importunate request,  
Let it with zeal even always warm our breast,  
And stir up in our hearts a holy strife,  
To get assurance of eternal life.    
John 11.36. 
Jesus Wept.  

STop! O my soul, and here behold and see,  
Thy Saviour sweet in his humanity!  
His passions did prevail, he could not keep  
His eyes of mercy dry, but soar did weep  
For Lazarus, and in him for us all  
That wrapped are, and involved in sin and thrall.   

Oh who can hear this, and yet have the power  
To hold his eyes from streaming out a shower  
Of tears? what frozen heart can choose but melt  
Into a flood of tears, if they e'er felt  
A touch of conscience, for those sins of theirs,  
And yet will not accompany his tears?   

Behold we see the marble hearted Jew,  
Censuring his grief, with malice to pursue  
Their envious taunts, corruption of their mind,  
And jeering said, can't he that cured the blind  
Keep Lazarus alive, do not deride,  
It was that God and Christ be glorified,  
And clearly did determine that vain strife,  
I am the Resurrection and the life.   

No wonder if they did refuse to be  
Mourners, which acted such a villainy,  
And had such small compassion on his grief,  
That were become his Murderers in chief,  
And opened that fountain stream of his dear blood,  
Which gushed out like water from a flood;  
Which still lies open, where we may have access  
To him by faith, and truth and holiness.   

And yet how many are there, that do bear  
Thy title, and boldly pretend to wear  
The livery of thy name, but do refuse  
The characters of thy Cross, and still are Jews.  
How coldly sure are they, stand thus affected  
That are not touched with grief, nor yet dejected  
For his harsh sufferings, at his latest breath,  
Which seems to be forgetful of his death.   

How richly are good Mary's tears requited,  
Which washed her Saviour's feet, which she delighted;  
Her eyes were moving baths, still running over  
To see his brim full drops, that did discover  
His love divine, which nothing could remove  
To show his power, his mercy, and his love.  
Whom Martha did dissuade for want of faith;  
Lazarus come forth, our blessed Saviour faith,  
Had Lazarus but known; what a rich prize  
He was esteemed in the Almighty's Eyes,  
He would have died and not repent  
To be thus buried, and so much lamented.  
Have such a mourner wait upon his pall  
Which is the Almighty Saviour, of us all.  
Divinest Saviour, thou didst weep for those  
That could not weep, nor yet fully disclose  
Their vile affections, it was sin that kept  
Them prisoners to their lusts, their senses slept.   

Thou pourest out thy tears, thy life and blood,  
And shall we not pour ours even in a flood,  
That fully should speak out, unfeigned sorrow  
For sin, and not defer it till the morrow.  
But we're so plunged in sin, and many fears,  
That we cannot accompany thy tears:  
It is to sad a walk for flesh and blood,  
Unless thy spirit lead us to what is good.  
Show us thy purer ways, lest we intrude,  
And give us hearts of pious gratitude,  
That we may glorify thy name with praise,  
For our redemption, and that all our days  
May be a thanks giving, not to say we slept,  
Remembering always, that our Jesus wept.    
Matth. 6.33. 
But seek ye first the Kingdom of God and his Righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you, etc.  

OUr blessed Redeemer doth continue here  
His precepts, teaching Gospel course to steer,  
Contained in his Sermon on the Mount,  
A heavenly subject worthy our account.  
But we poor wealking, an how frail are we,  
That's last in thought, which ought the first to be.  
Our duller parts are now so dead, and numb,  
All clogged with earthly cares, our tongues are dumb  
To make enquiry after thy purer ways,  
Which should express our duty and thy praise.   

Such loiterers are we Heaven ward, that we make  
Small speed, and have more mind, and care to take  
Our carnal considerations with us so,  
That we cannot effectually let go  
Our thoughts from sins but cause our Maker stay  
Our leisure, oh the wretched sad delay  
Of sinful flesh, that studies to provide  
Superfluous things for to abett our pride!  
Mean while our better parts lie to th' view  
Of Heavens great Eye, with whom we have to do.  
Such strangers are we to our souls concern,  
That we indeed done't in the least discern  
Thy love and favour to us, whence we miss  
These joys above, even Heavens eternal bliss.   

We gaze no higher, than the Lower sphere,  
Rolling in mere morality, whilst there,  
As though we had nothing beyond our breath  
To look for, when we're snatched away by death.  
What thoughts, ambitious do we ever carry  
For terrene Joys? how little for God's glory?  
Vain Jollities, and worldly pleasures swallow  
The thoughts of Heaven, not suffering us to follow  
Gods heavenly Precepts, we do sadly lie  
Dead in our thoughts of immortality.  
Vain man, what is't that thou dost sacrifice  
Thy idle thoughts unto, or wherein lies  
Thy chief felicity? The pagans can  
Fancy a bliss amongst the shades, vain Man,  
And place their trophies in their amorous walks,  
Where there ghosts revels, and their fancy talks  
Of pleasures, but can we, O Lord, forget  
Thy Kingdom, and not once look after it!  
He that profanely wanders, is a stranger  
To heavenly Joys, and sure is still in danger  
To lose that would enrich him beyond measure,  
With splendid glories, and with heavenly treasure.   

How wretched then, are they that so mistake,  
And for themselves no allegation make,  
But thrive in sin, and still the world do court,  
And with its fading glories make a sport,  
Exchanging a rich diadem of bliss  
For feigned pleasures that are sure amiss!  
Were the whole world a scene of choicest pleasures,  
Zeraglio of delights, were all the treasures  
Of the Arabian region made a field  
For man to revel in; these joys would yield  
But low fruitions, truly without thee  
Our God, which only makes frail Man to see,  
How he is kept in pleasures temporary,  
From an eternal weight of heavenly glory.   

And yet how many are there which would pawn,  
Their consciences, and eagerly do fawn  
Upon these vain allurements here below,  
Slighting heavens mercies, whilst they do bestow  
Their time, in some vain study to invent,  
New modes of wickedness, and with intent  
T'increase their credit in the world's account,  
And do not care how far they swell and mount  
Their store in sin, for their content to be  
Laborious in a sweet impiety.   

Are there no nobler ways to eternize  
Our memories, than thus to lose the prize,  
I mean of souls? it's savage cruelty  
Them to destroy to all eternity,  
For to espouse our names to foulest shame,  
And ever vainly glory in the same,  
Making a mock of sin, and lose all sense  
Of losing our religions reverence  
Unto our Maker, which makes no Man worse  
By serving him aright, with true remorse;  
But makes Men sweeter in a heavenly frame  
Of rich contentment, and doth breed no shame,  
But gain enlargement of his bounteous love,  
For which we own our praise to God above,  
That is the only giver of our bliss,  
And aught to have our humblest thankfulness.   

Lord, raise in us those aims that truly tend  
To heavenly joys, and let our cares most bend,  
Our thoughts that way, than we need not to fear  
Misfortunes cross, nor harms even when they're near.  
This is a policy that will non plus  
The poring worldling, held be baffled thus,  
And after generations they must yield,  
That pious policy shall win the field.  
How senseless of our chiefest good are we,  
That do prefer the world's felicity  
Before thy glory, and can spend in sin  
Our precious hours, which should indeed have been  
Devoted, in sincere returns to thee.  
Behold, in mercy Lord, how frail we be,  
That we account a little moment spent  
In serving thee, a tiresome punishment.  
So sottish are we in the ways of pleasure,  
That for to do thy will, we find no leisure.  
We mortgage our dear souls for vainest toys,  
And fond undervalue richest joys;  
Fading contentments, which we fancy here,  
We purchase at a rate extremely dear.   

Lord, raise our Heaven born souls that we may see  
Our vain delights in sin, and turn to thee  
By true repentance; give us grace to leave  
These low enjoyments, that in truth bereave  
Us of our purer Joys, O give content  
In stooping to thy holy regiment.  
Let our dear souls for ever more despise,  
The flatteries of the world with its disguise,  
And as our souls are made by, and for thee,  
So keep them Lord, to all eternity.  
Enable us to breath forth thy high praise,  
And give us of thy blessing all our days  
What ever we do receive, it is from thee,  
The fountain of all true felicity;  
Who only canst our precious souls advance  
To heavenly dwellings, Saints inheritance;  
To which we seek a promised access,  
Lord, grant thy Kingdom and thy righteousness.    
John 13.23. 
And there was Leaning on Jesus bosom one of his Disciples whom he loved. etc.  

HEre Christ's transcendent love to John is seen,  
Being admitted on his breast to lean;  
And as a bosom friend, whom Jesus loved,  
He took the boldness and was not reproved.  
How freely did he make his Saviour's breast  
His pillow, and the place of sweetest rest.   

Oh blessed Kindness! would not Monarches great  
Ambitious be of this, and leave their seat,  
And royal Canopies for to repose  
In such a bosom? as all wisdom knows  
The most ambitious souls can climb no higher,  
To better rest poor mortals can't aspire  
Then in that bosom, Saints Securest nest,  
Which is the eternal mansions of the blessed.   

What carping worldling can find out a treasure,  
To satiate himself with fuller pleasure?  
The amorous wanton would with speed forsake  
Admired beauty, if he might partake  
Of such a bed of spices, heed insist  
On Courtship to so fair an Amorist.   

Was not this happiness above the rest  
To have procedency in Jesus breast?  
A dignity might give him much delight  
To be accounted the chief favourite.  
How pleasingly doth John here lay his ear  
So close Christ heart, it did him greatly cheer,  
And raise such raptures in his longing breast,  
As well might rock him into sweetest rest;  
And make his dreams occasions for to raise  
His heart to joy and gladness, thanks and praise.   

Stop here my soul, behold, admire, and see  
The emblem of most true felicity,  
A perfect show of meekness, and of love,  
Mercies great type descending from above!  
See Christ upon his Cross, his arms extended,  
T'embrace lost Man, was his heart blood expended,  
To wash us from Our guilt of sin, and shame;  
Lord let me ever glorify his name,  
Repose myself on's breast the seat of love,  
And thereby have true comforts from above.   

Did Mary whose compassions quickly turned  
Into a flood of tears? Her grief so mourned.  
Had she been graced with so great a favour,  
As to lean on the bosom of our Saviour?  
Her eyes as living springs that sweetly meet,  
Her hairs to wipe her blessed Saviour's feet,  
Such grace, and privilege would even let out  
Her noblest blood, in passion it would spout  
Out into grateful streams; for such a price  
And blessed acquaintance, 'twould require her eyes  
That sent forth streams, yet it would make clean  
Her putrid soul, had she but leave to Lean;  
'Twould transport her in raptures of true mirth,  
For such a blessing to enjoy on earth.  
Which John enjoyed as a favour to him given,  
A blessed Emblem of the joys of Heaven.  
Did Peter give a beck, and did John ask?  
Who should commit that bold and bloody task?  
Did Christ make answer? did his God reply?  
O blessed condescension! that the high  
And the Almighty King should so submit  
To mortals, as to deign with him to sit  
And commune with them, o let mankind learn  
All humble meekness! and in truth discern  
This holy love of Christ to man on earth,  
And see how lovingly he invites new birth,  
To be born a new by faith and repentance;  
Such holy practice will his soul advance  
Into the bosom of God, do not delay  
Thy turning from the vain, and idle way  
Of sin, which causeth endless shame and death.  
Consider it ye mortals of the Earth,  
Who now carouse in sin and sport away,  
Thy blessed time of love by your delay.  
Be not bewitched with sin, return and blessed,  
Behold our Christ admits you to his feast.  
Oh let the endearments of a common sense,  
Of love and lively faith arise from thence;  
And let sweet raptures of a holy zeal  
Raise in my soul, such joys as may reveal  
My constant faith, and love to him alone,  
That is for ever seated in the Throne  
Of heavenly glory, Lord, do thou permit  
Me in his arms of love, and cause me sit  
Amongst the Saints above, which take delight  
To sing sweet Hallelujahs day and night,  
To that blessed choir good Lord in time unite me,  
And let thy praises ever more delight me.  
Then shall my longing soul have quiet rest  
In the bosom of that glory ever blest.    
Luke 19.9. 
This day is Salvation come to thy house.  

BEhold, our Jesus traveling for to gain  
Lost Man, and see with what a loving pain  
He passeth Jericho, after he'd wrought  
Such mighty works, and cured them all that sought  
To him in faith, of which Zacheus hearing,  
Hastening he climbs to see his Christ, not fearing,  
The publicans could hinder his good nature,  
His zeal being warm although but low in stature.  
He takes the Sicamore, as here we find,  
To raise his body equal with his mind.  
Well warmed with faith, and a desire to see  
His Lord and Christ, from branches of a Tree:  
Where being seen, and called, he made no stay,  
But with all Joy of heart, he did obey.  
His infant faith did soon break forth in action,  
And cheerfully he vowed satisfaction,  
And restitution; no Man did ever more  
Largely express his Love unto the poor,  
By all he did it truly demonstrate,  
That Christ assured to be with in his gate.   

'Twas time for him to haste, and not desist  
To entertain so merciful a guest;  
That did so passionately express his love,  
Calling Zacheus, from the Tree above.  
He leaves the branches, that did him advance,  
Prostrates himself with humble reverence:  
Had his low limbs been of a higher extent,  
He might have wanted that true zeal he meant.  
But being low in stature, high in grace,  
he's called to see his Christ, even face to face.   

Oh humble kindness of the King of glory!  
As it's recorded in the sacred story.  
See how coldly th'world doth entertain  
The Lord of life, which finds too much disdain.  
'Tis he invites who well could pay the cost,  
That came to seek, and save such as were lost.  
The Jew doth vainly look for his Redeemer  
To come in pomp, which shows he's an esteemer  
Of worldly majesty, but he's become  
A wand'ring vagrant till the day of doom.   

Stop, stop, ye glorious mortals, which do ride  
In golden Chariots, stuffed with carnal pride.  
See your Redeemer, a blessed precedent  
To true humility, with care repent;  
Place not felicity on Thrones of Gold,  
But on the Sceptre of God's word take hold;  
And if you'll climb, climb like Zacheus here,  
Not after pomp, but with an awful fear  
Cast down yourselves, even from the lofty Tree  
Of carnal Lusts; Hear Christ saith, come to me  
All that decline a Carnal conversation,  
To them he offers life, joy and salvation.   

Who would not welcome such a noble guest,  
And treat his Saviour at a Bounteous feast?  
And sacrifice even all with joy, and love,  
Sith every perfect gift is from above,  
And given by him, that can repay us double;  
Conferring perfect happiness for trouble.   

But there are some that think it to much charge,  
If vestry ornaments be something large,  
To express th'honour, dignity, and worth  
Of sacred things, and decently let forth,  
As late religious arts performed in order;  
They say that on Rome's Church we nearly boarder,  
If they see Gap, or Surplice, Hood, or Scarce,  
Like silly momes, they flout, and jeer and laugh;  
But such must know, uniess they will be fools,  
These are distinctions in the learned Schools.   

How happy was Zachem with the favour  
Of Christ his presence, whose perfumes did savour  
Of humility, in that he'd condescend,  
To come to sinners, as unto a friend,  
And be a guest unto such a kind of Man,  
As was a mere professed publican:  
Nor is his mercy shut up here alone,  
But it extends to all that sigh, and groan;  
Yea every household, that indeed doth clime  
And mounts by virtue surely shall see him:   

Hark, you that sacrifice your lives and blood,  
And with a hearful zeal, do fly from good,  
That foot the music of a vainer life,  
And with true virtues, ever are at strife,  
Strangers to God, his holy ordinance  
The precious sacraments, that sure advance  
The flight toward Heaven, and make thee see,  
Like good Zachem here as from a Tree  
Of grace, if this be planted in thy heart,  
Then Christ will be thy guest, and ne'er departed:  
If this be watered with repenting tears,  
Than it will bring forth fruit, in which appears  
A holy life, which will the comfort give,  
And in true Joys thou shalt for ever live,  
After thy body is by death mowed down,  
Thy soul shall have a precious heavenly crown.   

Oh Lord, we are as nothing in thy sight,  
'Tis thou haft raised us by thy power and might;  
And when the least desire we feel, or find  
To come to thee, 'tis thou that stirs the mind,  
And makes us climb, for we are low of stature,  
Lame, and decrepit, poor, weak things by nature,  
Unless we take advantage by the Tree  
Of faith, and holy life, we see not thee;  
And climb O Lord, we can't without thy grace  
Raise us O Lord, by it to see thy face:  
Infuse in us each holy good desire,  
Blow up in us a zeal as hot as fire.  
A zeal that may a doubtless warmth sure bring,  
Then shall we praise thee, and for ever sing  
Loud hallelujahs to thy blessed name,  
That art th'Almighty God, ever the same,  
Whose mercies condescend to every one,  
And gives assurance of salvation.    
Luke 9.57. 
Lord, I will follow thee wheresoever thou goest.  

BEhold, our Saviour here who doth reprove  
Revenging rashness, prompting peace and love,  
When his Apostles filled with desire  
To be revenged would set a Town on fire,  
And in that passion were so fully bend,  
They urged to Christ a former precedent:  
Saying, did not Elias do such things,  
As'tis recorded in the book of Kings;  
But Christ reproved them, with a serious frown,  
And pulled their high avenging spirits down.  
I came not to destroy men's lives, but save  
All such as in humility do crave:  
This heard, the scribe professeth without boast,  
Lord, I will follow thee where e'er thou goest,   

Oh blessed boldness in that resolution,  
A happy confidence to make intrusion  
Into such company, there's none can blame  
His passionate affection, it became  
Holy desires, which did indeed express,  
His fervent zeal to God, and holiness.   

The wondrous miracles which thus were wrought,  
Brought him to Christ, whom he with fervour sought  
That divine light, whose powerful influence  
Attracts all Eyes with holy reverence,  
And all in raptures, proud of company,  
That led him Heaven-ward in such Majesty.  
Thus came the scribe attendant for to be,  
Saying aloud, Lord, I will follow thee:  
Nor could his poverty stop his intention  
Of following Christ, he could have no prevention  
But suffer all the miseries, can attend  
So good a Master, that can him defend:  
In whose deep wants there is more fullness hid,  
Than Earth amounts unto, if valued.   

This scribe's a Copy, ought we not to write  
After this Jew, and yet how blinds our sight,  
We cannot see, our senses are bereaved  
Of the true light, our souls they are deceived,  
Else would we not suffer this publican  
Out strip us in our duty, ah vain Man!  
Where are thy thoughts, that thou dost thus despise  
That guide that leads to that blessed place; where lies  
All the hid treasures, which can be expressed  
Of Saints, and Angels in the heavenly rest.   

Were we to follow through a bed of flowers,  
Who would not run, who now his visage lours.  
The sensualist would walk, but that he scorns  
To prick his tender feet, amongst such Thorns,  
With prickles sharp, this rose is all surrounded,  
He cannot follow, that's with care confounded.  
Cares of this world, nor can the Epicure  
Fellow, cause abstinence he cannot endure,  
He cannot fast, this, this will spoil his mirth,  
And hinder his enjoyment on this Earth,  
Which prizeth pleasures, and at greatest cost  
Them to endulge, although at last he's tosh  
Into the Dungeon, 'mongst eternal pains,  
The just reward of his licentious strains.  
So hard it is for to correct our blood  
To leave the world, and follow that is good.  
The blandishments of sense invalids bliss,  
And robs us of the fruits of happiness.  
Fruits that attends endeavours, if we took  
A Serious prospect, and with care would look  
Into the ways of virtue, we might spy  
The sad effects of vain morality,  
Which are but tinkling Simbals to our ears,  
Though filled with music, it may end in tears.   

And yet how many are there that pretend  
To follow Christ, and will their ways amend;  
Yet still are strangers to his footsteps pure,  
Treading their own tracts, and can not endure  
Sound council, but do beat these paths anew  
Scarce ever trod, but lately with a crew  
Of confident assertors, that can find  
A nearer path, which more disturbs the mind  
In their blind zeals they do too boldly say,  
That th'holy Martyred father's mist the way.  
They think they have a nearer cut to Heaven,  
And that a better guide to them is given,  
Then Christ and his disciples, their new light,  
Indeed will lead them to eternal night.   

So various is their zeal, and given to change,  
Which make them wander, and most fond range  
To find fresh oil, for to inflame new light,  
Though meet impostures, yet they think them right;  
Scorn ancient footsteps, and approved form  
Of holy Church, which doth so much adorn  
The grandeur of true worship, but they'll find  
Meanders, and Euthusiasts still are blind,  
For in the darkness they do sadly grope,  
And for to find the door, they're sans all hope:  
Wanting good government to keep them in,  
From their blind zeal, the occasion of their sin.  
But hear the poor Man doth not make delay:  
To come to Christ, who is the persect way;  
His humble resolutions, he did press  
In begging confidence, he made address.  
How vile am I, O Lord, thou only knowst,  
Oh! I will follow thee where e'er thou goest.   

So raise our souls from off the world, O Lord,  
In seeking thee, we friendly may accord.  
Thou art ascended to thy heavenly Throne,  
Where all true joys are lodged in thee a loan.  
O draw our souls in raptures of thy love,  
And spiritual exhalations from above;  
That may enrich our souls, and make us be,  
True converts shunning sin, and following thee,  
Which art the only fountain from whence springs  
All streams of mercy, thou art King of Kings.  
Grant us admittance, for to wait on thee,  
Then shall our souls enjoy eternity.    

Sir Anthony Bateman being then a Prisoner in the House, lay the next Chamber to the Author, He having received the sad, and sudden news of the death of his beloved Daughter, which died the Tenth day of December last. It being the very day Twelve month, that her Mother the Lady Bateman died, and near about the same hour the day before. The deceased was much busied about thoughts of death, and writ her Will, and something about ordering her funeral, yet went to bed, Seemingly much grieved, and very p …. The Author to comfort him writ as followeth.  


SIR, Death hath surprised your Daughter, so that she  
Thereby's translated to eternity.  
Her virtues follow her, that golden Chain,  
Whose links are purest gold, doth still remain  
Unblemist, her pure soul, with joy to find  
A heavenly rest, her charitable mind  
Richly rewarded is with heavenly treasure,  
Her sorrows turned to joys, beyond all measure.  
Her mirth is endless, and she doth aspire,  
To sing sweet Anthems in the heavenly choir.   

Cease then your tears, and forbear thus to grieve,  
She's gone before, where death hath no reprieve.  
We all must follow her, no writ can move,  
Our day of hearing's fixed in heaven above;  
Where Angels can chant forth praises, and still sing  
Most divine Anthems to our God and King.  
I● which she bears apart (I hope) on high,  
Where Saints are crowned with bliss eternally.    

An Elegy on the name and death of the virtnous Lady Martha Bateman, who departed this life the Tenth of Decemb. 1674.  

Most happy Saint, by the eternals will  
Amongst the Gods, where thou art ever still  
Ranked with the heavenly sitters, most sublime,  
To teach us mortals, that abuse our time  
Here in this vail of Earth, where we may see,  
As in thy mirror, how weak, and frail we be.   

But now a flower of a sweet fragrant smell  
Amongst the roses, anon the passing bell,  
Tolls the sad ditty of her last farewell,  
Even under the sore pangs of mortal death,  
Most willingly surrenders up her breath;  
Altering her earthly shape, she did lie down,  
Nature's frail case for a celestial Crown.    

Nature expostulating with death.  

Grim death! why dost thou aim thy fiery dart,  
In so direct a posture at my heart?  
Be not mistaken, My flesh is tender,  
And will not yet admit of a surrender  
Of my pure vitals, why so cruel bent,  
'gainst this afflicted family for thy rent?  
For to exact it the same day, o why so cruel?  
Might hot my dearest Mothers precious Jewel  
Be price enough, to stay thy angry fate  
But must pursue her issue with thy hate?  
And that same very Tenth day of December,  
Must our sad family with sobs remember.  
Ah is it so, be not in haste to kill  
My panting heart, O let me write my Will.  
Let me have nought to do but sigh, and die  
Then farewell mortal, come immortality.   

Into which joys no prying eye can peep,  
It is beyond our knowledge, and too deep  
To search into, o let's a while admire  
Her great perfections, that did thus inspire  
Her more diviner soul, that did prepare  
Her funeral, and friends with love, and care.  
Her earthly part she did, as sleep lay down,  
Her temporal for a Celestial Crown;  
So that henceforth it truly may be said,  
She is transplanted, rather than decayed.      

Meditations, written by William William's Gentleman, Prisoner in the King's Bench, Anno 1676.  
And in the sixty third year of his age.  
Numbers 27.16, 17. 
Let the Lord, the God of the spirits of all flesh, set a Man over the congregation. Which may go out before them, and which may go in before them, and which may lead them out, and which may bring them in; that the congregation of the Lord be not as sheep which have no shepherd.  

DId God command good Moses to ascend  
The Abarim mount, unto that very end  
To see the promised Land? did he not express,  
How that he sinned in the wilderness,  
At Meribab? was he denied possession  
Of Canan's land, for this his his foul trangression?  
The which he shall no sooner see, but die,  
Yet ceased he not unto the Lord to cry.  
Let God, the Lord of spirits continue on,  
A shepherd to the congregation.  
Did not the Lord soon grant to his request  
Behold, take Joshua my spirit's in his breast,  
But lay thine hands upon him, give him charge  
In presence of the people (not at large.)  
Set him before Eleazar the chief priest,  
He hath the Urim and Thummim thou seest:  
Let all go in, and out at his sole word,  
Yea all the congregation of the Lord.  
Moses obeys, sets Joshua in their sight,  
Lays on his hands with reverence and might.   

Behold, this mission did the Lord want power  
To send out Joshuah, at that very hour.  
Needed he the help of Moses to complete,  
A holy priesthood to succeed his feat?  
Needed he the hands of Moses to confirm  
The blessed orders and decrees of Heaven?  
No, 'twas his wisdom to make all to know;  
That God's the God of order, to which we own  
All possible obedience, with submission,  
To his blessed precepts, taking a commission,  
And run not on, in a furious presumption,  
Scorning all order and the holy unction.   

Did not this type in Meses represent  
Christ's mission to his holy Government  
Of his succeeding Church, T'adorn the Station;  
When Christ bids go, and preach to every Nation,  
His Apostles boldly went, and not till then,  
They were not made the blessed fishers of Men.   

Then stop, thou bold Intruder, Learn and hark,  
Was not Uzzah struck for touching the Ark  
Without a Call, Let his Example learn  
The meekness, that thou may'st truly discern  
The way of order, continued in all ages,  
And is from thence descended to the sages,  
And Governors of the Church, it doth preserve  
A holy Ministry, faithfully to serve  
As Ministering spirits, truly to represent  
Our daily wants, and help us to repent  
And bewail the times, never be at rest  
Still praying to send laborers in the harvest.   

No prayers so needful in this presumptuous age,  
When persons run like players on a stage;  
Venting their fancies, their vain shapes and guise,  
Their fond delusions, which amuse the wise;  
Who would not labour, and devoutly pray  
To be freed from these blind leaders astray,  
Which proudly prattle of their gifts and vaunt  
Their inward calls, I compassionate their want  
Of sober meekness by which they may be,  
Instructed in the rules of Modesty.   

Who can be hold this Garden become a field  
For beasts to revel in, and their hearts not yield  
Compassionate tears, to see foxes pray  
On silly lambs, and bear their souls away  
To wild, and strange delusions by their prate,  
And bold assertions do insinuate.   

How vainly do they thus pretend new light,  
When they do strip their mother of her right,  
And cry up the rash fancies of their brain,  
Beyond the decent holy gospel strain.  
Can there be want of Laborers in this rout?  
No, no, there are too many go about,  
To lead away souls by their vain delusion,  
Thinking it zeal to bring in such confusion;  
Where sheep become shepherds, their brains are sickle,  
Presumptuously handling the Gospel's sickle,  
Yea, he that can but talk in a Gospel phrase,  
Doth think himself inspired, but doth not pause  
On the hid mysteries contained therein,  
But vomits forth his ignorance and sin,  
And climbs a pulpit in some public heard  
And there to vent his folly is not afeared.   

He that doth love his Saviour will delight  
To honour his spouse, the Church, and in her right  
Lay out his interest, firmly to maintain  
Her reverence, and esteem, is all his aim,  
And triumph in the felicity of her health,  
And beg the perpetuity of her wealth;  
In whose arms alone he can be mounted high,  
Into the Throne of blessed eternity.  
He deserveth not to be sharer in bliss,  
That eternal harvest of true happiness,  
That will not labour and devoutly pray  
To send forth Laborers in that needful day,  
And shepherds, that most faithfully will feed  
Their flocks, and keep them in the time of need,  
And save them from those wolves that would devour  
Their harmless lambs, if gotten in their power.   

Oh Lord, who can behold this bleeding spouse,  
And not shed tears, and even with fervour rouse  
His very soul, in contemplation  
Of this afflicted Church and Nation.  
She that not long since, was but little less,  
Than a Princess amongst the provinces  
Is become a widow, weeps sore all night,  
And is bereaved of comfort, and her right.  
Her lovers have forsaken her in such sort,  
That many flout, few yield her true comfort.  
She once, was worthy the kisses of his love,  
That prized her highly as a Queen above.  
And at her glory did no whit repine,  
But magnified her love better than wine.  
But now she's black, but comely to the view  
Of Heaven, though her locks are werted with the diew;  
Yet is continued that sweeter breath;  
Tell me O thou, who my soul so loveth,  
Where thou feedest, and sets thy flocks to rest,  
Besides the shepherd's Tents, they are safe and blessed.   

Such a sweet dialogue the Church once had,  
Though now grown pale with grief, heavy and sad;  
Yet is she still beloved, though in mourning dress,  
The time will come to cast of heavyness.  
Oh! let the accustomed mercies of thy love,  
Protect thy Church from rapine, and remove  
Those Boars, and Foxes, that strive to devour  
Thy vine, Oh keep it by thy Almighty power  
From envious storms, for thou hast placed it high,  
Where all may see it, and with hearts apply.  
Oh! let's approach to it, not turned away  
By such blind guides, that vainly go astray.  
Let ne'er thy sacred Oracles want power,  
Nor priest to lead us, in our latest hour.  
Nor let the gladsome tidings of our peace  
Be turned to silence, Oh! let it never cease  
Thy holy Ministry, but, O Lord, supply  
Their defects, pardon the wild vanity,  
And ignorant fantastic zeal of those;  
That thus abuse thy Church and are thy foes.  
Give them true light, thy mercies quite dispel,  
That darkness which will lead them down to Hell.  
Let us rejoice in the Mercies of his love,  
In sending us his Son, which from above  
Hast left a holy Ministry to be our guide.  
Oh keep us safe that we may never slide  
Into such paths, that may lead us astray,  
But follow our shepherds in a holy way;  
And from a peevish zeal, good Lord, restore us,  
And grant us shepherds, that may go before us.    
Matthew 5.8. 
Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God etc.  

GOd of his abundant love, did send his Son  
Into the world, to preach salvation  
Upon the mount, whereon he freely taught  
His blessed precepts, unto all that sought  
To him in faith, and obedience to his will,  
Minding his holy precepts to fulfil.  
He pronounced nine blessings with their recompense,  
If we observe them with true reverence,  
And keep his holy Laws, not from it start,  
Surely blessed are they, are pure in heart.   

Who would not then strive earnest to be pure,  
See David's fervent zeal for to assure  
His panting soul, which longed full sore to find,  
A place of rest for his so grieved mind.  
To attain the which, he passionately cried,  
Lord, from thy precepts let me never slide.  
That he would cleanse his heart, he might inherit  
The gifts, and graces of his holy spirit.   

Hath piety such a reward, no disgrace?  
Shall the pure in heart behold him face to face?  
And with blessed spirits ever happy reign  
In endless glory, and true peace obtain.  
Who will not labour to imitate the just,  
Who have such heavenly visions in their dust.   

Shall the treacherous vanities we enjoy  
Steal off our hearts, and rob us of true joy,  
And bereave us of the glory of that light,  
Which is of endless splendour, power, and might;  
So strengthen me, That I may rather choose  
The divine light, and all false lights refuse.   

A sight the which in glory doth surpass,  
All triumphs in the world that ever was.  
What splenders are there, compared to this,  
It is an empty air, Nothing less;  
A sight which no eye ever saw, but may  
If the world's objects lead them not astray,  
After the harmony of deluding Charms,  
Which lulls frail flesh a sleep in nature's arms.   

The Idea of this sight cannot be drawn  
In lively colours, lest we do profane;  
The speculations of the brain can never  
Portrait him truly, that doth live for ever.  
Then cease thy fancy, and forbear thy art,  
His liveless Character is in thy heart.   

The divine Traveller, though but newly there,  
Can give no full description of that sphere.  
Scripture Characters doth but even allude,  
And set it forth but in similitude.  
And show, how infinitely transcendent  
Is that glory, which is omnipotent.   

Were diamonds all joined, to make one splendour,  
They were but Atoms to the Sun, not render  
The smallest glimpse, to that luminary  
Of life and heat, the which by motions vary,  
And feed a throng of sparkling stars, that are  
Inlivened with his light, which from a far  
We do behold, each one in's proper place,  
How dim's it to the glory of thy face.   

Who then would thus so vainly sacrifies  
Himself to sin; and so bewreave his eyes  
Of that blessed vision, and the chiefest good,  
To gratify his wild extravagant blood,  
And revel in delights of sin and shame,  
And stifle his nobler passions, and that flame  
Of holy zeal, that should chief delight us:  
To the triumphs of thy bliss, Good Lord unite us.   

He that would dwell amongst those sacred fires,  
And holy spirits, by whose true light inspires  
The mind with holy motions, he must turn  
His heart unto an altar, and their bourn  
The holy sacrifice of penitence,  
And lively faith, with all due reverence,  
And humbleness of heart, which will do well,  
For the graces of God's spirit there do dwell.  
The heart that mourns within us, there must be  
The only seat of life, and love to thee.  
The graces of the spirit there must rest,  
And be so firmly fixed in the breast.  
Naturalists, do well observe, that to the heart  
Is first given life, than death it doth them part.   

Oh Lord, our hearts are frail, there cannot be  
Strength to support, unless it come from thee:  
Give thy supporting graces, we are weak;  
Touch thou our hearts and tongues, that we may speak  
To the glory of thy name, and so despise  
The vanities of the world, with its disguise.  
O raise our contemplations to thy glory,  
Cast down our vain affections transitory;  
That proudly do oppose itself in error,  
Correct our thoughts, oh let it be a terror  
Unto our hearts, and make us plainly see  
The horror of our crimes, Lord against thee.  
Sanctify to thyself our whole devotion,  
That we live holy lives in godly motion.  
Oh let our chiefest contemplations raise,  
A holy zeal in us to give thee praise,  
Let it be our delight to do thy will,  
And all thy holy precepts to fulfil  
That when we shall lay down our lives in dust,  
We may be glorified with the Just.  
And sweetly seated in that blessed place.  
Where we may all behold thee face to face.    
Daniel 12.3. 
And they that be wise shall shine as the Brightness of the firmament and they that turn many to Righteousness as the Stars for ever and ever.  

DId Michael th'archangel not stir thence,  
But stood most valiant, like a mighty prince,  
To assist God's people in their times of trouble,  
And said their sufferings would be requited double.  
If that their hearts would be to wisdom bend,  
Should shine for ever in the firmament,  
And such as by their pious pains do turn  
Others from sin, so that they sigh, and mourn  
Shall shine as stars, and be for ever blest  
With glory, in everlasting rest.   

Who then would not be studious for to gain  
True knowledge, that he might thereby attain  
Such promised glory, and become most pure,  
Holy, Celestial, to be ever sure  
To shine forth, as the Sun, oh blessed sight!  
In whose most glorious rays is the chief light:  
Where mans diviner part not only lives,  
As living splendour, it for ever gives  
Transcending beams of lustre, which shall shine  
In the imperial heavens, most divine,  
And there be ever fixed, and never sever,  
But shine as stars for ever, and for ever.  
Look here, ye blind admirers of Earth's bubble,  
A robe of purple, or some glorious trouble,  
A diadem of honour in this Earth,  
Which brings forth care, small comfort after death.  
So vain is Man, that fond doth desire  
Such trifling honours, that do soon expire;  
Which carrieth not that light will give access,  
And by its virtue turn to righteousness,  
Which would make them Stars, but some desire t'enjoy  
Their fading pleasures, such a splendid toy.   

Hear this all ye, that can on shadows dote,  
And you that can to Transitory pomp devote  
Your souls, and care not for immortal bliss,  
And think there is no other Heaven but this.  
Sublunary pleasures, couldst thou call down  
A robe of morning Stars to deck thee round.  
Such Royal luminaries it would be  
But gloomy splendour, a bright obscurity  
Compared to that lustre, 'Twill shine but faint,  
Not like that glory, that enwraps a Saint.  
That azure spangled Heaven, which we do see,  
Where the magazine of Stars so fixed be,  
Which stocks the world with light, it's but a vail  
Or curtain drawn, to keep our senses frail,  
From over prying into th'almighties Throne,  
Where only is felicity alone.  
Which no eye ever saw, nor yet shall see,  
The hidden glories of eternity.  
Tombs are but wardrobes, or Chambers of death,  
Hunged with their winding sheets beneath the Earth,  
Where we shall all after this life be laid,  
Till to our fathers we be gathered.   

If that same heavenly glimpse, which did appear  
Upon the mount, did the disciples cheer,  
Which made them wish, that they might there straight raise  
Three Tabernacles to eternal praise,  
And there abide. Oh if that beauty then  
Revealed from Heaven unto these blessed Men  
Was so Transcendent, how will th'enjoyment be!  
Oh ravish us with desires, that we may see  
Where Christ is gone before, 'twas the Martyr's Joy  
Amid their tortures, valued as a toy,  
Though their limbs were broken, and mangled,  
Yet they were sure their hairs were numbered.   

If Peter's shadow had that healing power  
To cure the sick, which applied to him each hour,  
How powerful is that shining glory then,  
Which doth such wonders for the Sons of Men.  
Let no one doubt, nor be at any strife,  
If once his name be in the book of life.  
Though his earthly Tabernacle be laid down,  
Yet he shall have an everlasting Crown  
Of endless glory, beyond expression far,  
And shine in Heaven like a glorious Star.  
Who is it would not slight, and disregard  
The vanities of this life for such reward,  
And welcome poverty with all its chains,  
And triumph in the assurance of such gains.  
As that nobly divine transcendent love,  
That is prepared in the Heavens above,  
Where there's assurance for to live for ever,  
And sweetly rest in the bosom of the father.   

Thou didst create us Lord, for to serve thee,  
But by our frailties we're become to be  
For ever lost. But thou of thy great love,  
Didst restore us to true joys above  
Oh fill us with meditations of thy praise,  
Which may elevate our spirits all our days;  
That we may walk in some measure divine,  
That by a holy practice we may shine,  
As Stars in the lower orb, and express that light,  
We have by faith received by thy might,  
And power divine, Oh let our hearts be ever  
Filled with praises, and be silent never;  
And still express our thanks and not have done,  
Until we shine in brightness, like the Sun,  
And from a holy walking never sever  
But shine as Stars for ever and for ever.    
Matthew 2.10. 
And when they saw the Star they Rejoiced with exceeding great Joy.  

I'm still surprised with wonder, at the love  
Of our offended God, that from above  
Should show his Star to wise men of the Fast,  
Which welcomed such an object, did not rest,  
But gave it reverence, with an holy fear,  
They well knowing the motions of the sphere.  
That blessed object, that unwanted Star,  
Which they did with much joy behold, from far  
And there was kindled in them a desire  
To post unto Jerusalem, to inquire,  
Where's he that is born King, 've seen his Star,  
To worship him with joy, are come from far?  
Herod seemed troubled at such sudden news,  
And all the congregation of the Jews;  
On went these Men, the Star being still their guide  
It rested where the blessed Babe was laid;  
There they rejoice, no frights did them annoy,  
Seeing the Star, they had exceeding joy.   

Rouse then my soul, in a holy contemplation  
Of this bright Star whose radiant beams and motion  
Did quickly spread itself Judea over,  
It's powerful influence did soon discover  
Divine effects, that it did fully tend  
To be a type of mercy, to the end  
To save lost Man, oh beauteous Star of light,  
The effects whereof will keep us from that night  
Of utter darkness, in which we all lay hid,  
And by its mercy shall be glorified!   

Had the ancients known this Stared would raise their sense  
And enrich their genius with due reverence.  
This sparkling splendour did surely outshine  
The knowledge of that age, it was divine.  
'Twas such a lustre, That it did adorn  
The orb, beyond the glory of the morn.  
That powerful luminary that directeth time,  
That blessed morning Star, shined more divine,  
And proved a happy guide, them safe to bring,  
With holy offerings unto Christ their King.  
And in a joint harmony with one voice,  
They having seen the Star did much rejoice.   

See how these pagans footed it, what pain  
They took in travel for that happy gain  
And blessed fruition of that glorious fight  
Though poor, is full of Majesty, and might.  
They nimbly walk from the remotest parts  
In pure devotion, and with cheerful hearts;  
When some that boldly do profess thy name,  
Will scarce come forth their chamber: O! the shame  
Of such besotted souls, as will not rise,  
And prostrate themselves, before the eyes  
Of their offended God, though ne'er so cheap,  
But snug and snore in sin, and fond heap  
Crime upon crime, not from their vices part,  
Though th'offering small, an humble penitent heart.  
But these wise Travellers did freely bring,  
Gold, Frankenscence, and Myrrh, to Christ the King,  
And made an Inn a Temple, there to pay  
Their tribute, O the miserable delay  
Of pure devotion! 'Tis their greater shame,  
That stripped him of the glory of his name,  
It should exalt all hearts for to rejoice  
With adoration, and a thankful voice.   

They'd but one single Star to be their guide,  
But we have many, that with active pride  
Do darken religion, and have it in derision.  
Such quaking Comets making an apparition  
And fiery aspect, that will fright away,  
Rather than lead, will cause us go astray  
Into their sottish errors, to prevent  
Let's keep close to the holy government;  
Which Christ, and his Apostles left behind,  
To rectify the errors of mankind;  
Which if we practice, and study aright,  
We need not fear Satan with all his might.   

Pretended illuminations in religion  
Eclipseth real light, with foul derision,  
And such a nasty Mist doth often gather,  
That in stead of clearing Eyes do blind them rather,  
'Twas a true light by which the wisemen steered,  
Which brought them in such triumph, that it cheered  
Their hearts with joy, that they did see the day,  
Which some do study, to forget, and lay  
A load of obliquy on such pretence,  
Not allowing it a day of reverence.  
But let them wallow in their haughty pride,  
It proved a blessed day, and happy guide  
To unwearied Travellers, but for such as they  
That sottishly, and wildly run a stray,  
And have no Star to guide them, but let them wander,  
And fall in their own pits, that thus do slander.   

Thou that hast stocked the world with so much light,  
And enriched it with so many Stars so bright,  
To serve us Mortals, 'Twas fit thou shouldst take  
One to thyself, thy herald for to make,  
And cause the brightness of that Star surpass,  
All other Stars that now, and ever was.  
To declare thy birth all creatures do obey,  
Save us wild Mortals, that do vainly stray,  
And stop our Ears to the harmony of thy law.  
But these wise Men inspired, no sooner saw  
The Star of light, which did foretell thy birth,  
But immediately did run with Joy and Mirth,  
And grew angry with time, lest it delay  
To begin their Journey in that happy day;  
Which to direct, a Star became their guide,  
And attracts their Eyes, which in a holy pride,  
They still lift up with reverence to behold  
With humble zeal, this Mystery to unfold.  
Oh Lord, so elevate our eyes to thee,  
Which art the Star of blessed eternity,  
And take us from the vain delights of sin,  
And kindle an holy fire of faith within  
Of love and zeal, oh let his mercy great  
Ravish our souls with Joy, let us repeat  
Loud Hallelujahs to thy name, and sing  
Most thankful Anthems for our Christ and King.  
As the good wise Men with a cheerful voice,  
Having seen the Star exceedingly rejoice.    
Ecclesiastes 12.13. 
Fear God and keep his Commandments for this is the whole duty of Man.  

WHat needs the preacher more, is not this verse  
Itself, a sermon, why should he rehearse  
So many precepts, but he doth espy  
Man's weak estate, subject to vanity;  
Therefore he taught the people to take heed  
And shun disorders, every evil deed,  
He wisely sought out all due means to find  
Words acceptable, that would please the mind,  
That with Compliance with them, he might gain  
Upon them to believe, all things are vain,  
Save to fear God, and serve him all we can,  
This is the all that is required of Man.  
And yet how few are they that will observe  
This precept as a duty, though it serve  
To their advantage, in that great great day,  
When all Mankind form of Earth and clay  
Shall cited be before the glorious Throne  
Of Christ the lamb, who then shall Judge alone.  
Oh be advised in time to take delight,  
To adore thy maker, study it aright,  
And be in love with wisdom, and her ways,  
Living to God, unto his daily praise.  
Glorify him alone, above all things,  
Then shall he shroud thee under his blessed wings.  
Thy labour shall be gain, no time misspent,  
Then fear thy God and keep his Commandment.   

But ah! how few there be of David's spirit,  
That prise Gods laws, and would indeed inherit  
Eternal bliss, which he did meditate  
Both day, and night, and often sadly sat  
Wailing his sins, but we delight to break  
His holy law, opening our mouths to speak  
Rudely of God, his worship and his lore,  
Letting our tongues run lavish on that score,  
We pray not him to close our vainer lips,  
But still give way to vent those frothy slips,  
That daily arise from our Corrupted heart,  
All which exposes us to the biting smart  
Of his severest Justice, thus poor Man  
Ruins himself, not doing what he can.  
Some think it is an honour to fly high  
In vile attempts, and lose debauchery,  
And to be bold in sins affecting oaths,  
Like to vile Atheists, that are virtues foes.  
Which count it valour for to stab religion,  
Having its practice in such vile derision,  
And make a paradox of the preachers wit,  
A mere Apocrypha, and jeer at it,  
And Scandalise the law, and them that speak it,  
And think it but a piece of wit to break it.   

It is no wonder Atheism doth abound,  
And that religion sadly falls to ground.  
Search all the ancient records page by page,  
Vice ne'er engendered so, in any age.  
The World ne'er multiplied so much in sects,  
Because Men done't fully consult this text.  
Profaneness it descendsby propagation,  
In next posterity this vicious Nation  
Is like to be of a heathenish complexion,  
If God prevent not by our due subjection  
To his blessed law, Atheism will gather ground,  
And Men grow proud, because they're Atheists found.  
Bold sons of Belial glory will in it,  
And boast in slighting as a piece of wit.   

Do ye blind followers of the world intent  
To laugh at Heaven, and therein your time spend,  
And make divinity a cloak to cover  
Your fouler parts, that none may them discover  
Your outsiide piety, and cunning trades,  
Your specious shows, and guilded pious frauds.  
No, no, you cannot thus delude the Eye  
Of the all seeing God, he will espy  
Your want of zeal, though painted fair they be,  
There's nothing hid from him that all things see.   

Oh Lord, how sadly do we thus forget  
To do thee homage, and to pay the debt  
We own unto thy love, that didst make  
Thine only Son an offering for our sake.  
But like ungrateful wretches we do still,  
Most rudely scoff at thy revealed will,  
And cast thy precepts from us, which should be  
Our guide unto the blessed eternity.   

Good God it was thy bounty to bestow  
Gifts of reason on us, for which we own  
All thanks unto thee, for so great a boon,  
Which we do misemploy much much too soon;  
Turning our reason 'gainst thy Laws most right,  
And act disorderly with all our might.  
Teach us to see our failings, and endeavour  
To hearken to that voice, that lives for ever,  
That the Oratory of thy sacred word,  
May win us to thy Love with one accord,  
Renounce profaneness, planting in its place  
Desired virtue, and each heavenly grace.  
Let not blind heathens, which do not know thee,  
Out strip us in their moral honesty.  
Then we, which have sure hopes by faith and love,  
To be received into the joys above;  
As thou dost by thy holy word reveal  
Thyself in Christ, to whom alone appeal  
Is to be made, make us to understand,  
The advantages we have from thy good hand  
Of mercy, grant our minds be fully bend  
To fear our God, and keep his Commandment,  
With all the holy fervency we can;  
This duty is required from every Man.    
Matthew 8.2. 
And behold! there came a Leper and worshipped him, saying, Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean.  

SIn 's an infectious Leprofie that is spread  
Itself all over from the foot, to head.  
Is this the Lepers prayer only, no  
It is all sinners too, that have let go  
The reins of virtue that it should restrain  
All vicious ways unto an holy aim.   

He that had seen the Lepers body over,  
Would think his prayer proper to discover  
His loathsome parts, and yet would he but view  
His soul, he'll find it of a blacker hue.  
A sadder object to affright his sense  
With horror, if he strictly look from whence  
It did proceed, O the miseries of his blood,  
Which lost its verdor, and became a flood  
Of putrid nurtri●●re, yet it moved guilt,  
To cry with faith, Oh Lord, if that thou wilt!   

And he whose never failing goodness lacks  
To show compassion, and it never slacks  
His power and mercy, where it is concerned  
To cure those limbs, that were fully discerned  
To be already so, overwhelmed with grief,  
That was new bathed by it, received relief  
By the bounty of a touch, he was made clean,  
Which was before both loathsome, and obscene,   

Thus, thus the Lepers bodied a new,  
But we don't see what good there doth accrue  
Unto his better parts, and that perhaps  
Lies bedrid in a very sad relapse.  
His successor was happier, whose disease  
And sin, were both removed which did appease  
His piercing pains, at the Physician's talk,  
Which said arise take up thy bed and walk.   

How many are there like the Leper foul,  
Look no higher than their bodies do control!  
All other considerations, but to cover  
Their fouler parts, and willingly do smother  
And slight their nobler parts, which should adorn,  
It lies infected, and exposed to scorn.   

We are so eager to procure Chimestry,  
And all that art can make to prompt Luxury;  
To make our natures feed upon its flame,  
While our better parts lie naked to the shame  
Of mankind, that should with right zeal desire  
To feed, not quench the true Celestial fire,  
By which our souls shall ever truly be  
Enlivened, and preserved, O Lord for thee.   

How do the Torments of a limb an hour  
Move us to feel, and want thy healing power▪  
We practise more devotion in that fit,  
Than many a month before we did feel it.  
The loathed deformities of our worse parts  
Gives us more grief, and more aflicts our hearts,  
Than those pale and infernal shapes, that thus  
Dissigureth Heaven's Character in us.   

Come show that beauty is without a blot,  
That hath no blush of guilt, no Leprous spot,  
That saintlike infant Man, that knows no guile,  
I'll sit, and here admire him for a while.  
We're all conceived in sin, and cannot be  
Without our spots, until we're washed by thee.   

Were our veins purer than the violets smell,  
And could perfume the air yond parallel.  
Were Adam's sin a stranger to our blood.  
And could our innocency have withstood  
Thy justice, our rebellious going astray  
Would Check our Lusts, and prompt us thus to pray.  
The blackness of our thoughts would proclaim  
(Though silently) sin is our chiefest aim.   

Yet, was there not a generation  
That thought themselves clean without contagion,  
Were right in their own Eyes, and did deride  
The world as Lepers in their scorning pride.  
The Pharisee was the more polluted Man  
Than the soft hearted humble Publican,  
Which did so proudly his best plums display,  
Which carried more contagion in that sway  
Of pride and ostentation, but he's the winner,  
Oh God be merciful to me a sinner.   

But he that trusts to merit and its paint,  
And thinks himself a convert and a Saint  
May lose these Joys, if that he doth despise  
The mercy seat, where the true comfort lies,  
And rely on his so great stock of parts,  
His humane Learning, and his skill in arts;  
Without thy polishing they cannot be  
Made useful in our returns, O Lord, to thee,  
No saint, nor Angel can procure us bliss,  
But the only begotten son whose merit it is,  
The leper is a beauty far beyond  
My soul's more foul, and my vile courses tend.  
Yea Lazarus which had so many soars,  
Are less in number far, than my vile scores,  
Which I have run in sin, and am as lame,  
As the poor cripple cured of sin and shame.  
Oh wash me, Lord, in thy Bethesda pure,  
I shall be cleansed, and be ever sure,  
Of thy healing mercies, let me not be  
One of the nine ungrateful, Lord, to thee.  
It will make my sores loathsome in thy sight  
And me eject unto eternal might,  
But I do know thy goodness, and thy power  
Doth still preserve us mortals every hour;  
That ever can keep us in a holy mean,  
Lord, if thou wilt thou canst make me clean    
1 Kings 19.9. 
And he came unto a Cave and Lodged there.  

DId the good prophet's zeal so far provoke  
Proud Jezabel to threat the heavy stroke  
Of death? did he then i'll th'threatend rage  
Of a furious woman to be more at large?  
He came to Beershaba in so great fear,  
And in much hast he left his servant there,  
While he journied on, in his so great distress,  
Until he came unto the wilderness.  
Where under a Juniper tree he humbly sat  
With heavy sobs, sadly bewailed his fate.   

Come Lord, it is enough, do not delay  
Thy severe Justice, take my life away,  
But a good Angel he doth interpose,  
And wakes the sleeping prophet from's repose,  
And bids him eat, and cease, this moan to make.  
Behold, a cruse of water, and a cake  
By divine providence prepared to be,  
A support to nature's necessity.  
He eat, he slept, and willingly obeys,  
And in that strength he travelled forty days  
To Horcb, the Mount of God, though still in fear  
He came into a cave, and lodged there.   

Behold, enraged Malice it doth force  
Eliah to a Cave, there's no remorse  
In a Woman's fury, there is no suspense,  
No liberty for life, or conscience;  
He must fly to a narrow compass to save both,  
They are in danger if he admit of sloth.   

Behold him now a Hermit to his pain,  
For prophesying against wicked Ahabs reign  
'Twas but a kind of type, that did foretell  
To after ages such a parallel.  
Those votaries of the Church the which did turn  
Caves into cloisters, and therein did mourn,  
And fill these silent grots with divine love,  
And chant forth echoes with the saints above,  
And make them Chapels there to laud and praise,  
In sacred hallelujahs all their days.  
The purity of their zeal I much admire,  
Make solitude its mirth in such retire,  
Can make Melancholy devotion fit  
Object of glory, and the Joys of it,  
And sequester themselves from vain delight,  
To contemplate with Angel's day and night,  
So those divine retirers have done well,  
If they ring not too loud their merit bell.  
If in imitation of the King of glory,  
They fast and pray, I such a votary  
Do highly prize, but if his vain tradition  
Take place, he must be brought unto contrition.   

If that those pious exiles in devotion  
Not studying humane praise, but virtues motion  
Do contemplate with Heaven, and of its glory,  
Abandoning the world that's transitory.  
Such self denial no Man ought to blame,  
But worldlings court it, to their greater shame,  
Not caring what vile courses they pursue  
To satisfy their lusts, it is too true;  
All rapine, and disorder they commit,  
And fond brag, and boast, and glory in it.  
But these our pious exiles, they do give  
Up both their names, and lives that they may live  
Religiously devout, 'tis strange to have  
A Prophet now retired unto a Cave.  
No, no, 've higher thoughts, and their devotion  
Tends much the way to get the best promotion.  
But he's the Man that humbly can deny  
His tempting lusts, when fortune cast him high,  
And can out face the world, and conquer it,  
And with our Prophet in a Cave down sit,  
With sweet contentment lodge in it all night,  
When high revenging rage sets him to flight.   

Prisons and Caves are solitary places,  
Where friends think it much if that they show their faces  
And give a word of comfort in that condition,  
But leave poor prisoners to their said contrition.  
They'll say 'tis out of the way, they cannot stay,  
They have no business that doth tend that way.  
Such cunning slights they often do relate,  
Let them have care they meet not with such fate,  
And then their cruelty may be required,  
And their harsh deal, in which they delighted.   

He's the divine Hermit, that can gainsay  
His carnal motions, and nobly obey  
His virtue, which will quickly mount him high,  
If he pursue the arts of Charity,  
And not so slight the poor suffering Man,  
But add unto his comfort all he can,  
And make him music with his Christian love,  
Which will entitle him to the joys above.  
These are such graces in which God delight;  
It Will have good acceptance in his sight.   

If I am in a Cave, Lord, let me be  
Refreshed, and comforted alone in thee  
Thy mercies doth refresh me every morn,  
Though by my friends I have been held in scorn,  
Thou hast given support to me from hands unknown,  
And many mercies unto me have shown.  
Give me a thankful heart in my distress,  
That I may follow thee, in the wilderness.  
Oh let me worship with a reverence due  
To thy great love, whose voice did thrice subdue  
Thy murderers, oh teach me to submit  
Myself to what thy wisdom shall think fit.  
Teach me all humility to make  
A prison comfortable, and therein take  
My whole delight in thee and of thy ways,  
And sing forth hallelujahs to thy praise  
With Paul and Siloas, let me sweetly sing  
The praise and glory of my God and King.  
O let not griefs confound me in this loss,  
But bear with patience this so heavy Cross,  
Which would sink frail flesh and blood, did not thy hand  
Support my weak, and feeble soul to stand  
First to my confidence alone in thee,  
Which hath appeared a Loving God to me,  
Which truly is my hope, and help to save,  
Which did relieve the Prophet in a cave  
Wherein he lodged, and did take quiet rest,  
And was in thy preserving power blest.  
That I may do so, Lord, grant me thy spirit  
To give due praises, than I shall inherit  
Eternal mansions, thou my soul wilt save,  
And raise me from a Prison, or a Cave  
Into eternal bliss, the highest sphere,  
'Mongst Saints and Angels to be lodged there.    
Genesis 28.12. 
And he dreamt a Dream and behold a Ladder set upon the Earth, and the top of it reached unto Heaven, and behold the Angels descending and ascending on it.  

DId Isaac call? surely he did no less,  
And with a holy zeal his Son to bless,  
And give him charge how to demean his life,  
Forbidding Canan's Daughters for a Wife.  
He bids him rise and go unto none other  
But unto Laban his own Mother's Brother,  
At Padan-aram without any stay,  
And God Almighty bless thee in the way,  
And multiply thy seed, that thou mayst be  
A mighty Nation; next posterity.  
May inherit the blessed promise in good deed,  
Which was made unto Abraham and his seed.   

Jacob obeys and travels all the day  
Until the Sun declined, he made no stay,  
Then laid he down his weary bones to rest,  
Stones were his pillow, where his sleep was blest.  
He dreamt, and behold a ladder there was set,  
Where Angels did descend, ascend on it.   

No sooner had good Jacob's soul taken rest,  
His contented humility was blest  
With an heavenly vision, which salutes his sense,  
That blessed obedience that brought him thence  
Was ravished with an object, that did prove  
A blessed guide unto the Heavens above;  
Where these blessed spirits so enriched his sense,  
With a sweet and harmonious influence,  
These divine Travellers not contending  
But orderly ascending, and descending.   

Oh happy solitude, that thus doth meet  
A heavenly company so rich and sweet,  
A blessed interview, that did requite  
The hardness of his lodging with delight,  
In such an object did his soul take rest,  
And with such dreams, was his stirred fancy blest.  
That the Lord of all the Earth should not dispense,  
To make good his fore promised providence,  
By Angels which did gradually ascend  
Up to that Heaven, which never shall have end.   

When I behold the posture of this sleeper,  
Whom Angels had the charge of, as his keeper,  
And his hard lodging, which gave him delight,  
He had eternal glory, in his sight.  
I cannot choose but wonder, (in derision)  
At them that lazily expect a vision  
Upon their beds of down, when most at leisure,  
Expecting apparitions in their pleasure.  
Their spirits would grow sick of some disease,  
If visions should disturb, or move their ease,  
They quickly would catch cold, and loath to say,  
At midnight I'll arise my vows to pay.  
'Twas holy David's zeal, he did not slumber  
(Being fully awaked,) his sins did cumber  
His new refined soul, Took much delight  
In humility to prostitute, in the sight  
Of his offended God, did oft confess,  
How much he sinned 'gainst his holiness,  
With many a sorrowful plaint, and piercing fears  
He often washed his couch in penitent Tears.   

God drops not miraclesin the wantoness lap,  
Nor communicate grace, by chance, or hap;  
But confers his rich glories, chief to those,  
That study virtue, and are vices foes,  
And are cast down in trembling sorrows deep,  
Are comforted with visions in their sleep.  
John must be an exile, and brought low to pine  
Before he be enabled a divine,  
And confer with Angels in a holy trance,  
Before his humane learning can advance,  
And make him a fit Harbinger for Heaven;  
Such gifts are not attained, but divinely given  
By the wise disposer of all events,  
Which turneth sufferings to their hearts contents.   

This Holy Man's obedience made him leave  
All carnal thoughtsbehind him, lest it bewreave  
Him of the blessed fruition of that bliss,  
Prepared for him in true happiness.  
His prayers and meditations only keep  
Him company, it caused an happy sleep,  
So pleasant, that he for ever disclaimed  
All converse with the world, and it disdained  
All secular interests, he did entertain  
More noble thoughts, which proved his richer gain,  
And made him an happy instrument of glory,  
As 'tis recorded in the sacred story.   

Jacob had only a rich Canopy,  
The azure spangled Curtains of the sky;  
His lights the lamps of Heaven, O safe and blessed,  
Where Angels did protect, and guard his rest,  
Ever in motion with their care defending,  
In a holy zeal ascending, and descending!  
Oh how securely doth he ever rest,  
That leans on providence, and is not pressed  
With worldly cares, but joyfully doth make  
Providence his guard, and therein chief take  
His sole felicity; he cannot miscarry,  
If divine thoughts become his sanctuary;  
Nor need he fear disturbance in his sleep,  
Where God and Angels do him safely keep.  
Yea his very dreams will cheer his soul with joy,  
No dangers, nor assaults can him annoy.   

Good Jacob having no sooner closed his eyes,  
But by an inspired fancy he espies  
These holy Porters with endeared love,  
Inviting him unto the Heavens above;  
Presenting him a ladder, whereby he sees  
There is no leaping there, but by degrees,  
We must carefully climb Heaven, that Throne is high  
By gradual steps of faith, and charity.  
Every virtue is a step, if by it we climb,  
That ladder will advance us to see him.  
If we tread our vices under, and by it show  
They're fixed unto the Earth, that is below  
Where the foot doth rest, but we must leave behind  
Our vain delights, the frailties of Mankind,  
And studiously be industrious for such gain,  
As will requite the trouble and the pain  
Our progress must be constant, and not slack  
A holy pace, if that we once look back  
Into the plain, the world will steal our sense  
From climbing with a religious reverence.   

O Lord! how doth this subject meet my case,  
That am cast down into a stony place.  
I mean a place unpleasant, 'cause not free,  
But it ha●h mounted me, to come to thee.  
Thou hast showed to me a ladder, thy blessed ways  
Enliven me, O Lord, to give thee praise.  
Had I been rich, and had of plenty store,  
I should have scorned this ladder as heretofore;  
I thought on pleasures, and the world's vain guise,  
Did too too much affect and blear these eyes  
That now look up to thee, O let my sight  
Be clear to see the blessed eternal light,  
Thy abundant graces! oh thou which truly art  
The great Physician, which can cure my heart;  
Give me a holy longing, and inflame  
In me a servant zeal to praise thy name.  
If bitter potions be for my souls health,  
Apply them, Lord, although it purge my wealth.  
There is more true riches in thy love in store,  
Than ever I could lose all times before.  
Thou hast given, thou hast taken, thy blessed will be done,  
Give me thy mercies in thy only Son,  
To be my ransom, I shall be richer then,  
Then e'er I was amongst the sons of Men.  
This casting down will raise me to that Throne  
Of mercy in whom is my faith alone,  
And I therein rejoice, though thus cast down,  
That thou look'st not on me with angry frown,  
But hast often sent thine Angels to support  
My feeble state, when they to me resort,  
And cherish this frail body, 'Tis from thee  
That so much love and bounty comforts me,  
Give me thy grace so far to use thy love  
With temperate meekness, and from me remove  
All carnal confidence and humbly bend  
My studies to please him, that me defend.   

Thy promises, O Lord, do never fail,  
And yet how careless are we, that are frail;  
Thou showest us the living way unto thyself,  
Yet we are blinded with the love of pelf  
Of this deluding world, we're loath to walk  
Thy paths, yet proudly do we brag and talk  
Of coming to thee, but we are loath to climb  
That ladder, that will mount us to see him  
That sits upon the Throne, O how weak and lame  
Are our devotions, 'tis our greater shame  
To see how nimbly, we do thus pursue  
The perishing delights within our view,  
But make so little progress in that race,  
That thou hast set all ways before our face.  
Oh quicken, and make us earnest with holy love  
To invocate our Christ, that sits above  
To give us of thy spirit, that we may move  
With holy zeal to the Altar of thy love,  
Where the blessed Angels do ever attend,  
As ministering spirits that ascend and descend.    
Proverbs 18.14. 
But a wounded spirit who can bear!  

Hark O my soul, consider this wise prince,  
Mark well his Council, and not stir from thence.  
Incline thine ear to wisdom, don't delay  
To mind his pious precepts, let it sway  
Within thy heart, O let instruction learn  
Thee to delight, and study to discern  
These many moral virtues, which are taught,  
And may by grace be obtained, if they be sought  
With a holy zeal, O let true virtue be  
Thy chief desire, than ointment it will be  
Unto thy neck, as Bracelets to thine arm,  
If thou these precepts keep, 'twill keep from harm.  
Therefore so value them as a rich price,  
And observe how fully it correcteth vice,  
And helpeth much man's spirits to cheer,  
But alas, a wounded spirit who can bear!   

Where shall I find a temper can endure  
Such stings of conscience, of the sad pressure  
Beyond belief, which rageth and is mad,  
At every gripe and pain the soul is sad.  
The very Earth trembles, and can't sustain  
Itself, it groans and travels with its pain  
To be delivered, the Ambitious Angels fell  
And through their foul despair, do roar in hell.  
How dolorous is despair? that wound is deep,  
Where mercy is shut out, and Devils do keep  
The festered wound a bleeding, without sense  
Oh the Horror of a wounded conscience!  
It so afflicts, and startles all the parts  
With the terrors of the pains raised by such arts,  
Yea all the tortures which the Martyrs felt,  
Were fleabites to those pains raised by this guilt;  
Tortures of cruelest shape, would well become  
Be easy sufferings, a pleasing Martyrdom  
Compared unto those never dying pains,  
Those living deaths, those tortures and those Chains,  
That so strongly hold the senses Captive in,  
Satan's foul bands, the reward of their sin.   

What can there be compared! not all our sense  
Can parallel a wounded conscience.  
The shrieks of oils, which add blackness to the night  
Offends the ears, yea dying groans that fright  
And fill our souls with sadness, at such cries  
As conscience makes, it even rends the skies  
With the screetches of those pains their conscience utter,  
It beats within and horrid pains they suffer.  
Despair so rageth with a furious voice,  
That it distempers all with its hideous noise:  
It descants, it writes Satyrs against itself,  
Sad dying eulogies, alas poor! Elf;  
What fatal Ideas dost thou thus shape  
Within thy fancy? what a tone dost make  
Surrounded with all the tortures, black grief  
Can add? oh! 'tis so far beyond belief  
To express that suffering in a perfect sense;  
Oh the terrors of a wounded conscience!   

Did David walk on mourning all the day  
And night, his pricked conscience to allay?  
Did not his eyes run over with his tears,  
These weeping springs raised by his many fears?  
He breathes nought, but such sad trembling accents,  
As ariseth from his souls sad discontents,  
Despairing Echoes, thinking it too late  
He sighs, he moans, and thus he expostulates.   

Dear God is thy Mercy shut up for ever?  
Shall my poor soul enjoy it never?  
That attribute of thy Mercy and thy love,  
Which thou hast treasured in the Heavens above.  
Oh shut not up from me that humbly crave,  
But grant thy pardoning mercy, Lord, to save  
My afflicted soul, I hope thou wilt not be  
A God of love to all, and none to me.  
Let any other torment fright me hence,  
Than the terrors of a guilty conscience.  
Let me for ever dwell in dungeons deep,  
Or such a cell as light durst not to peep,  
In some forsaken vault, or dismal place,  
So as I may enjoy thy glorious face.  
Let all the poverty that can attend  
A wretched man, yet if thy Love thou send  
And cover my naked soul, that is thus stormed  
All Leprous with sin, and much deformed  
With the terrors of thy Judgements, which may take  
Vengeance on me if thou dost once forsake  
My spotred soul, oh hid these spots of mine,  
Then shall I be a beauty that will shine,  
And invite thine Eye again, for to look on  
A wretch that was furlorn, lost and gone.   

Consider this ye Riotors in lust,  
Which dally with damnation till ye burst,  
What agonies they endure, whilst void of sense  
By the griping of a wounded conscience,  
Which so doth rack them into many a fear  
Of grief, but a wounded spirit who can bear!   

Oh who can mind his Murdering sins with pleasure,  
And recount his bitter sweets at his sad leisure,  
He'll meet an ill account, sin leaves behind  
Having misspent his nobler parts, his mind.  
Were't thou to die, would not thy parting groan  
Mind thee of thy sad life, so past and gone.  
Flattery will prove small comfort in that hour,  
When vain excuses will have little power  
To still the conscience, or thy thoughts to cheer  
With joy, a wounded spirit who can bear!  
Show me that Samson conscience with his strength,  
But that this ugly vulture will at length  
Both master, and subdue, what frozen soul  
Those ashes would not melt, and so control  
The sturdy sinner, laden with loads of guilt,  
Which hangs so heavy, that his conscience felt  
That nasty load of crimes, that down hath hurled,  
His active parts into the lower world?  
Not all his art, or courtship, cannot save  
His Treacherous soul from the terrors of the grave;  
They are but trifles to it, could it but shroud  
The guilty soul from darkness, oh how proud  
Would the soul be, if that he might be free,  
From the terrors of a future misery!  
But these are empty shadows, cannot keep  
The tortured soul, it cannot sweetly sleep.  
Sum all the crosses that the soul surrounded  
The Catalogue of afflictions, thus confounded  
There's none like this, which his vices thus inherit  
The grief, and anguish of a troubled spirit.  
That intolerable grief, which admits no cheer  
Or joy, but a wounded spirit who can bear!  
What burden then doth a wounded spirit endure,  
Unsupportable of his pains? griefs are sure  
Still charged with the frights, which ariseth hence  
By the terrors of a wounded conscience.  
Oh let nor the apprehensions of thy wrath  
So far affright us, thy sweet mercy hath  
Much balm in store to cure a wounded spirit,  
Which being applied by faith we may inherit  
Eternal bliss; in our bosom thou hast set  
A perfect Register, let us not forget  
To sum them up in tears without delay,  
Recounting all the ills, that did bear sway  
In our most raging lusts, then shall we be  
Cured of our festered wounds, O Lord, by thee,  
Which art the great Physician, which can heal  
All wounded spirits, when they with faith appeal.  
Lord, open our eyes, then shall we clearly see  
Our many fold transgressions against thee,  
Then shall we by thy mercy sure inherit  
That blessed balm will cure a wounded spirit.    
Matthew 24.38. 
And knew not until the flood came and took them all away.  

HOw great's the love of Christ, that did condescend  
To acquaint his belov'd disciples with the end  
Of the old world, as the days of Noah were  
Before the flood, whose lofty waves did bear  
The preserving Ark, he saith they all shall see,  
That so the coming of the Son of Man shall be.  
For in those days, before the raging flood,  
They eat, they drank, did little that was good,  
Marry, and give in marriage, till that day  
The flood came on, and took them all away.   

How fond, and securely did they feast  
Themselves for ruin! they did make a jest  
Of sin, they only strived to feed their lusts  
And crammed themselves in riot till they burst.  
For lust, and luxury took up their heart,  
And so possessed it, that they could not part,  
Till death's divorce, they were so firmly married  
Unto their lusts, until the Ocean carried  
Them all away, oh how sad's that feast,  
Where overflowing Judgement takes the guests!   

Just Noah's preaching could not yet persuade  
This drunken Crew, that still did swinelike wade  
Into all filth, his fluent admonition  
Can not prevail to bring them to contrition.  
But the rougher waves made a language to detect  
Their ranting noise, in their own dialect.  
The prodigious raging of the angry deep  
Silenced their profane noise, in deaths last sleep.   

Had not God bound himself by promise sure,  
That the Earth no more a deluge should endure,  
And hath his party coloured bow so fixed,  
As that there is no doubting with it mixed.  
But how often hath our debauched vain ways  
Corrouzed, and rioted, in those our days,  
That we can teach the Epicure to revel,  
And so provoke incensed wrath to levelly  
Just judgements on our heads, if we aspire  
Our next refining will be all of fire.   

The former vices of our predecessor,  
Come very short of the present transgressor  
Of these our times, we're giants now in growth  
In sin, by our unwairy lazy sloth,  
That doth beset us, and subdue our sense,  
That we grow monsters without penitence.  
We study vices daily, as though the Earth  
Like an infernal Africa hatched new birth  
Of ugly monsters, such huge prodigies  
Of minted sins, which daily doth arise;  
It startles reason, and as though we were  
Only to feast in sin, and frolic here.  
Was the world drowned, did not the waters stay,  
But carried these living dead Men away?  
And were they taken in their great excess,  
And shall we think to escape this wickedness?  
And be careless, of our lives? shall we not cry,  
That have lived so long in such impenitency,  
And here behold them drowned, that thus did scatter,  
And freely drank iniquity like water,  
And were shipwrackt in their houses thus surprised  
By death and Judgement, which they so despited.   

So righteous art thou, Lord, in thy judgement  
And pure in justice, if we not repent,  
Thy hand of justice will us overtake,  
For our impenitency, if we don't forsake  
Our foul transgressions, it will so incense  
Thy justice in thy wrath, to sweep us hence.  
And yet how good is thy transcending love,  
That never sendest punishments from above,  
But when our faults increase so boldly high,  
As to provoke thy sacred Majesty:  
By our impenitencies we do provoke  
Thy divine justice to the heavy stroke  
Of judgement, which doth thus highly incense  
Thy wrath in justice for to sweep us hence.   

Lord, 'twas thy mercy, out of thy great love,  
To assure us by thy promise from above,  
To free us from so great a punishment,  
Its memory should make our hearts relent,  
And to admire thy mercy, meekly turn  
Our hearts to holy penitence, and mourn,  
And meditate, how thy judgements did o'ertake  
Them, that all virtuous precepts did foresake.  
Let their example mind us to repent  
Lest we fall under such just punishment.    
Luke 7.5. 
For he loved our Nation and hath built us a Synagogue.  

WAs the servant sick, and did his Master's love  
So far exceed, his charity to move,  
As to send for help to him, that was able  
To cure his soul, (though born in a stable?)  
He knew it was his Jesus which had power  
To heal, he was his only Saviour,  
To him he sent, and did passionately say,  
I am not worthy, Lord, that thou shouldst stay  
Under my roof, but speak and he shall be  
Healed, and give his praises unto thee.  
To which the great Physician freely saith,  
I have not found in Israel so much saith.  
The elders importunity exceeds  
Most gratefully magnifying his deeds,  
And his love unto his nation did express  
He built a Temple unto holiness.   

Behold the character of a pious Man,  
Which by virtue doth oblige all that he can,  
And lay out his outmost interest to increase  
His country's good, prosperity and peace!  
And as a father he doth still endeavour,  
To serve his common wealth in all what ever  
Lies in his power, that he is justly styled  
A virtuous patriot, ever meek and mild.  
This good Centurion was not only high  
In place alone, but loved true piety,  
Where he was chief, and all Judea over  
Can not parallel his worth, it did discover  
A mine of treasure, in his soul lay hid  
Of precious faith most richly valued.  
Did they not hate Idolatry to prize,  
They would his person too much Idolise,  
And pay respect unto with adoration,  
Who was so great a lover of their nation.  
Herod indeed their Temple did repair,  
But it was not for love, but panic fear;  
'Twas but in policy for him to get  
The Crown, that ambitiously aspired to it.  
Devotion had in him the smallest aim,  
Not a religious zeal for to maintain;  
'Twas not his aim, he did not mind the thing,  
His whole religion was to become King,  
And as a Tyrant live, for to suppress  
Christ's purer ways, which tend to holiness.   

Such is the sanctity that worldlings show  
By pretence to virtue, whilst they bestow  
All their endeavour to gild o'er their crimes,  
Make seeming virtue footstools to their aims.  
Pretence of zeal, a passage to ambition,  
Thinking they creep along without suspicion.   

But the Centurion's zeal was nobly bend  
To honour his nation, with a full intent  
To befriend religion with his countenance,  
And pious acts of virtue to advance  
With sincere intention, not pretending,  
But faithfully their souls, and church defending.   

Unlike those rulers, which do set aside  
Religion, to set up their haughty pride,  
And think themselves the wisest of the crew,  
If they have no religion in their view:  
And as our new Enthusiasts do delight  
To pull down holy Temples in despite  
To holy things, and raise even to the ground  
The carved works of structures, and abound  
In novelties, and think it good to fight  
'Gainst Kings, entrusted with protecting right,  
Which sparkles like to Diamonds in their Crown,  
And fills them full of splendour and renown;  
They are the Church's patriots to preserve  
All divine right, and faithfully to serve,  
As conservators of that dignity,  
Which they do hold from God in humility.   

No, these material Temples cannot be  
Sure monuments to all posterity;  
Can we build Pyramids to reach the sky,  
Or Alabaster piles carved curiously,  
Or plates of brass, to eternize our name,  
They were but empty shadows to the frame,  
That building without ●ands which none can sever  
From the immortal soul, which lives for ever.   

The Synagogue, which the Centurion raife  
Became a greater monument to his praise,  
And lasted longer, it engaged the Jews  
To gratitude, and wonder, they did muse  
At such unwonted favour, they swift did run,  
And became advocates to heal his son,  
And pressed him with such arguments to move  
His pity towards him, showed so much love  
In such abundant measure, he did raise  
A synagogue to his immortal praise.   

Such honour is returned to all that aim  
To advance thy glory, and to praise thy name.  
Such as have zeal for glory shall be blest  
With spiritual joy, and ever be at rest.  
The meanest offering they do make to thee,  
It shall not only here accepted be,  
But so rewarded in eternal bliss,  
Where all true joy, and every comfort is,  
And stir up emulation, who should be  
Most forward to express true plety.   

Lord, let not those are ignorant of thy power  
Outstrip us in devotion, that each hour  
Depend on thee, and seemingly profess  
The true religion in truth and holiness.  
Oh! Let our holy carriage so adorn  
Thy public worship, and not be a scorn.  
Let our bodies be Temples, not a cell,  
That grace, and all the virtues there may dwell.   

So teach us, Lord, our living souls may be  
Temples, where praises may be given to thee,  
And raise our hearts ever to make address  
To thee alone, who art only goodness,  
And let us not think building structures will  
Eternize names, unless we do fulfil  
Thy holy precepts, and there fix our thought,  
All other buildings are but vain and naught.    
John 20.11 
But Mary stood without at the Sepulchre weeping, and as she wept she stooped down and looked into the Sepulchre.  

DId Mary weep? and can our Eyes be dry?  
Will nought afflict our sense? no misery,  
No loss so great, make us shed tears? but stay!  
Consider it is the resurrection day,  
When her blessed body bowed to look in there,  
Where he was laid, the loathed Sepulchre,  
Where she beheld her Saviour's tomb with grief,  
Which was her sweetest comfort, and relief,  
See how religiously she stoops to look  
Into the grave, with care, lest she mistook!  
When her younger sisters vainly did misspend  
Their precious time in dressing, which doth tend  
To carnal pleasures, some will scarce allow  
A modest kneeling, or an humble bow  
In their religious worship, they so slight  
All reverence due to Majesty and might.   

See, see the power of love that is divine,  
Made Mary look into a loathed Shrine!  
Which could strike the world with paleness, and affright  
The boldest Champion Saint, and put to flight  
Our faith, had not the perfumes, which came thence,  
Rarified the air with its sweet influence,  
And perfumed thac nasty vault amongst hardstones  
And crazy coffins, rotten dead men's bones,  
Which were his pillow, till that joyful Morn,  
When he arose in triumph to adorn  
The heavenly Throne, and there doth ever shine  
In perfect glory, which is most divine.   

See, how the Martyrs Triumphed in their flame,  
And gloried in their sufferings for his name,  
And were carried in raptures through the fire  
In holy love, and zeal! they did aspire  
Into true joy, that element did warm  
Their earthy parts, and did their souls no harm;  
They nobly met with death, their souls did sing  
Most divine Anthems unto Christ their King.  
Their chains were Music, they did seem to be  
Rather Priests than victims in that solemnity.   

How sweetly did the blessed Martyr Stephen  
Expire, he having seen his Christ and Heaven!  
That heap of Cursed stones, raised to torment  
His earthy part, proved a blessed monument,  
Far richer than the chiefest Artists skill  
In the proudest marble it could parallel.  
He cimited it with his blood, and made it faster,  
By the undaunted spirit of the first Martyr.   

Thus did the suffering saints their tortures turn  
To pleasures, and the terrors of the urn  
To a stream of mirth, not all their rage  
Of fiercest Tyrants could once disengage  
Their souls from comfort, nay the newest pain  
Of studied torments could not hinder their gain,  
Or force them from their pious Christian love,  
They ever bore to Christ who sits above.   

He that so loves his Saviour will arise,  
And stoop with Mary to enrich his eyes  
With the fruition of that desired sight,  
That is so full of splendour, power, and might,  
And not only stoop, but step into a tomb,  
And embrace a coffin in that dismal room,  
And look on death, but as the door to bliss,  
The Messenger of glory, and happiness.  
And with St. Paul in raptures all in flame  
Begging a dissolution of this frame,  
While his soul in ecstasies transports its sense  
Into a holy zeal, to be moved hence.   

O Lord, with what regret do we forsake  
Earth's vanishing pleasures in which we do take  
So great delight, the which should make us sorry,  
That we do strive so little for thy glory.  
But are ever unwilling to let down  
Our lives our pleasures for an immortal Crown,  
In obedience to the law of the blessed Kingdom,  
Which saith thy service is a perfect freedom.  
And yet we count the sweetest sanctuary  
A Prison, and trouble, if we find it vary  
From our vile lusts, and think ourselves to blame,  
If that we pay due honour to thy name.   

Pardon, O Lord, the corruptions of our frame,  
And teach us how to love, and prise thy name;  
But whether we live or die, we may delight,  
In that which is most pleasant in thy sight.  
That when this Tabernacle shall dissolve,  
Our earthy bodies may surely involve  
Into everlasting joys, the seat of bliss,  
The only residence of happiness,  
And stoop withal due reference and fear,  
And look into a loathed Sepulchre.    
Ecclesiastes 12.1. 
Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth.  

HOw sweet's the preachers voice that doth invite  
Youth to a ploughs' care, and doth excite  
A holy life, it is the best expression  
In all his sermon, checking youths transgression.  
Here younger Ones, are bid to have a care  
Of spending time, lest that they do ensuare  
Their souls in sin, for none indeed can tell,  
How soon young Men may hear their passing bell,  
Toll the sad ditty of their latest breath,  
Surrendering up their senses all to death.   

The divine preachers chiefest aim is this,  
To stir youth up to early holiness.  
And yet the worlds not pleased with the strain,  
It sounds too harsh, though it design their gain.  
Look on the creatures with a single eye,  
And you this doctrine quickly will espy;  
They plainly preach it, yet we slug and slumber  
With open eyes, our duller thoughts do cumber  
Our purer meditations, which should be  
Of our backslidings, and returns to thee.  
Regardless youth delighteth not to hear,  
This silver trumpet sounding in his ear.  
It spoils his mirth, and sours his sweeter Muse,  
Stirs thoughts of Heaven too soon, he'd rather choose  
His Carnal sports, than thus to dull his wit,  
Make him look grave, before he attain to it.  
His sprightly blood thinks it too hard a task  
To be religious, he prefers a mask  
And rather ravel out his time in pleasure,  
Whose vainest sports, are held his chiefest treasure.   

Fond youth, call in these thoughts, lament thy way,  
Remember the approaching judgement day,  
When we to God, a sure account must give  
Of all our actions, whilst we here do live.  
Let not these fleshly objects of thy pleasure  
Transport our senses, beyond a due measure  
From Heaven, and heavenly things, which should rejoice  
Our very hearts to hear the Preachers voice.   

And shall these lusts, which we pursue in pleasure  
Bewreave us of our joy, our only treasure?  
Shall we have greater zeal for to transgress,  
Than for to magnify thy holiness?  
And shall those pleasures that do quickly die,  
Quite drown the thoughts of immortality?   

My life, that's but a span, let it decay,  
And shorten rather, than misspend my day.  
Better this earthy tabernacle be  
Dissolved, than I by sin should fall from thee.  
Much better it is that I should quickly pay  
Nature her debt, and turn again to clay,  
Than with thy justice run too far in score,  
That so thy goodness may again restore  
Me to thy blessed self, which cannot be,  
But by thy mercy's Lord alone to me.  
'Twas thou didst bring me from the lowest dust  
To serve thyself, not base, and filthy lust.  
Thou didst implant in me a sacred ray  
Of thine own self, to light the ready way  
Of thy commands, which if we do pursue  
With upright bearts, then surely will ensue  
Such joys, as do accompany thy grace,  
Then cause me, Lord, no longer to misplace  
My roving sense, but henceforth fixed it fast  
In my desires to follow Christ at last.   

Make me, O God, ever to prise thy glory,  
Declining pleasures merely transitory,  
And teach me for to use this vain vain world,  
As that which may again by thee be hurled  
Into a Chaos, let me not lose thee,  
Nor the blessed mansions of eternity.   

Dear friends prise virtue though your blood gainsay,  
Love and delight therein, 'tis the true way.  
Other are by paths, which do tend to sin,  
Much joy you'll find if that you walk therein.  
Pursue it strictly, 'tis a serious truth,  
Remember your Creator in your youth.    
Luke 18.11. 
The Pharisee stood up and prayed, God I thank thee I am not as other Men are.  

DId Christ reprove by parable these Men,  
Which trusteth in themselves, and rudely been  
Despisers of others, in a haughty pride,  
An humble sanctity could not abide,  
But overvalued in a fair pretence  
Of self conceit, not giving reverence,  
And humility to those parts they had receivid,  
But boasting of themselves they had deceived  
The world, till Christ did sharply them reprove,  
In which he showed his mercy and his love.   

How proudly do the Pharisee give thanks,  
He stands on tiptoe venting his vain pranks,  
Ungrateful pride hath altered his disposition,  
Which used long prayers, and vain repetition.  
The fits not now upon him for to pray,  
He's out of tune, but opes his mouth to bray,  
Not to adore his God, but commend himself  
In such proud boasting: but alas poor elf,  
That is so highly ravished with his parts,  
Not caring for to study divine arts.  
But with so cold a zeal a posture ill,  
'Twere better he had been unthankful still.  
He exceeded other Men in his own sense,  
In a superlative kind of impudence.   

How largely doth he set forth his own worth,  
Making no Apology for his filthy froth.  
He thanks God with a mind that's fully bend  
To praise himself, 'tis rather compliment,  
Than prayer, he thinketh it Idolatry  
To worship images, yet his vain folly  
Makes him adore himself with his own praise,  
As do the Catholic Pharisees of our days  
In works of supererogation high,  
And think by it straight unto Heaven to fly,  
Having numbered o'er their beads their Ave-Mary's,  
Their superstitions rights, that foully varies  
From the true Catholic Church, that blessed spouse  
Of Christ, whose splendid glory doth even rouse  
My soul, in contemplations of its love,  
Which will ne'er be perfected, till with Christ above.  
Though that Rome's Jugglers do pretend they can  
Open, and shut the door to every Man,  
And enjoin such penance as Christ ne'er require,  
And teach by pilgramages, they aspire  
The heavenly Throne, by their excess of merit,  
Thinking thereby salvation to inherit.  
Let them forbear further to urge this strife,  
'Tis Christ which saith, I am the door, and life.  
How nimbly our Enthuafiasts follow their Leaders  
These trembling Saints, these sanctimonious pleaders,  
By imperious purity seem to reform  
The world, and with an attack of words to storm  
The whole Creation, new model it again  
And Saint themselves new stile, with all their train,  
And tell God plainly with their tongue and pen,  
They are the elect, not like to other Men,  
And railingly proclaim, that we are down hurled  
And they the only true lights of the world.  
In such a pious lunacy and strain  
They rant, as come to Gospel us again,  
Extravagantly prescribing religious rights  
To the melancholy fancy of their sights,  
And in a sullen zeal, they think they shine  
As Stars, counting themselves purely divine,  
Secluded from others in a peevish trance  
Of supposed zeal, their ignorance to advance,  
And proudly vent their follies with so much vanity,  
To the loss of all good order, and humanity.   

See how vain Man doth thus delude his sense  
In performance of religious reverence!  
How is his heart taken Captive with such wiles,  
As Satan casts before him with his smiles,  
And make him think he's better than other Men,  
When alas poor soul, he can but badly ken  
His way aright, yet with all his might,  
Urge his performance boldly in the sight  
Of his Creator, whose all seeing eye  
Beholds his weakness, and his faults espy.  
Humility Crowns all graces, and puts on  
A comely beauty to religion;  
When confidence in merit doth deform,  
Most zealous actions done with so much scorn,  
And secludes us from the enjoyment of that bliss,  
Which attends an humble zeal in happiness.   

Teach us, O Lord, an humble gratitude,  
And self donial of ourselves, not rude  
Profaneness to approach thy glorious Throne  
Of mercy, which is our hope alone.  
Oh let's not be forgetful of that power,  
Which chastiseth mortals every day and hour,  
Nor pride ourselves in works, though ne'er so great  
But humbly prostitute before the seat  
Of our offended God, and there confess  
Our great presumption 'gainst his holiness,  
And bewail the imperfections of our spirit;  
By such an holy meekness we may inherit  
The heavenly mansions, where we may have access  
By faith in Christ and devout holiness.    
Matthew 16.26. 
For what is a Man profited, if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul.  

BEwitching world, how hath thy baits deceived  
Poor Man, by thy allurements, and bereaved  
Of purest comforts, for a moment's pleasure  
To be shut out of the blessed joys for ever?  
The enjoyment of our carnal pleasures here  
Are purchased, at a rate extremely dear.  
The Indian Mines are of too small a price,  
In value for that place where comfort lies.  
All Crowns, and sceptres, the earth's highest bliss  
Are trifles to that infinite gloriousness.  
Then cease thy proling humour, and control  
Thy pining cares, lest that thou lose thy soul.   

And yet poor Man labours under mistake,  
Thinking the world his Heaven, and never take  
Right aims, but with a covetous desire  
Of greatness, earnestly striving to aspire  
To some great title, or bubble here on Earth,  
Which quite expireth with its latest breath,  
And while he labours with uncessant toil,  
Is diappointed by some petty foil.  
He frets, and fumes that he hath lost his station,  
And so is turned to brutish transmutation,  
And buries his souls divinity in this Earth,  
Which should have greater happiness after death.  
Here this all ye that study compliments,  
And look no higher than the elements.  
Ye gallants of the world, that are on fire  
To pawn your souls to satisfy your desire  
For fading pleasures, chief felicity  
A seemingly delightful misery,  
Which glisters for a time, you'll surely find,  
They are but shadows, that delude the mind.   

Hark all you lofty aspirers to ambition,  
Check your proud fancies with a fair submission.  
You that can worship Satan with delight,  
And do him homage with your strength and might,  
And glory in your lust without control,  
And pay the immortal tribute of your soul.  
Thy revel will be horror in that day,  
When sad regrets will check thy soul, and say,  
What profit is it for to gain the world,  
And lose my immortal soul, and so be hurled  
Down from my lofty state, to endless flame,  
Where's dread, and horror, infamy, and shame.   

Hark you sensualists, that make disputes,  
Whose souls are as unconcerned as bruits,  
And panteth after pleasures seeming fair,  
With more desire than Chameleon for air,  
Thou, that wadest in soaming floods of vice  
O'er whelmed with wantonness at any price,  
Sporting thyself in the full baths of pleasure,  
Shunning that Crystal stream, divinest treasure,  
Counting religion dross, and do seem able  
To correct divinity, as a very fable,  
And in such height of humour thy thoughts advance,  
Thinking the lives of Saints a mere Romance,  
Laughing at Heaven, and that diviner light,  
Keeping the world's vain objects in thy sight.  
It will bleer thy eyes unless thou dost repent,  
Thy loser ways will suffer punishment.   

Harken thou miser, that hath given thy eat  
To the Rhetoric of a bag, thy soul doth cheer  
At the music of a purse, where is thy aim  
That gaze thy eyes to blindness at a Gem,  
Wishing thyself an Judian for such pleasure,  
That thou mayst ever dwell amongst such treasure,  
Inhabit mines, until thou art turned to oar  
Thy hairs to silver, and thy heart, which poar  
On the world's filth, into a wedg of gold;  
Then wilt thou be a person fit to hold,  
Correspondence with the Devil in the lower vaults,  
Which will severely strip thee for thy faults;  
Though thou art seemingly in a golden slumber  
He'll find a time thy covetous thoughts to cumber,  
With his severe corrections, thou wilt howl,  
That thou so lov'st the world, to lose thy soul.   

Harken ye gallants, which have lost your sense,  
And are enamoured on fashions, with pretence  
To beautify your Limbs with better shapes,  
Have lost your true Ideas, are turned apes,  
And merely live to feed vain luxury,  
With studied dishes for debauchery,  
And martyr many creatures to fulfil  
The unchaste desires of your wanton will;  
Like Epicures on that abundance given  
By the most good and bountiful hand of Heaven.   

Are your veins purer, have you nobler spirits,  
Then should your passions be full of great merits,  
Abandoning a base, and covetous mind,  
In getting wealth, which will scatter with the wind,  
And breath of the displeasure of the giver,  
Which soon can blast our hopes and make them whither  
Into a sterile, dry, and pale complexion,  
And make thee know, that thou art in subjection  
To powers divine, that can stop thy career;  
And make thy griping covetous purchase dear.   

Can we live old, and still recover strength,  
Not finding the miseries of age at length;  
Can we unwind time, and reverse its wheel,  
Stop the celestial posts, and make them reel,  
And set the world's great clock far back again,  
What shall we get by it, but trouble and pain,  
Imaginary selicities here,  
Sliding contentments, purchased very dear?  
And when we're listed in the dismal book,  
That accursed catalogue of the damned, look  
And ask Dives, without any control,  
What did it profit him to lose his soul.   

Oh Lord, what is there in this world to prize,  
And weary ourselves with vain desires to raise  
A temporary felicity and name,  
Which quickly vanisheth, as a blast or flame.  
'Tis hard to him, that's to thy law a stranger,  
To apprehend the misery, and danger  
Of covetous desires, the length of time  
Hath made that vice a habit, and incline  
Our natures to the breaches of thy law.  
Oh Lord, teach me with care to stand in awe  
Of losing thee my God, my only pleasure,  
Whom to enjoy is the divinest treasure.   

O let the blessings thou hast freely given  
Quicken our duller souls, with thanks to Heaven,  
From whom we have received the chief promotion:  
Let it not flack, but quicken our devotion,  
And raise contemplations, not vainly rude  
But with obedience, and humble gratitude,  
That so the vanities that are here below  
May be our scorn, but the graces with do flow  
From thy abundant mercy may delight'us  
To the bosom of thy Church, good Lord, unite us,  
And raise our spirits, our vices to control,  
And think no profit for to lose our soul.    
Canticles 2.1. 
I am the Rose of Sharon and the Lily of the valleys.  

'Tis Solomon's song, his most Seraphic strain,  
That in high, and transcendent raptures aim  
To express Christ's love, to his Church the sacred spouse,  
Doth not his fervent divine fancy rouse  
These high passionate expressions divine,  
The Rose of Sharon, love better than wine;  
Lily of the valleys, turtle undefiled,  
Love of delights, sweeter than spices mild,  
Spikenard and Myrrh, Saphron and Frankincense,  
All these allusions, in an amorous sense  
Of divine love, as in a holy song,  
With lofty ejaculations all along  
In a devout harmony doth allude  
In allegory, and similitude.   

The Rose is nature's perfume, it displays  
Its treasures through the air unto its praise;  
It delighteth sense both in colour, and smell,  
Whose odoriferous beauty none can parallel.  
Other flowers (like Hypocrites) are fair of colour,  
And in a painted show they do seem fuller  
Of various shapes, but they have not the scent  
Of that sweet Rose, that still is fragrant,  
And retains its sweetness, even in withered dust,  
When other flowers of Color pine, and burst  
Into a nasty shape, of the Rose is made  
A cordial, so, that it doth never fade;  
It's virtues are still useful of great price,  
Of vegetables nature's paradise.   

In this wonder of flowers, we may espy  
Not only Physic but Divinity;  
It wears Heaven's livery, in its beauteous colour,  
Nature's master piece, nothing is fuller  
Than the sweet lovely blushes of the Rose,  
That Rose of Sharon, which all wisdom knows  
With many prickles, was his head surrounded,  
With tanting scoffs, was his pure soul confoundad;  
The perfumes of his prayers raised a richer smell,  
Than all Arabia's spices can parallel,  
His divine miracles were higher scented,  
Than all odoriferous gums, if sublimated  
Into one perfume, it's a rifle to that sweet,  
That cordial posy where the Godhead meet  
As joined in one, and sent such perfume thence,  
Which should enamor our hearts with reverence,  
To adore that Rose of Sharon, which will never  
Lose its perfume, but will smell sweet for ever.   

Oh let us run with meekness, (not presume)  
After the odours of thy sweet perfume;  
And have fervent desires for thee alone,  
And for the streams that do flow from thy Throne.   

Imprint in me such rays of divine grace,  
A purity capable to see thy face.  
The greatest perfections in creatures lie,  
But a drop of transcendent excellency  
That is in thee, let me have a longing strife  
To imitate the purity of thy life,  
And in an humble meekness to submit,  
To such indignities as thou thinkest fit,  
And when I shall lay down this earthy feature  
I may be raised a renewed creature;  
And be comforted with perfumes of thy love,  
Which are prepared with the Saints above,  
In the eternal paradise of rest,  
With the true Rose of Sharon ever blest.    Psalm 119.92. 
If my delight had not been in thy Law: I should have perished in my trouble.   
FINIS.  

To the Honourable the Lord Chief justice Raynsford, upon his adding St. George's Church to the rules of the King's Bench.  

THanks noble Raynsford, for this bounteous favour  
To prisoners restrained, it doth sweetly savour  
Of a pious clemency, thus to enlarge  
The footsteps of those Men under thy charge,  
've outdone loyal Keeling (that act we'll sound)  
He'n larged the rules, thou givest us holy ground,  
St. George's Church, England's Titular Saint,  
Where we may freely go, and make complaint  
Of our hard ereditors, and devoutly pray,  
That he'll enlarge his mercies in the day  
Of your account, we'll study to express  
All ways of gratitude, for this happiness,  
With thanks unto our Marshal for his love,  
Which doth oblige us faster, far above  
All other obligations, we'll express  
All cordial love with humble thankfulness.  
Pardon Dear Sir, that I this silence break,  
That am the meanest, how could others speak?    

An Elegy on the death of Edmund Lenthal Esq: late Marshal of the King's Bench.  

ARe prisons sad? is't not a place of grief,  
To be restrained from liberty, the chief  
Desire of Man, but here a comforts given,  
When a mild keeper is decreed from Heaven.  
Such one we had, but suddenly snatched hence  
By the impartial hand of providence.  
Death with his pale faced Envy hath bereaved  
Of comfort, in which we were not deceived.  
His carriage was obliging sweet, and kind,  
Expressing still a bounteous noble mind,  
And generous Courtesy, yet his care was just  
Preserving them, that did oblige his trust.  
In such an harmony his acts did meet,  
Mixed mercy with justice in consort sweet.  
My meditations of Joy, and gladness  
Are turned to Eulogies, and songs of sadness.  
He's taken hence, which my sad soul did cheer.  
I cease to write, surprised with mournful tear.    

THE TABLE Of the FIRST PART.  
Philippians Chap. 4. v. 12. 
1. I Know how to abound, and how to suffer need, etc.  Job 2.10. 
2. In all this did not Job sin with his Lips.  Romans 6.12. and part of 21. 
3. Let not sin theresore reign in your mortal bodies, that you should obey it in the Lusts thereof: For the end of these things are death. 7  Matthew 15.28. 
4. And he said unto her, O Woman great is thy Faith. 11  John 12.2. 
5. But Lazarus was one of those that sat at the Table with him. 14  Genesis 2.8. 
6. And the Lord God planted a Garden Eastward in Eden. 17  Luke 10.25. 
7. And behold, a certain Lawyer flood up and tempted him, Master, what shall I do to inherit Eternal Life. 20  John 11.36. 
8. Jesus Wept. 23  Matthew 6.33. 
9 But seek ye first the Kingdom of God and his Righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you, etc. 25  John 13.23. 
10. And there was leaning on Jesus bosom, one of his Disciples whom he loved, etc. 29  Luke 19.9. 
11. This day is Salvation come to thy House. 32  Luke 9.57. 
12. Lord, I will follow thee wheresoever thou goest. 36   
A Copy of Verse to Sir Anthony Bateman on the Death of his Daughter. 40   
An Elegy on the Name and Death of the Virtuous Lady Martha Bateman, who departed this Life the Tenth of December, 1674. 41    

THE TABLE Of the SECOND PART.  
Numbers 27.16, 17. 
1. Let the Lord, the God of the Spirits of all flesh, set a man over the Congregation. Which may go out before them, and which may go in before them, and which may lead them out, and which may bring them in; that the Congregation of the Lord be not as Sheep which have no Shepherd. p. 1.  Matthew 5.8. 
2. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God, etc. 6  Daniel 12.3. 
3. And they that be wise shall shine as the brightness of the Firmament, and they that turn many to righteousness, as the Stars for ever and ever. 9  Matthew 2.18. 
4. And when they saw the Star, they rejoiced with exceeding great Joy. 12  Ecclesiastes 12.13. 
5. Fear God and keep his Commandments, for this is the whole duty of Man. 16  Matthew 8.2. 
6. And behold! there came a Leper and worshipped him, saying, Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean. 20  1 Kings 19.9. 
7. And he came unto a Cave and lodged there. 23  Genesis 28.12. 
8. And he dreamt a Dream, and behold a Ladder set upon the Earth, and the top of it reached unto Heaven, and behold the Angels descending and ascending on it. 27  Proverbs 18.14. 
9 But a wounded Spirit who can bear! 33  Matthew 24.38. 
10. And knew not until the Flood came and took them all away. 37  Luke 7.5. 
11. For he loved our Nation and hath built us a Synagogue. 40  John 20.11. 
12. But Mary stood without at the Sepulchre weeping, and as she wept she stooped down and looked into the Sepulchre. 44  Ecclesiastes 12.1. 
13. Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth. 47  Luke 18.11. 
14. The Pharisee stood up and prayed, God I thank thee I am not as other men are. 50  Matthew 16.26. 
15. For what is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul? 53  Canticles 2.1. 
16. I am the Rose of Sharon, and the Lily of the Valleys. 57   
A Copy of Verses to the Right Honourable the Lord Chief Justice Raynsford.   
An Elegy on the Death of Edmund Lenthal Esq;    
FINIS.