- 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 5Lfbrarp of DID 2tutt)or0- 
 
THE COMPLETE WORKS 
 
 CANON OF LORETTO. 
 EDITED BY 
 
 WILLIAM B. TUENBULL, ESQ. 
 of Lincoln's inn, barrister 
 
 AT LAW. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JOHX KUSSELL SMITH, 
 
 SOHO SQUARE. 
 
 1858. 
 
T\ 3 2> 
 
* 
 
 *» 
 
 X 
 
 TO THE 
 
 VERY REV. MARK ALOYSIUS TIERNEY, 
 
 CANON OF ST. GEORGe's, SOUTHWARK, 
 
 F.R.S., F.S.A., 
 
 ETC. 
 
 THIS SMALL VOLUME 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED BY ITS EDITOR, IN ACKNOW- 
 LEDGEMENT OF THE VIRTUES, THE TALENTS, AND 
 THE INDEPENDENCE WHICH DISTINGUISH 
 HIM AS A PRIEST, A SCHOLAR, 
 AND A GENTLEMAN. 
 
 I 
 
PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 
 
 I F Kichard Crashaw, whose works are com- 
 prised in the ensuing pages, little is 
 known ; and for that little we are mainly 
 beholden to the industry of Wood, upon 
 whose curt notice in the Fasti Occonienses was founded 
 the more elaborate memoir by Hayley in Kippis' edi- 
 tion of the Biographia Britannica, which served as 
 the sole unvaried authority imtil the subject was treated 
 by the Eev. Kobert Aris Willruott in the first series of 
 Lives of the English Sacred Poets. Both in the records 
 of those educational establishments where, in his youth, 
 he was trained, and of that holy retreat in which he 
 closed his maturer years, have searches been fruitlessly 
 made, in the hope that some additional fact, however 
 minute, might be discovered. I am, therefore, obliged 
 to recapitulate in few words what is already familiar to 
 every one ; referring the reader to the elegant and more 
 copious sketch by Mr. Willinott. 
 
 According to the scanty sources of information, 
 Crashaw was the son of William Crashaw, B. D., a 
 
viii PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 
 
 divine of some eminence in his time,* and preacher at 
 the Temple. The date of his birth has not been ascer- 
 tained, but it may have been about 1616 ; since, the first 
 steps of his education having been taken at the Charter- 
 house, on the foundation of which he was placed by Sir 
 Randolph Crew and Sir Henry Yelverton, he was elected 
 a scholar of Pembroke Hall, Cambridge, March 26, 
 1632, and became a Fellow of Peterhouse in the same 
 University, in 1637; having removed to that College 
 on the 20th of March previous. His Bachelor's degree 
 was taken in 1633. In 1641 he is recorded by Wood as 
 one of the persons incorporated that year at Oxford ; but 
 to what degree admitted is not stated, as his name does 
 not appear in the public register, and Wood's authority 
 was " the private observation of a certain Master of 
 Arts, that was, this year, living in the University." 
 Wood, however, adds: — "Afterwards, he was Master 
 of Arts, in which degree it is probable he was incor- 
 porated." Beyond these features of his academical 
 career, we are certain of nothing save of its termination ; 
 which happened during the Great Rebellion in 1644, 
 when the Earl of Manchester, under the authority of 
 Parliament, " reformed" (as they were pleased to style 
 it) the University, by expelling such members as re- 
 fused to subscribe the Covenant. On this occasion 
 Crashaw was one of the sixty-five Fellows ejected. 
 After the loss of his fellowship, having embraced the 
 
 * The tone of his religious sentiments, very different from 
 those of his son, may be gathered from the titles of his printed 
 discourses 5 e. g. " The Bespotted Jesuite : whose Gospell is 
 full of blasphemy against the Blood of Christ, 55 &c, 1641, 4to. 
 
PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. ix 
 
 Catholic religion, he repaired to Paris : and in this city 
 he was found by Cowley in a state of destitution, about 
 1646. To the friendship of this amiable brother-poet 
 he was indebted for sympathy and relief, and an intro- 
 duction to the exiled queen, Henrietta Maria, from 
 whom he also received what small aid her own limited 
 finances would allow, with recommendatory letters to 
 persons of influence at Kome. There he is said to 
 have become secretary to Cardinal Palotta, and soon 
 thereafter to have been appointed one of the Canons of 
 the Church of Loretto. This preferment he only held 
 for a very short space; dying and being interred at 
 Loretto about 1650. Such is the faint outline of his 
 life. 
 
 Among the patrons of Crashaw, in his altered circum- 
 stances, the Countess of Denbigh appears to have been 
 prominent. His gratitude is expressed by his dedication 
 to her of the Carmen Deo Nostro, " in hearty acknow- 
 ledgement of his immortal obligation to her goodness 
 and charity," and by his efforts to bring her within the 
 pale of the Catholic Church. Whether they were suc- 
 cessful or not I cannot ascertain. This lady was Eliza- 
 beth, daughter and coheir of Edward Bourchier, Earl 
 of Bath, and third of the four wives of Basil, second 
 Earl of Denbigh, whom she predeceased in 1670. I had 
 hoped to have found some traces of Crashaw among the 
 archives at Newnham Paddox ; but Viscount Fielding, 
 having kindly directed a search to be made, informs me 
 that no document relating to him exists there. 
 
 Our ideas of the personal character of Crashaw must 
 be formed from his writings, the enthusiastic affection 
 
x PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 
 
 of Cowley, and the friendship of Selden. To the former 
 of such sources the editor of the edition of 1649 justly 
 points, while referring to the last line of his verses on 
 Bishop Andrews' portrait : — 
 
 " Look on the following leaves, and see him breathe." 
 
 The qualities which recommended him to the esteem of 
 two such men as those now named, can have been of no 
 common order, and make the absence of materials for 
 his biography the more truly to be deplored. 
 
 As a poet, his works have ever been appreciated by 
 those most qualified to decide upon their sterling beau- 
 ties,* and have suggested to others (too frequently with- 
 out acknowledgment) some of their finest imageries. In 
 every volume of any pretensions to taste, designed to 
 offer specimens of English poetry, extracts are to be 
 found ; yet, with the exception of being partially, and 
 by no means accurately, printed in the bulky and in- 
 convenient collections of Chalmers and Anderson, it is 
 somewhat remarkable that, in an age when familiarity 
 with our Old English Authors is so eagerly sought, a 
 full reprint should have been deferred till now. Of 
 those which have preceded it, the following is a list : — 
 
 Epigrammata Sacra, published anonymously at Cam- 
 bridge, 1634, 8vo. 
 
 Steps to the Temple, London, 1646, 12mo. 
 
 The same, with additions and a frontispiece, London, 
 1648, 12mo. 
 
 Carmen Deo Xostro, Paris, 1652, 8vo. with beautiful 
 plates. 
 
 * Among such I would particularly name the Rev. Robert 
 Aris Willmott, above mentioned. 
 
PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. xi 
 
 Lines to Lady Denbigh (p. 146 of the present edition), 
 London, Sept. 23, 1653, 4to. pp. 4. 
 
 Steps to the Temple, London, 1649, 8vo. with frontis- 
 piece. To this second edition, in its text the most in- 
 accurate of all, a fresh title-page, bearing the date of 
 1670, was afterwards affixed. 
 
 Poetry, by Peregrine Phillips, London, 1785, 12mo. 
 
 All these are very scarce, that of Paris extremely so. I 
 have already commended its illustrations, and, as it would 
 seem, from the epigram at p. 145 seq., that they had been 
 designed by Crashaw, a list of them may not be deemed 
 superfluous, in order as they appear in the elegant little 
 volume from the press of " Peter Targa, printer to the 
 Archbishope of Paris, in S. Victor's streete at the golden 
 sunne." A copy of this produced <£4 14s. 6d. at Sir 
 Mark Sykes' sale in 1824, and would, if in fair con- 
 dition, command a much higher price now. That in 
 the Grenville Library is, perhaps, the finest in existence. 
 
 1. " To the noblest and best of ladies." A heart with 
 
 padlock inscribed " Non Vi" Beneath, these lines : — 
 
 'Tis not the work of force but skill 
 
 To find the way into man's will ; 
 
 'Tis love alone can hearts unlock : 
 
 Who knows the word, he needs not knock. 
 
 2. " To the name above every name," — " Numisma 
 Urbani 6." A dove under the tiara, surrounded by a 
 glory : legend, i( In unitate Deus est." 
 
 3. " To the Holy Nativity." The Holy Family at 
 
 Bethlehem. Beneath, these lines : — 
 
 Ton Createur te faict voir sa naissance, 
 Deignant souffrir pour toy des son enfance. 
 
 Quern vidistis Pastores, &c. 
 
 Natum vidimus, &c. 
 
xii PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 
 
 4. " To the glorious Epiphany." The adoration of 
 the Magi. 
 
 5. " The Office of the Holy Cross." The crucified 
 Redeemer. Beneath : — 
 
 Tradidit semetipsum pro nobis oblationem et hostiam 
 Deo in odorem suavitatis. — Ad Ephe. 5. 
 
 6. " The Kecommendation." The Ascended Saviour. 
 Above it : — 
 
 Expostulatio Jesu Christi cum mundo ingrato. 
 Beneath : — 
 
 Sum pulcher : at nemo tamen me diligit. 
 Sum nobilis : nemo est mihi qui serviat. 
 Sum dives : a me nemo quicquam postulat. 
 Et cuncta possum : nemo me tamen timet. 
 ^Eternus exsto : quseror a paucissimis. 
 Prudensque sum : sed me qui est qui consulit ? 
 Et sum Via : at per me quotusquisque ambulet ? 
 Sum Veritas : quare mihi non creditur. 
 Sum Vita : verum rarus est qui me petit. 
 Sum Vera Lux : videre me nemo cupit. 
 Sum misericors : nullus fidem in me eollocat. 
 Tu, si peris, non id mihi imputes, Homo : 
 Salus tibi est a me parata : hac utere. 
 
 I. Messager excud. 
 
 7. " Sancta Maria Dolorum." The Blessed Virgin 
 seated on a sepulchre under the Cross with instruments 
 of the passion, the chalice, <fcc, holding the dead Saviour 
 on her lap. Messager excud. 
 
 8. u Hymn of St. Thomas." A Remonstrance. 
 " Ecce pants Angelorum" 
 
 9. " Dies Irse." The last Judgment. " Dies Irce, 
 Dies Ilia:' 
 
PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. xiii 
 
 10. " O Gloriosa Domina." Our Lady and Infant. 
 Angels holding a crown over her head, surmounted by 
 the Holy Dove. Beneath : — 
 
 S. Maria Major. 
 
 Dilectus meus mihi et ego illi, 
 
 Qui pascitur inter lilia. Cant. 
 
 I. Messager excud. 
 
 11. " The Weeper." A weeping female resting 
 upon a bleeding and inflamed heart, surrounded by a 
 glory. Beneath : — 
 
 Lo, where a wounded heart with bleeding eyes conspire ! 
 Is she a flaming fountain or a weeping fire ? 
 
 1/ 12. " Hymn to St. Teresa." Portrait, scroll over 
 her head inscribed : " Misericors Domini in ceternum 
 cantabo" Beneath : — 
 
 La Vray Portraict de Ste. Terese Fondatrice des Reli- 
 gieuses, et Eeligieux reformez de 1' ordre de N. Dame de 
 mont Carmel : Decedee le 4 e . Octo. 1582. Canonisee le 12 e . 
 Mars 1622. — I, Messager excud. 
 
 The volume concludes with " Hope" by Cowley, and 
 " M. Crashaw's Answer for Hope," separately, and not 
 combined, as usual, in form of dialogue. 
 
 After the sheets containing them had been printed 
 off, a correspondent of the " Notes and Queries" (the 
 Eev. J. L. B. Major, in 2nd series, vol. rv. p. 286) 
 pointed out, on the authority of Banks' Life of Dr. 
 Rainbow, Bishop of Carlisle, that the first of the two 
 poems, " On the Frontispiece of Isaacson's Chronology 
 explained," beginning, " If with distinctive eye and 
 mind you look," was written, not by Crashaw, but by 
 
xiv PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 
 
 Eainbow. Upon referring to this very scarce little 
 volume, I find the following : — 
 
 u In his youth he had a rich vein in poesy, in which 
 appeared somewhat of Ovid's air and fancy, tempered 
 with the judgment of Virgil ; but none of his poetical 
 exercises and diversions have been published, but a 
 paper of verses upon the Frontispiece of Mr. Henry 
 Isaacson's Chronology, which accurate Chronologer was 
 our Bishop's particular friend, and had formerly been 
 amanuensis to that living library while he was alive, 
 the reverend and learned Bishop Andrews ; and another 
 short paper on Mr. Skelton's Art of Short-writing. 
 
 " Of the honour of the former of these poems, printed 
 without the addition of any name in 1633, he was robbed 
 by the publisher of Mr. Richard Crashaw's poems, en- 
 tituled Steps to the Temple, and ascribed by him to that 
 ingenious epigrammatist. But he having no title to it, 
 but what the modest silence of Mr. Eainbow gave him, 
 I have recovered it to the true owner by a melius in- 
 quirendum, and subjoined it here." — P. 84. 
 
 This is sufficiently distinct ; yet it is somewhat singular 
 that the lines should neither have been claimed by the 
 Bishop, nor disowned by Crashaw, who must have seen, 
 if he did not superintend, at least one of the editions of 
 his own poems containing them ; and that no one during 
 the life of either party should have detected and de- 
 nounced the misappropriation. Isaacson died in 1656, 
 four years after Crashaw ; and Dr. Eainbow in 1684, 
 his biography by Banks being published in 1688. If 
 Banks is correct as regards the first of these compli- 
 mentary effusions, the second may, perhaps, have as 
 
PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. xv 
 
 little right to be attributed to Crashaw, both being 
 printed without name or initials. The latter alone, it 
 may be observed, has been printed by Phillips in his 
 volume of selections in 1785.* 
 
 In preparing the present edition, the first that con- 
 tains the whole of Crashaw' s writings known, I have 
 carefully examined and collated all the earlier ones. 
 To their proper places in the Epigrammata I have re- 
 stored those portions which had erratically entered into 
 the different editions of the Delights of tlie Uuses ; and 
 I have added to that division of the present volume the 
 verses " Upon two green apricocks ; " printing by them- 
 selves the Latin poems which follow them in the edition of 
 1648. While refraining from the practice of cumbering 
 the pages with various readings, I have endeavoured to 
 render the text with due accuracy ; and if in this I shall 
 anywise be found to have failed, at all events I have pre- 
 pared the ground for some future more competent editor. 
 
 These brief observations cannot be concluded more 
 appropriately than by the beautiful monody of Cowley 
 upon his friend and fellow-poet. 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF MR. CRASHAW. 
 
 Poet and Saint ! to thee alone are given 
 The two most sacred names of earth and heaven ; 
 The hardest, rarest, union which can be,f 
 Next that of Godhead and humanity. 
 
 * Among the other commendatory verses prefixed to Isaac- 
 son's work are some by Mr, Staninough, upon whose death 
 the lines at p. 104 were composed by Crashaw. 
 
 t As judiciously amended by Mr. Willmott, instead of u The 
 hard and rarest. 5 ' 
 
xvi PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 
 
 Long did the Muses banish'd slaves abide, 
 
 And built vain pyramids to mortal pride : 
 
 Like Moses thou (tho' spells and charms withstand) 
 
 Hast brought them nobly home, back to their holy land. 
 
 Ah, wretched we, Poets of earth ! but thou 
 Wert living the same Poet which thou'rt now ; 
 Whilst angels sing to thee their airs divine, 
 And joy in an applause so great as thine. 
 Equal society with them to hold, 
 Thou need'st not make new songs, but say the old ; 
 And they (kind spirits !) shall all rejoice to see, 
 How little less than they, exalted man may be. 
 
 Still the old heathen gods in numbers dwell, 
 The heavenliest thing on earth still keeps up hell : 
 Nor have we yet quite purg'd the Christian land 5 
 Still idols here, like calves at Bethel stand. 
 And tho' Pan ? s death long since all or'cles broke, 
 Yet still in rhyme the fiend Apollo spoke 5 
 Nay, with the worst of heathen dotage, we 
 (Vain men !) the monster woman deifie ; 
 Find stars, and tie our fates there in a face, 
 And Paradise in them, by whom we lost it, place. 
 What diff'rent faults corrupt our muses thus ? 
 Wanton as girls, as old wives fabulous. 
 
 Thy spotless muse, like Mary, did contain 
 The boundless Godhead ; she did well disdain 
 That her eternal verse employed should be 
 On a less subject than eternity 5 
 And for a sacred mistress scorn'd to take 
 But her whom God himself scorn'd not his spouse to make : 
 It (in a kind) her miracle did do, 
 A fruitful mother was, and virgin too. 
 
 How well (blest Swan) did fate contrive thy death, 
 And made thee render up thy tuneful breath 
 In thy great mistress' arms ? Thou most divine, 
 And richest offering of Loretto's shrine ! 
 Where, like some holy sacrifice t' expire, 
 A fever burns thee and love lights the fire. 
 
PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. xyii 
 
 Angels (they say) brought the fam'd chapel there, 
 And bore the sacred load in triumph thro' the air : 
 5 Tis surer much they brought thee there ; and they, 
 And thou, their charge, went singing all the way. 
 
 Pardon, my mother Church, if I consent 
 That angels led him, when from thee he went ; 
 For ev'n in error, sure no danger is, 
 When join'd with so much piety as his. 
 Ah ! mighty God, with shame I speak't, and grief; 
 Ah ! that our greatest faults were in belief! 
 And our weak reason were ev'n weaker yet, 
 Rather than thus, our will's too strong for it ! 
 His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might 
 Be wrong 5 his life, I'm sure, was in the right : 
 And I, myself, a Catholic will be ; 
 So far at least, great Saint I to pray to thee. 
 
 Hail, Bard triumphant ! and some care bestow 
 On us, the Poets militant below : 
 Oppos'd by our old enemy, adverse Chance, 
 Attack'd by Envy and by Ignorance ; 
 Enchain'd by Beauty, tortured by desires. 
 Expos'd by Tyrant-love, to savage beasts and fires. 
 Thou from low earth in nobler flames didst rise, 
 And like Elijah mount alive the skies. 
 Elisha like (but with a wish much less, 
 More fit thy greatness and my littleness ;) 
 Lo here I beg (I whom thou once didst prove 
 So humble to esteem, so good to love) 
 Not that thy spirit might on me doubled be, 
 I ask but half thy mighty spirit for me : 
 And when my muse soars with so strong a wing, 
 'Twill learn of things divine, and first of thee to sing.* 
 
 W. E. TUKNBULL. 
 Lincoln's-Inn. 
 
 Feb. 1858. 
 
 * In these verses, says Johnson, " there are beauties which 
 common authors may justly think not only above their attain- 
 ment, but above their ambition." 
 
 b 
 
xviii PRELIMINARY OBSERVATIONS. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 Since the completion of the text, I have been annoyed 
 by discovering that the lines " On a Treatise of Charity/' 
 at page 77, were originally prefixed to the " Five Poems 
 and Learned Discourses " of Robert Shelford, Rector of 
 Ringsfield, Suffolk, 4to. Cambridge, 1635 ; and that 
 the following lines have been left out in the editions of 
 Crashaw's Poems. The reason for such omission is 
 obvious. Should a second impression of this volume be 
 required, they shall be inserted in their proper place; 
 but it must be admitted that, however just the sentiment 
 expressed in them, the subtraction of these lines does 
 not impair the beauty of the poem. 
 
 Nor shall our zealous ones still have a fling 
 
 At that most horrible and horned thing, 
 
 Forsooth the Pope : by which black name they call 
 
 The Turk, the Devil, Fairies, Hell and all, 
 
 And something more. O he is Antichrist : 
 
 Doubt this, and doubt (say they) that Christ is Christ. 
 
 Why, 'tis a point of faith. Whate'er it be, 
 
 I'm sure it is no point of charity. 
 
 In sum, no longer shall our people hope, 
 
 To be a true Protestant, 's but to hate the Pope. 
 
PREFACE TO THE ORIGINAL 
 EDITION. 
 
 Learned Reader, 
 "■gfri^HE author's friend will not usurp much 
 jJQ Kr-^ u P on ^ n y e J e » ^ s * s on ^J f° r those whom 
 f&/j| P^ ^ e naxne °f our divine poet hath not yet 
 ^ ^M=^ seized into admiration ; I dare under- 
 take that what Jamblichus (in vita Pythagoras) affirmeth 
 of his master at his contemplations — these poems can ; 
 viz. they shall hit thee, reader, some yards above the 
 ground; and as in Pythagoras' school every temper 
 was first tuned into a height by several portions of music, 
 and spiritualized for one of his weighty lectures, so 
 mayest thou take a poem hence, and tune thy soul by it 
 into a heavenly pitch ; and thus refined and borne up 
 upon the wings of meditation, in these poems thou 
 mayest talk freely of God, and of that other state. 
 
 Here's Herbert's second, but equal, who hath retrieved 
 poetry of late, and returned it up to its primitive use ; 
 let it bound back to Heaven's gates whence it came. 
 Think ye St. Augustine would have stained his graver 
 learning with abook of poetry, had he fancied their dearest 
 
xx PREFACE TO THE 
 
 end to be the vanity of love-sonnets and epithalamiums ? 
 No, no ! he thought, with this our poet, that every foot 
 in a high-born verse might help to measure the soul 
 into that better world. Divine poetry ; I dare hold it, 
 in position against Suarez on the subject, to be the 
 language of the angels ; it is the quintessence of phan- 
 tasy and discourse centred in Heaven ; 'tis the very 
 outgoings of the soul ; 'tis what alone our author is able 
 to tell you, and that in his own verse. 
 
 It were profane but to mention here in the preface 
 those under-headed poets, retainers to seven shares 
 and a half; madrigal fellows, whose only business in 
 verse is to rhyme a poor sixpenny soul, a suburb sinner, 
 into hell. May such arrogant pretenders to poetry 
 vanish with their prodigious issue of tumorous heats and 
 flashes of their adulterate brains ; and for ever after may 
 this our poet fill up the better room of man ! Oh ! when 
 the general arraignment of poets shall be to give an 
 account of their higher souls, with what a triumphant 
 brow shall our divine poet sit above and look down upon 
 poor Homer, Virgil, Horace, Claudian, &c. who had 
 amongst them the ill luck to talk out a great part of 
 their gallant genius upon bees, dung, frogs, and gnats, 
 &c. and not as himself here, upon Scriptures, divine 
 graces, martyrs, and angels ! 
 
 Reader, we style his Sacred Poems, " Steps to the 
 Temple," and aptly, for in the Temple of God, under 
 His wing, he led his life in St. Mary's Church, near St. 
 Peter's college ; there he lodged under Tertullian's 
 roof of angels ; there he made his nest more gladly 
 than David's swallow near the house of God : where, 
 
ORIGINAL EDITION. xxi 
 
 like a primitive saint, he offered more prayers in the 
 night than others usually offer in the day. There he 
 penned these poems, — steps for happy souls to climb 
 Heaven by. 
 
 And those other of his pieces, entitled, " The De- 
 lights of the Muses/' though of a more human mixture, 
 are as sweet as they are innocent. 
 
 The praises that follow are but few of many that 
 might be conferred on him : he was excellent in five 
 languages (besides his mother-tongue), viz. Hebrew, 
 Greek, Latin, Italian, Spanish, the two last whereof 
 he had little help in ; they were of his own acquisition. 
 
 Amongst his other accomplishments in academic (as 
 well pious as harmless) arts, he made his skill in poetry, 
 music, drawing, limning, graving, (exercises of his 
 curious invention and sudden fancy,) to be but his sub- 
 servient recreations for vacant hours, not the grand 
 business of his soul. 
 
 To the former qualifications I might add that which 
 would crown them all: his rare moderation in diet — 
 almost Lessian temperance ; he never created a Muse 
 out of distempers, nor, with our Canary scribblers, cast 
 any strange mists of surfeits before the intellectual beams 
 of his mind or memory 3 the latter of which he was so 
 much a master of, that he had there, under lock and key 
 in readiness, the richest treasures of the best Greek and 
 Latin poets, some of which authors he had more at his 
 command by heart than others that only read their 
 works to retain little and understand less. 
 
 Enough, reader ; I intend not a volume of praises 
 larger than this book, nor need I longer transport thee 
 
xxii THE PREFACE. 
 
 to think over his vast perfections. I will conclude all 
 that I have impartially writ of this learned young gentle- 
 man, now dead to us, as he himself doth, with the last 
 line of his poem upon Bishop Andrews' picture before 
 his sermons : — 
 
 Verte paginas. 
 Look on the following leaves, and see him breathe. 
 
 The Author's Motto. 
 Live, Jesus, live, and let it be 
 My life to die for love of Thee. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Page 
 
 [HE Weeper 1 
 
 The Weeper 8 
 
 The Tear 13 
 
 Divine Epigrams : — 
 
 On the Water of our Lord's Baptism 16 
 
 On the Baptized Ethiopian 16 
 
 On the Miracle of multiplied Loaves 16 
 
 Upon the Sepulchre of our Lord 16 
 
 The Widow's Mites 17 
 
 On the Prodigal 17 
 
 On the still surviving Marks of our Saviour's Wounds 1 7 
 
 The Sick implore St. Peter's Shadow 17 
 
 The Dumb healed, and the People enjoined silence . . 18 
 
 Come, see the place where the Lord lay 18 
 
 To Pontius washing his Hands 18 
 
 To the Infant Martyrs 18 
 
 On the Miracle of Loaves 19 
 
 Why are ye afraid, ye of little faith? 19 
 
 On the Blessed Virgin's bashfulness 19 
 
 Upon Lazarus's Tears 20 
 
 Two went up into the Temple to pray 20 
 
 Upon the Ass that bore our Saviour ...... 20 
 
 I am not worthy that Thou shouldst come under my Roof 2 1 
 
 Upon the Powder-day 21 
 
 I am the Door 21 
 
 The Blind cured by the Word of our Saviour ... 21 
 
 And He answered them nothing: . 22 
 
xxiv CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 To our Lord, upon the Water made Wine .... 22 
 Neither durst any Man from that day ask Him any 
 
 more Questions 22 
 
 Upon our Saviour's Tomb, wherein never man was laid 23 
 
 It is better to go into Heaven with one Eye, &c. . . 23 
 Upon the dumb Devil cast out, and the slanderous Jews 
 
 put to silence 24 
 
 And a certain Priest coming that way, looked on him, 
 
 and passed by 24 
 
 Blessed be the Paps which Thou hast sucked ... 24 
 
 To Pontius washing his blood-stained Hands ... 25 
 
 Ye build the Sepulchres of the Prophets 25 
 
 Upon the Infant Martyrs 25 
 
 Verily I say unto you, Ye shall weep and lament . . 26 
 Upon our Lord's last comfortable Discourse with His 
 
 Disciples 26 
 
 Dives asking a Drop 26 
 
 Give to Csesar And to God • 26 
 
 But now they have seen and hated 27 
 
 Upon the Crown of Thorns taken from our Blessed 
 
 Lord's Head, all bloody 27 
 
 She began to wash His Peet with Tears and wipe them 
 
 with the Hairs of her Head 27 
 
 On St. Peter cutting off Malchus's Ear 28 
 
 But Men loved Darkness rather than Light .... 28 
 
 I am ready not only to be bound but to die .... 28 
 
 On St. Peter casting away his Nets at our Saviour's Call 28 
 
 Our Lord in His Circumcision to His Pather ... 29 
 
 On the Wounds of our crucified Lord 29 
 
 On our crucified Lord, naked and bloody .... 30 
 
 Easter-Day 30 
 
 On the bleeding Wounds of our crucified Lord ... 31 
 
 Samson to his Delilah 33 
 
 Psalm xxiii 33 
 
 Psalm cxxxvn 35 
 
 ^ A Hymn of the Nativity, sung by the Shepherds ... 37 
 
 Sospetto D'Herode 42 
 
 On a Prayer-Book sent to Mrs. M. E 61 
 
 On Mr. G. Herbert's Book, entitled, " The Temple of 
 
 Sacred Poems," sent to a Gentlewoman .... 66 
 
CONTENTS. xxv 
 
 Page 
 A Hymn to the Name and Honour of the Admirable 
 
 Saint Teresa 67 
 
 An Apology for the precedent Hymn 73 
 
 On a Treatise of Charity 75 
 
 On the glorious Assumption of the Blessed Virgin . . 77 
 
 A Hymn on the Circumcision of our Lord 79 
 
 On Hope . 81 
 
 THE DELIGHTS OF THE MUSES. 
 
 Music's Duel 87 
 
 Upon the Death of a Gentleman . 93 
 
 Upon the Death of Mr. Herrys 94 
 
 Upon the Death of the most desired Mr. Herrys ... 96 
 
 In eundem Scazon 98 
 
 Another 99 
 
 His Epitaph 101 
 
 An Epitaph upon Husband and Wife, who died and were 
 
 buried together 103 
 
 An Epitaph upon Doctor Brook 103 
 
 Upon Mr. Staninough's Death 104 
 
 Upon the Duke of York's Birth. A Panegyric . . . 105 
 
 Upon Ford's two Tragedies 109 
 
 On a foul Morning, being then to take a Journey . . 109 
 
 Upon the fair Ethiopian, sent to a Gentlewoman . . Ill 
 
 On Marriage Ill 
 
 To the Morning. Satisfaction for sleep Ill 
 
 Loves Horoscope 113 
 
 Out of Virgil, in the praise of the Spring 115 
 
 With a Picture sent to a Friend 117 
 
 In Praise of Lessius's rule of Health 117 
 
 The beginning of Heliodorus 119 
 
 Cupid's Cryer. Out of the Greek 120 
 
 On Nanus 123 
 
 Upon Venus putting on Mars's Arms 123 
 
 Upon the same 123 
 
 Upon Bishop Andrews' Picture before his Sermons . . 124 
 
 Out of Martial 124 
 
 A Song. Out of the Italian 125 
 
 Out of the Italian 127 
 
 Out of the Italian . 128 
 
xxvi CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 On the Frontispiece of Isaacson's Chronology Explained 128 
 
 Or thus 130 
 
 An Epitaph upon Mr. Ashton, a conformable Citizen . 131 
 
 Out of Catullus 132 
 
 Wishes to his supposed Mistress 133 
 
 Upon two green Apricocks sent to Cowley by Sir Crashaw 138 
 
 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Crashawe, the Anagram u He was Car" 143 
 
 An Epigram 145 
 
 To the noblest and best of Ladies the Countess of Denbigh 146 
 . To the Name above every Name, the Name of Jesus. 
 
 * A Hymn 148 
 
 In the glorious Epiphany of our Lord God . . . . 156 
 
 To the Queen's Majesty on Twelfth-day 165 
 
 The Office of the Holy Cross. For the Hour of Matins 166 
 
 For the Hour of Prime 168 
 
 The Third . .' 170 
 
 The Sixth ' 172 
 
 The Ninth 174 
 
 Evensong 176 
 
 Complin 178 
 
 The Recommendation ' 180 
 
 Yexilla Regis 181 
 
 Charitas nimia - . 183 
 
 Sancta Maria dolorum 186 
 
 The Hymn of Saint Thomas in adoration of the Blessed 
 
 Sacrament 190 
 
 The Hymn for the Blessed Sacrament. Lauda Sion Sal- 
 
 vatorem 192 
 
 v The Hymn " Dies irse Dies ilia." In Meditation of the 
 
 Day of Judgment 195 
 
 -^The Hymn " Gloriosa domina" 198 
 
 The flaming Heart 200 
 
 <ASong 204 
 
 To Mistress M. R. Counsel concerning her choice . . 205 
 
 Alexias. The First Elegy 207 
 
 The Second Elegy 208 
 
 The Third Elegy 210 
 
 Description of a religious House and condition of Life . 212 
 
CONTENTS, xxvii 
 POEMATA LATINA. 
 
 Page 
 
 Bulla . 217 
 
 Thesaurus Malorum Foemina 222 
 
 In Apollinea depereuntem Daphnen 223 
 
 -ZEneas patris sui bajulus 224 
 
 In Pigmaliona 225 
 
 Arion 226 
 
 Phcenicis Genethliacon et Epicedion 227 
 
 Epitaphium 227 
 
 Damno affici saepe fit Lucrum 228 
 
 Humanae Yitse Descriptio 228 
 
 Tranquillitas animi 5 similitudine ducta ab ave captiva 
 
 et canora tamen 230 
 
 Reverendo admodum Yiro Benjamino Lany, &c. . . 235 
 Venerabili Viro Magistro Tournay, Tutori suo summe 
 
 observando 239 
 
 Ornatissimo Viro prseceptori suo colendissimo, Magistro 
 
 Brook 240 
 
 In Picturam Reverendissimi Episcopi, D. Andrews . . 241 
 
 Votiva domus Petrensis pro domo Dei 242 
 
 In cseterorum operum difficili parturitione gemitus . . 244 
 
 Epitaphium in Gulielmum Herrisium 245 
 
 In eundem 248 
 
 Natalis Principis Marise . 248 
 
 In Senerissimae Reginse partum hiemalem .... 250 
 
 Natalis Ducis Eboracensis 252 
 
 In faciem Augustissimi Regis a morbillis integram . . 253 
 
 Ad Carolum primum, Rex redux 254 
 
 Ad Principem nondum natum Regina gravida . . . 255 
 
 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Lectori ...*.... 259 
 
 Pharisseus et Publicanus , . 265 
 
 In Asinum Christi vectorem 265 
 
 Dominus apud suos vilis 266 
 
 Ad Bethesdse piscinam positus 266 
 
 Christus ad Thomam ... 266 
 
 Quisquis perdiderit animam suam mea causa, inveniet earn 267 
 
 Primo mane venit ad sepulchrum Magdalena . . . . 267 
 
xxviii CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Quinque panes ad quinque hominum millia .... 267 
 
 JEthiops lotus 268 
 
 Publicanus procul stans percutiebat pectus suum . . 268 
 
 Obolum viduse 268 
 
 Maria veroassidens ad pedes ejus, audiebat eum . . . 269 
 
 In Spiritus Sancti descensum 269 
 
 Congestis omnibus peregre profectus est .' . . . . 270 
 
 Non solum vinciri sed et mori paratus sum .... 270 
 
 la Herodem ^KCjXrjicoftpuJTov 270 
 
 Videns ventum magnum, timuit, etcumcoepisset demergi, 
 
 clamavit, &c. 271 
 
 Obtulit eis pecunias 271 
 
 Umbra S. Petri medetur segrotis 271 
 
 Tetigit linguam ejus, &c 272 
 
 Sacerdos quidam descendens eadem via, vidit et praeteriit 272 
 
 Leprosi ingrati 272 
 
 Ne soliciti estote in crastinum 273 
 
 A telonio Matthseus 273 
 
 Viduse Alius e feretro matri redditur 273 
 
 Bonum intrare in coelos cum uno oculo, &c 274 
 
 Hydropicus sanatur 274 
 
 Non erat iis in diversorio locus 274 
 
 In lacrymas Lazari spretas a Divite 275 
 
 Indignatur Caiphas Christo se confitenti 275 
 
 Cum tot signa edidisset, non credebunt in eum . . . 275 
 
 Ad S. Andream piscatorem 276 
 
 Ego sum Yox, &c 276 
 
 Vincula sponte decidunt 276 
 
 In diem omnium Sanctorum 277 
 
 In die Conjurationis sulphurese 277 
 
 Deus sub utero Virginis • . 277 
 
 Ad Judaeos mactatores Stephani 278 
 
 D. Joannes in exilio • . . » . 279 
 
 Ad Infantes Mar tyres 279 
 
 Quaerit Jesum suum beata Virgo 279 
 
 Non sum dignus ut sub tecta mea venias 280 
 
 Christus accusatus nihil respondet 280 
 
 Nunc dimittis 280 
 
 Verbum inter spinas 281 
 
 Sabbatum Judaicum et Christianum 281 
 
CONTENTS. xxix 
 
 Page 
 
 Ad verbum Dei sanatur caecus 281 
 
 Onus meum leve est 282 
 
 Miraculum quinque panum " . 282 
 
 Nunc scimus te habere daemonium 282 
 
 In beatae Virginis vereeundiam 283 
 
 In vulnera Dei pendentis 283 
 
 Quare cum Publicanis manducat Magister Tester ? . . 284 
 
 Ecce locus ubi jacuit Dominus 284 
 
 Leprosi ingrati 285 
 
 In cicatrices quas Christus habet in se adhuc superstites 285 
 
 iEger implorat umbram D. Petri 285 
 
 Quid turbati estis ? Videte manus meas et pedes, quia 
 
 ego ipse sum 286 
 
 In vincula Petro sponte delapsa, et apertas fores . . . 286 
 
 Deferebantur a corpore ejus sudaria, &c 286 
 
 Christus Yitis ad Yinitorem Patrem 287 
 
 Pene persuades mi hi ut fiam Christianus 287 
 
 Lux venit in mundum, sed dilexerunt homines magis 
 
 tenebras quam lucem 287 
 
 Dives implorat guttam 288 
 
 Quomodo potest homo gigni qui est senex ? . . . . 288 
 
 Arbor Christi jussu arescens 289 
 
 Zacharias minus credens .......... 289 
 
 In aquam baptismi Dominici 289 
 
 Mulieri incurvatae meditur Dominus, indignante Archi- 
 
 svnagogo . 290 
 
 Neque ausus fuit quisquam ex illo die eum amplius in- 
 
 terrogare 290 
 
 S. Joannes matri sua? 290 
 
 Si filius Dei es, dejice te 291 
 
 Dominus flens ad Judaeos 291 
 
 Nee velut hie Publicanus 291 
 
 In Saulum fulgore nimio excaEcatum 292 
 
 Beati oculi qui vident 292 
 
 Filius e feretro matri redditur . 292 
 
 In seculi sapientes 293 
 
 In Judaeos Christum praecipitare conantes ..... 293 
 
 In Draconem praecipitem 293 
 
 Beatae Yirgini credenti 294 
 
 Licetne Caesari censum dare ? 294 
 
xxx CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 In tibkines et turbam tumultuantem circa defunctam . 294 
 
 Piscatores vocati 295 
 
 Date Csesari 295 
 
 Dominus asino vehitur 295 
 
 Videbunt Filium hominis venientem in nube . . . . 296 
 
 Nisi digitum immisero, &c 296 
 
 Ad Judseos mactatores S. Stephani 296 
 
 Sancto Joanni, dilecto discipulo 297 
 
 In lactentes Marty res 297 
 
 Deus nobiscum 297 
 
 Christus circumcisus ad Patrem 298 
 
 In Epiphaniam Domini 298 
 
 Ecce quserebamus te, &c 299 
 
 Aquae in vinum versae 299 
 
 Absenti Centurionis filio Dominus absens medetur . . 299 
 
 Quid timidi estis 300 
 
 Nunc dimittis 300 
 
 In segetem sacram 300 
 
 Coepit lacrymis rigare pedes ejus, et capillis extergebat 301 
 
 Quid vis tibi faciam ? 301 
 
 Christus mulieri Canaanese difficilior 301 
 
 Beatus venter et ubera, &c 302 
 
 In Christum vitem 302 
 
 Vos flebitis et lamentabimini 302 
 
 In gregem Christi Pastoris 303 
 
 In vulnera pendentis Domini 303 
 
 Paralyticus convalescens 303 
 
 Tunc sustulerunt lapides 304 
 
 In resurrectionem Domini 304 
 
 Aliqui vero dubitabant 304 
 
 In vulnerum vestigia quae ostendit Dominus, ad fir mandam 
 
 suorum fidem ..;... 305 
 
 Mittifc Joannes qui quserant a Christo, an is sit . . . 305 
 
 In Petrum auricidam 305 
 
 Manus arefacta sanatur 306 
 
 In Pontium male lautum 306 
 
 In piscem dotatum 306 
 
 Ego vici mundum 307 
 
 In ascensionem Domini 307 
 
 In descensum Spiritus Sancti 307 
 
CONTENTS. xxxi 
 
 Page 
 
 Sic dilexit mundum Deus, ut Filium morti traduit . . 308 
 
 Juga bourn emi 309 
 
 D. Paulum, verbo sanantem claudum, pro Mercurio 
 
 Lystres adorant . * » 309 
 
 In S. Columbam ad Christi caput sedentem .... 309 
 
 In fores Divi Petro sponte apertas 310 
 
 Murmurabant Pharisaei, dicentes, Recipit peccatores et 
 
 comedit cum illis . 311 
 
 In trabem Pharisaicam 311 
 
 Constituerunt ut si quis confiteretur eum esse Christum, 
 
 synagoga moveretur 311 
 
 De voto filiorum Zebedsei 312 
 
 Ad hospites coense miraculosse quinque panum . . . 312 
 
 De Christo contra mundum pugna 312 
 
 Grseci disputatores Divo Paulo mortem machinantur . 313 
 Qui maximus est inter vos, esto sicut qui minimus . . 313 
 
 Luc. xix. 41 . . . 313 
 
 Christus in iEgypto 314 
 
 Incsecos Christum confitentes, Pharisseos abnegantes . 314 
 Si quis pone me veniet, tollat crucem et sequatur me . 314 
 
 Relictis omnibus sequutus est eum 315 
 
 JEdificatis sepulchra Prophetarum 315 
 
 In manum aridam qua Christo mota est miseratio . . 315 
 
 Ad D. Lucam medicum 316 
 
 Hydropicus sanatus, Christum jam sitiens 316 
 
 In coetum coelestem omnium Sanctorum 316 
 
 Christus absenti medetur 317 
 
 Csecus natus 317 
 
 Et ridebant ilium 318 
 
 In sapientiam seculi 318 
 
 In stabulum ubi natus est Dominus 318 
 
 S. Stephanus amicis suis, funus sibi curantibus . . . 319 
 In D. Joannem, quern Domitianus ferventi oleo (illsesum) 
 
 indidit 319 
 
 In tenellos Martyres 320 
 
 Attulerunt ei omnes male effectos, dsemoniacos, lunaticos 
 
 — et sanavit eos 320 
 
 Tuam ipsius animam pertransibit gladius 320 
 
 In sanguinem circumcisionis Domini. Ad convivas, quos 
 
 hsec dies apud nos solennes habet 321 
 
xxxii CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Puer Jesus inter Doctores 322 
 
 Ad Christum, de aqua in vinum versa 322 
 
 Christus infans Patri sistitur in templo 322 
 
 Leprosus Dominum implorans 323 
 
 Christus in tempestate 323 
 
 Annunciant ritus, quos non licet nobis suscipere, cum 
 
 simus Romani 324 
 
 Hie lapis fiat panis 324 
 
 Mulier Canaanitis 325 
 
 Deus, post expulsum Daemonem mutum, maledicis Judaeis 
 
 os obturat 325 
 
 Dicebant, Yere hie est propheta 326 
 
 Christus ambulabat in porticu Salomonis, et hiems erat 326 
 
 Dederunt nummos militibus 326 
 
 Beatae Virgini de salutatione Angelica 327 
 
 Pontio lavante 327 
 
 In die passionis Dominicae 328 
 
 In die Eesurrectionis Dominicae 328 
 
 In cicatrices Domini adhuc superstites 329 
 
 Pacem meam do vobis 330 
 
 In D. Paulum illuminatum simul et excaecatum . . . 331 
 
 Ego sum Via. Ad Judseos spretores Christi . . . . 331* 
 
 In nocturnum et hiemale iter infantis Domini .... 331 
 
 Non dico, me rogaturum Patrem pro vobis .... 335 
 
 In die Ascensionis Dominicae 336 
 
 Caecus implorat Christum 337 
 
 Quis ex vobis si habeat centum oves, et perdiderit unam 
 
 ex illis, &c 338 
 
 Herodi D. Jacobum obtruncanti 339 
 
 Caeci receptis oculis Christum sequuntur 339 
 
 Zachaeus in sycomoro 340 
 
THE WEEPER. 
 
 [AIL sister springs, 
 Parents of silver-footed rills ! 
 
 Ever bubbling things ! 
 Thawing crystal ! Snowy hills ! 
 Still spending, never spent ; I mean 
 Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalene. 
 
 Heavens thy fair eyes be * 
 Heavens of ever-falling stars ; 
 
 'Tis seed-time still with thee, 
 And stars thou sow'st, whose harvest dares 
 Promise the earth to countershine 
 Whatever makes Heaven's forehead fine. 
 
 But we're deceived all : 
 Stars indeed they are too true, 
 
 Por they but seem to fall 
 As Heaven's other spangles do : 
 It is not for our earth and us, 
 To shine in things so precious. 
 
 B 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Upwards thou dost weep ; 
 Heaven's bosom drinks the gentle stream. 
 
 Where the milky rivers creep, 
 Thine floats above and is the cream. 
 Waters above the heavens, what they be, 
 We are taught best by thy tears and thee. 
 
 Every morn from hence, 
 A brisk cherub something sips, 
 
 Whose soft influence 
 Adds sweetness to his sweetest lips ; 
 Then to his music : and his song 
 Tastes of this breakfast all day long. 
 
 Not in the evening's eyes, 
 When they red with weeping are 
 
 For the Sun that dies, 
 Sits Sorrow with a face so fair. 
 Nowhere but here did ever meet 
 Sweetness so sad, sadness so sweet. 
 
 When Sorrow would be seen 
 In her brightest majesty, 
 
 For she is a queen, 
 Then is she drest by none but thee. 
 Then, and only then, she wears 
 Her richest pearls, I mean thy tears. 
 
 The dew no more will weep, 
 The primrose's pale cheek to deck ; 
 The dew no more will sleep, 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Xuzzled in the lily's neck. 
 Much rather would it tremble here, 
 And leave them both to be thy tear. 
 
 There is no need at all, 
 That the balsam -sweating bough 
 
 So coyly should let fall 
 His rned'cinable tears ; for now 
 Nature hath learnt t'extract a dew, 
 More sovereign and sweet from you. 
 
 Yet let the poor drops weep, 
 Weeping is the case of woe ; 
 
 Softly let them creep, 
 Sad that they are vanquish' d so : 
 They, though to others no relief, 
 May balsam be for their own grief. 
 
 Such the maiden gem 
 By the wanton spring put on, 
 
 Peeps from her parent stem, 
 And blushes on the watery sun ; 
 This watery blossom of thy eyne 
 Kipe, will make the richer wine. 
 
 When some new bright guest 
 Takes up among the stars a room, 
 And Heaven will make a feast. 
 Angels with crystal vials come ; 
 And draw from these full eyes of thine 
 Their Master's water, their own wine. 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Golden though he be, 
 Golden Tagus murmurs ; though 
 
 Were his way by thee, 
 Content and quiet he would go ; 
 So much more rich would he esteem 
 Thy silver, than his golden stream. 
 
 Well does the May that lies 
 Smiling in thy cheeks, confess 
 
 The April in thine eyes ; 
 Mutual sweetness they express. 
 No April e'er lent kinder showers, 
 Nor May return'd more faithful flowers. 
 
 O cheeks ! Beds of chaste loves, 
 By your own showers seasonably dash'd. 
 
 Eyes ! nests of milky doves, 
 In your own wells decently wash'd. 
 O wit of love ! that thus could place 
 Fountain and garden in one face. 
 
 O sweet contest ; of woes 
 With loves, of tears with smiles disporting ! 
 
 O fair and friendly foes, 
 Each other kissing and comforting ! 
 While rain and sunshine, cheeks and eyes, 
 Close in kind contrarieties. 
 
 But can these fair floods be 
 Friends with the bosom fires that fill ye ! 
 Can so great flames agree 
 
STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 
 
 Eternal tears should thus distil thee ! 
 O floods, O fires, O suns, O showers ! 
 Mix'd and made friends by love's sweet pow'rs. 
 
 'Twas his well-pointed dart 
 That digg'd these wells, and dress'd this vine; 
 
 And taught that wounded heart 
 The way into these weeping eyne. 
 Vain loves avaunt ! bold hands forbear ! 
 The lamb hath dipped his white foot here. 
 
 And now where'er he strays 
 Among the Galilean mountains, 
 
 Or more unwelcome ways, 
 He's follow'd by two faithful fountains ; 
 Two walking baths, two weeping motions, 
 Portable and compendious oceans. 
 
 O thou, thy Lord's fair store, 
 In thy so rich and large expenses, 
 Even when he show'd most poor, 
 He might provoke the wealth of princes. 
 What prince's wanton'st pride e'er could 
 Wash with silver, wipe with gold ? 
 
 Who is that King, but he 
 Who call'st his crown to be call'd thine, 
 
 That thus can boast to be 
 Waited on by a wand'ring mine, — 
 A voluntary mint, that strews 
 Warm silver show'rs where'er he goes ? 
 
i STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 O precious prodigal ! 
 Fair spendthrift of thyself ! thy measure, 
 
 Merciless love ! is all 
 Even to the last pearl in thy treasure. 
 All places, times, and objects be 
 Thy tear's sweet opportunity. 
 
 Does the day-star rise ? 
 Still thy stars do fall, and fall ; 
 
 Does day close his eyes ? 
 Still the fountain weeps for all. 
 Let night or day do what they will, 
 Thou hast thy task, thou weepest still. 
 
 Does thy song lull the air ? 
 Thy falling tears keep faithful time. 
 
 Does thy sweet-breath'd pray'r 
 Up in clouds of incense climb ? 
 Still at each sigh, that is, each stop, 
 A bead, that is, a tear, does drop. 
 
 At these thy weeping gates, 
 Watching their wat'ry motion, 
 Each winged moment waits, 
 Takes his tear, and gets him gone. 
 By thine eye's tinct ennobled thus, 
 Time lays him up : he's precious. 
 
 Not, so long she lived, 
 Shall thy tomb report of thee ; 
 But, 50 long she grieved, 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Thus must we date thy memory. 
 Others hy moments, months, and years, 
 Measure their ages ; thou, by tears. 
 
 So do perfumes expire ; 
 So sigh tormented sweets, oppress'd 
 
 With proud unpitying fires ; 
 Such tears the sufF'ring rose that's vex'd 
 With ungentle flames does shed, 
 Sweating in a too warm bed. 
 
 Say, ye bright brothers, 
 The fugitive sons of those fair eyes 
 
 Your fruitful mothers, 
 What make you here ? what hopes can 'tice 
 You to be born ? what cause can borrow 
 You from those nests of noble sorrow ? 
 
 Whither away so fast ? 
 For sure the sordid earth 
 
 Your sweetness cannot taste, 
 Nor does the dust deserve then" birth. 
 Sweet, whither haste you then ? O, say 
 Why you trip so fast away ? 
 
 We go not to seek 
 The darlings of Aurora's bed, 
 
 The rose's modest cheek, 
 Nor the violet's humble head. 
 Though the field's eyes, too, weepers be, 
 Because they want such tears as we. 
 
STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 
 
 Much less mean we to trace 
 The fortune of inferior gems, 
 
 Preferr'd to some proud face, 
 Or perch'd upon fear'd diadems. 
 Crowned heads are toys. We go to meet 
 A worthy object, our Lord's feet. 
 
 THE WEEPEK. 
 
 [In the edition of 1670, the volume by Mr. Phillips in 
 1785, in Chalmers 9 collection, and others, the previous 
 Poem is printed with numerous alterations and 
 omissions, in manner following .] 
 
 J AIL sister springs, 
 Parents of silver-forded rills ! 
 Ever bubbling things ! 
 Thawing crystal ! Snowy hills ! 
 Still spending, never spent ; I mean 
 Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalene. 
 
 Heavens thy fair eyes be ; 
 Heavens of ever-falling stars ; 
 
 'Tis seed-time still with thee, 
 And stars thou sow'st, whose harvest dares 
 Promise the earth to countershine 
 Whatever makes Heaven's forehead fine. 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 But we're deceived all : 
 Stars they're indeed too true, 
 
 For they but seem to fall 
 As Heaven's other spangles do : 
 It is not for our earth and us, 
 To shine in things so precious. 
 
 Upwards thou dost weep ; 
 Heaven's bosom drinks the gentle stream. 
 
 Where the milky rivers meet, 
 Thine crawls above and is the cream. 
 Heaven, of such fair floods as this, 
 Heaven the crystal ocean is. 
 
 Every morn from hence, 
 A brisk cherub something sips, 
 
 "Whose soft influence 
 Adds sweetness to his sweetest lips ; 
 Then to his music : and his song 
 Tastes of this breakfast all day long. 
 
 When some neAv bright guest 
 Takes up among the stars a room, 
 And Heaven will make a feast, 
 Angels with their bottles come ; 
 And draw from these full eyes of thine 
 Their Master's water, their own wine. 
 
 The dew no more will weep, 
 The primrose's pale cheek to deck ; 
 The dew no more will sleep, 
 
10 STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 
 
 Nuzzled in the lily's neck. 
 Much rather would it tremble here, 
 And leave them both to be thy tear. 
 
 Not the soft gold which 
 Steals from the amber- weeping tree, 
 
 Makes sorrow half so rich, 
 As the drops distill' d from thee. 
 Sorrow's best jewels lie in these 
 Caskets of which Heaven keeps the keys. 
 
 "When Sorrow would be seen 
 In her brightest majesty, 
 
 For she is a queen, 
 Then is she drest by none but thee. 
 Then, and only then, she wears 
 Her richest pearls, I mean thy tears. 
 
 Xot in the evening's eyes, 
 When they red with weeping are 
 
 For the Sun that dies, 
 Sits Sorrow with a face so fair. 
 Nowhere but here did ever meet 
 Sweetness so sad, sadness so sweet. 
 
 Sadness, all the while 
 She sits in such a throne as this, 
 
 Can do nought but smile, 
 Nor believe she sadness is : 
 Gladness itself would be more glad 
 To be made so sweetly sad. 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 11 
 
 There is no need at all, 
 That the balsam-sweating bough 
 
 So coyly should let fall 
 His med'cinable tears ; for now 
 Xature Jiath learn' d t' extract a dew, 
 More sovereign and sweet from you. 
 
 Yet let the poor drops weep, 
 Weeping is the case of woe ; 
 
 Softly let them creep, 
 Sad that they are vanquish' d so ; 
 They, though to others no relief, 
 May balsam be for their own grief, 
 
 Golden though he be, 
 Golden Tagus murmurs ; though 
 
 Might he flow from thee, 
 Content and quiet would he go ; 
 Kicher far does he esteem 
 Thy silver, than his golden stream. 
 
 Well does the May that lies 
 Smiling in thy cheeks, confess 
 
 The April in thine eyes ; 
 Mutual sweetness they express. 
 No April e'er lent softer showers, 
 Nor May returned fairer flowers. 
 
 Thus dost thou melt the year 
 Into a weeping motion ; 
 Each minute waiteth here, 
 
12 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Takes his tear and gets him gone ; 
 By thine eye's tinct ennobled thus, 
 Time lays him up : he's precious. 
 
 Time, as by thee he passes, 
 Makes thy ever-watery eyes 
 
 His hour-glasses ; 
 By them his steps he rectifies. 
 The sands he used no longer please, 
 For his own sands he'll use thy seas. 
 
 Does thy song lull the air ? 
 Thy tear's just cadence still keeps time. 
 
 Does thy sweet-breath'd prayer 
 Up in clouds of incense climb ? 
 Still at each sigh, that is, each stop, 
 A bead, that is, a tear, doth drop. 
 
 Does the night arise ? 
 Still thy tears do fall, and fall. 
 
 Does night lose her eyes ? 
 Still the fountain weeps for all. 
 Let night or day do what they will, 
 Thou hast thy task, thou weepest still. 
 
 Not, so long she lived, 
 Will thy tomb report of thee ; 
 
 But, so long she grieved, 
 Thus must we date thy memory. 
 Others by days, by months, by years, 
 Measure their ages, thou by tears. 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 13 
 
 Say, watery brothers, 
 Ye simpering sons of those fair eyes 
 
 Your fertile mothers, 
 What hath our world that can entice 
 You to be born ? what is't can borrow 
 You from her eyes swoll'n wombs of sorrow ? 
 
 Whither away so fast ? 
 O whither ? for the sluttish earth 
 
 Your sweetness cannot taste, 
 Nor does the dust deserve your birth. 
 Whither haste ye then ? O, say 
 Why ye trip so fast away ? 
 
 We go not to seek 
 The darlings of Aurora's bed, 
 
 The rose's modest cheek, 
 Nor the violet's humble head. 
 No such thing ; we go to meet 
 A worthier object, our Lord's feet. 
 
 THE TEAE. 
 
 *HAT bright soft thing is this, 
 Sweet Mary, thy fair eyes' expense ? 
 A moist spark it is, 
 A watery diamond ; from whence 
 The very term, I think, was found 
 The water of a diamond. 
 
14 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 O, 'tis not a tear, 
 'Tis a star about to drop 
 
 From thine eye its sphere ; 
 The sun will stoop and take it up. 
 Proud will his sister be to wear 
 This thine eye's jewel in her ear. 
 
 O, 'tis a tear, 
 Too true a tear : for no sad evne, 
 
 How sad soe'er, 
 Rain so true a tear as thine ; 
 Each drop leaving a place so dear, 
 Weeps for itself, is its own tear. 
 
 Such a pearl as this is, 
 Slipt from Aurora's dewy breast, 
 
 The rose-bud's sweet lip kisses ; 
 And such the rose itself, when vext 
 With ungentle flames, does shed, 
 Sweating in too warm a bed.* 
 
 Such the maiden gem 
 By the wanton spring put on, 
 
 Peeps from her parent stem, 
 And blushes on the watery sun : 
 This watery blossom of thy eyne, 
 Ripe, will make the richer wine. 
 
 * See these latter lines and the following verse in " The 
 Weeper," as printed in the editions of 1646, 1648, and 1652. 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 15 
 
 Fair drop, why quak'st thou so ? 
 'Cause thou straight must lay thy head 
 
 In the dust ? O no ; 
 The dust shall never be thy bed : 
 A pillow for thee will I bring, 
 Stuffed with down of angel's wing. 
 
 Thus carried up on high, 
 For to Heaven thou must go, 
 
 Sweetly shalt thou he, 
 And in soft slumbers bathe thy woe ; 
 Till the singing orbs awake thee, 
 And one of their bright chorus make thee. 
 
 There thyself shalt be 
 An eye, but not a weeping one ; 
 
 Yet I doubt of thee, 
 "Whither th' hadst rather there have shone 
 An eye of Heaven ; or still shine here, 
 In th' heaven of Mary's eye, a tear. 
 
16 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 DIVINE EPIGRAMS. 
 
 On the Water of our Lord's Baptism. 
 $^m^\ ACH blest drop on each blest limb, 
 m ifet ^ s wasn 'd itself, in washing Him : 
 &3*^& ? Tis a gem while it stays here ; 
 While it falls hence 'tis a tear. 
 
 Acts vni. 
 On the Baptized Ethiopian. 
 SET it no longer be a forlorn hope 
 To wash an Ethiop : 
 He's wash'd, his gloomy skin a peaceful shade 
 For his white soul is made : 
 And now, I doubt not, the Eternal Dove 
 
 A black-faced house will love. 
 
 On the Miracle of multiplied Loaves. 
 EE here an easy feast that knows no wound, 
 That under hunger's teeth will needs be found: 
 
 A subtle harvest of unbounded bread. 
 What would ye more ? Here food itself is fed. 
 
 Upon the Sepulchre of our Lord. 
 
 EEE, where our Lord once laid his Head, 
 Now the grave lies buried. 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 17 
 
 The Widow's Mites. 
 
 ^^WO mites, two drops, yet all her house and land, 
 Fall from a steady heart, though trembling hand : 
 The other's wanton wealthfoams high, andbrave; 
 
 The other cast away, she only gave. 
 
 Luke xy. 
 On the Prodigal. 
 jfca c0: ELL me, bright boy, tell me, my golden lad, 
 |fej [SK Whither away so frolic ? why so glad ? 
 $&&% What all thy wealth in council ? all thy state ? 
 Are husks so dear ? troth 'tis a mighty rate. 
 
 On the still surviving Maries of our Saviour's 
 Wounds. 
 I HATE VEE story of their cruelty, 
 
 Or nail, or thorn, or spear have writ in Thee, 
 Are in another sense 
 
 Still legible ; 
 Sweet is the difference : 
 
 Once I did spell 
 Every red letter 
 
 A wound of Thine ; 
 2sow, what is better, 
 Balsam for mine. 
 
 Acts v. 
 The Sick implore St. Peter's Shadow. 
 | JSHDER thy shadow may I lurk awhile, 
 Death's busy search I'll easily beguile : 
 Thy shadow, Peter, must show me the sun, 
 My light's thy shadow's shadow, or 'tis done. 
 c 
 
18 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Mark vii. 
 The Dumb healed, and the People enjoined silence. 
 I HEIST bids the dumb tongue speak ; it 
 speaks : the sound 
 He charges to be quiet ; it runs round. 
 If in the first He us'd Hi3 finger's touch : 
 His hand's whole strength here could not be too much. 
 
 Matthew xxvni. 
 Come, see the place where the Lord lay. 
 9 HOW me Himself, Himself, bright Sir, O show 
 Which way my poor tears to Himself may go. 
 Were it enough to show the place, and say, 
 Look, Mary, here see where thy Lord once lay ; 
 Then could I show these arms of mine and say, 
 Look, Mary, here see where thy Lord once lay. 
 
 To Pontius washing his Hands. 
 pHY hands are wash'd, but O, the water's spilt 
 [Sgl That labour'd to have wash'd thy guilt : 
 The flood, if any can, that can suffice, 
 Must have its fountain in thine eyes. 
 
 To the Infant Martyrs. 
 $0, smiling souls, your new-built cages break, 
 In Heav'n you'll learn to sing ere here to speak; 
 Nor let the milky fonts that bathe your thirst 
 Be your delay ; 
 The place that calls you hence is, at the worst, 
 
 Milk all the way. 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 19 
 
 On the Miracle of Loaves, 
 
 OWj Lord, or never, they'll believe on Thee ; 
 ^ Thou to their teeth hast proved Thy deity. 
 
 Mark iv. 
 
 Why are ye afraid, ye of little faith ? 
 JS if the storm meant Him ; 
 Or, 'cause Heaven's face is dim, 
 His needs a cloud. 
 Was ever froward wind 
 That could be so unkind, 
 Or wave so proud ? 
 The wind had need be angry, and the water black, 
 That to the mighty Xeptune's self dare threaten wrack. 
 
 There is no storm but this 
 Of your own cowardice 
 That braves you out ; 
 You are the storm that mocks 
 Yourselves ; you are the rocks 
 Of your own doubt : 
 Besides this fear of danger there's no danger here. 
 And he that here fears danger does deserve his fear. 
 
 On the Blessed Virgin's bashfulness. 
 
 fHAT on her lap she casts her humble eve. 
 'Tis the sweet pride of her humility. 
 The fair star is well fixt, for where, O where, 
 Could she have fixt it on a fairer sphere ? 
 
20 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 'Tis Heav'n,'tis Heav'n she sees, Heav'n's God there lies; 
 She can see Heaven, and ne'er lift up her eyes : 
 This new guest to her eyes new laws hath given, 
 'Twas once look up, 'tis now look down to Heaven. 
 
 Upon Lazarus's Tears. 
 ^ICH Lazarus ! richer in those gems, thy tears, 
 Than Dives in the robes he wears : 
 
 He scorns them now, but O, they'll suit full well 
 With th' purple he must wear in hell. 
 
 Two iveni up into the Temple to pray. 
 
 JWO went to pray ? O rather say, 
 One went to brag, th' other to pray. 
 
 One stands up close, and treads on high, 
 Where th' other dares not lend his eye. 
 
 One nearer to God's altar trod, 
 The other to the altar's God. 
 
 Upon the Ass that bore our Saviour. 
 "t^ATH only anger an omnipotence 
 
 In eloquence? 
 U© Within the lips of love and joy doth dwell 
 No miracle? 
 Why else had Balaam's ass a tongue to chide 
 
 His master's pride ? 
 And thou, Heaven-burthen' d beast, hast ne'er a word 
 
 To praise thy Lord ? 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 21 
 
 That he should find a tongue and vocal thunder, 
 
 Was a great wonder ; 
 
 But O, methinks 'tis a far greater one, 
 
 That thou find'st none. 
 
 Matthew vth. 
 i" am not worthy that Thou shouldst come under my 
 
 Roof. 
 H^ HY God was making haste into thy roof, 
 gflj Bl Thy humble faith and fear keeps Him aloof : 
 ^rf"^! He'll be thy guest ; because He may not be, 
 He'll come — into thy house ? Xo, into thee. 
 
 Upon the Powder-day . 
 
 | OW fit our well-rank'd Feasts do follow, 
 All mischief comes after All-Hallow. 
 
 ^^I/2^D now th' art set wide ope, the spear's sad art, 
 ^sp^vfiv Lo ! hath unlock'd Thee at the very heart. 
 &3t<3r& He to himself, I fear the worst, 
 
 And his own hope, 
 Hath shut these doors of heaven, that durst 
 Thus set them ope. 
 
 Matthew x. 
 The Blind cured by the Word of our Saviour. 
 pHOU speak'st the word, Thy word's a law ; 
 Thou spak'st, and straight the blind man saw. 
 To speak and make the blind man see, 
 Was never man, Lord, spake like Thee. 
 
22 STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 
 
 To speak thus was to speak, say I, 
 Not to his ear, but to his eye. 
 
 Matthew xxvn. 
 And He answered them nothing. 
 MIGHTY Nothing ! unto thee, 
 Nothing, we owe all things that be. 
 God spake once when He all things made, 
 He saved all when He Nothing said. 
 The world was made of Nothing then ; 
 'Tis made by Nothing now again. 
 
 To our Lord, upon the Water made Wine. 
 HOU water turn'st to wine, fair friend of life ; 
 Thy foe, to cross the sweet arts of Thy reign, 
 Distils from thence the tears of wrath and strife, 
 And so turns wine to water back again. 
 
 Matthew xxn. 
 
 Neither durst any Man from that day ask Him any 
 
 more Questions. 
 
 *IDST all the dark and knotty snares, 
 Black wit or malice can or dares, 
 Thy glorious wisdom breaks the nets, 
 
 And treads with uncontrolled steps. 
 
 Thy quell' d foes are not only now 
 
 Thy triumphs, but Thy trophies too : 
 
 They, both at once Thy conquests be, 
 
 And Thy conquest's memory. 
 
 Stony amazement makes them stand 
 
STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 23 
 
 Waiting on Thy victorious hand, 
 
 Like statues fixed to the fame 
 
 Of Thy renown, and their own shame : 
 
 As if they only meant to breathe, 
 
 To be the life of their own death. 
 
 'Twas time to hold their peace when they 
 
 Had ne'er another word to say : 
 
 Yet is then- silence unto Thee, 
 
 The full sound of Thy victory : 
 
 Their silence speaks aloud, and is 
 
 Thy well pronounced panegyris. 
 
 While they speak nothing, they speak all 
 
 Their share in Thy memorial. 
 
 While they speak nothing, they proclaim 
 
 Thee with the shrillest trump of fame. 
 
 To hold their peace is all the ways 
 
 These wretches have to speak Thy praise. 
 
 Upon our Saviour s Tomb, wherein never man was laid. 
 iS?OW life and death in Thee 
 Agree ! 
 Thou hadst a virgin womb 
 
 And tomb. 
 A Joseph did betroth 
 
 Them both. 
 
 It is better to go into Heaven with one Eye, (fee. 
 |XE Eye? a thousand rather, and a thousand more, 
 To fix those full-faced glories. O, he's poor 
 Of eyes that has but Argus' store ; 
 Yet, if thou'lt fill one poor eye with Thy Heaven and 
 Thee, 
 
24 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 O grant, sweet Goodness, that one eye may be 
 All, and every whit of me. 
 
 Luke xi. 
 
 Upon the dumb Devil cast out, and the slanderous 
 Jews put to silence. 
 
 ^ WO devils at one blow Thou hast laid flat, 
 S A speaking devil this, a dumb one that ; 
 Was't Thy full victory's fairer increase 
 That th' one spake, or that th' other held his peace ? 
 
 Luke x. 
 
 And a certain Priest coming that way, looked on him, 
 and passed by. 
 
 ' HY dost thou wound my wounds, O thou that 
 H| passest by, 
 
 6S9M Handling and turning them with an 
 un wounded eye ? 
 The calm that cools thine eye does shipwreck mine, for O? 
 Unmoved to see one wretched is to make him so ! 
 
 Luke xi. 
 
 Blessed be the Paps which Thou hast sucked. 
 
 UPPOSE He had been tabled at thy teats, 
 Thy hunger feels not what He eats : 
 He'll have His teat ere long, a bloody one, — 
 The mother then must suck the Son. 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 25 
 
 To Pontius washing Ms blood-stained Hands. 
 SHI S murder no sin ? or a sin so cheap, 
 
 That thou need'st heap 
 A rape upon't ? till thy adult'rous touch 
 Taught her these sullied cheeks, this blubber'd face. 
 She was a nymph, the meadows knew none such, 
 
 Of honest parentage, of unstain'd race, 
 The daughter of a fair and well-famed fountain, 
 As ever silver-trpp'd the side of shady mountain. 
 See how she weeps, and weeps, that she appears 
 
 Nothing hut tears ; 
 Each drop's a tear that weeps for her own waste. 
 
 Hark, how at every touch she does complain her ! 
 Hark, how she bids her frighted drops make haste, 
 
 And with sad murmurs chides the hands that stain her ! 
 Leave, leave for shame, or else, good judge, decree, 
 What water shall wash this, when this hath washed thee. 
 
 Matthew xxiii. 
 Ye build the Sepulchres of the Prophets. 
 £pfHOU trimm'st a Prophet's tomb, and dost 
 bequeath 
 The life thou took'st from him unto his death. 
 
 Vain man ! the stones that on his tomb do He 
 Keep but the score of them that made him die. 
 
 Upon the Infant Martyrs. 
 ! O see both blended in one flood, 
 * The mothers' milk, the children's blood, 
 Makes me doubt if Heaven will gather 
 Roses hence, or lilies rather. 
 
26 STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 
 
 * 
 
 John xvi. 
 
 Verily I say unto you, Ye shall weep and lament. 
 'ELCOME, my grief, my joy; how dear's 
 To me my legacy of tears ! 
 I'll weep, and weep, and will therefore 
 Weep, 'cause I can weep no more. 
 Thou, Thou, dear Lord, even Thou alone, 
 Giv'st joy, even when Thou givest none. 
 
 John xv. 
 Upon our Lord's last comfortable Discourse with His 
 Disciples. 
 \TAj Hybla's honey, all that sweetness can, 
 Flows in thy song, O fair, O dying swan ! 
 Yet is the joy I take in't small or none ; 
 It is too sweet to be a long-lived one. 
 
 Luke xvi. 
 Dives asking a Drop. 
 DROP, one drop, how sweetly one fair drop 
 % \S Would tremble on my pearl -tipp'd finger's top ! 
 
 My wealth is gone, O, go it where it will, 
 Spare this one jewel, I'll be Dives still ! 
 
 Mark xii. 
 
 Give to Ccesar 
 
 And to God 
 
 y|LL we have is God's, and yet 
 Caesar challenges a debt ; 
 Nor hath God a thinner share, 
 Whatever Caesar's payments are ; 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE, 27 
 
 All is God's ; and yet, 'tis true, 
 All we have is Caesar's too. 
 All is Caesar's ; and what odds, 
 So long as Caesar's self is God's ? 
 
 But now they have seen and hated. 
 
 ^EEiST? and yet hated Thee? they did not see, 
 They saw Thee not, that saw and hated Thee : 
 Xo, no, they saw Thee not, O Life ! O Love ! 
 Who saw aught in Thee that their hate could move ? 
 
 Upon the Crown of Thorns, taken from our Blessed. 
 LoroVs Head, all bloody. 
 
 gXOWST thou this, soldier ? 'tis a much 
 changed plant, which yet 
 
 Thyself didst set. 
 *Tis changed indeed; did Autumn e'er such beauties bring 
 
 To shame his Spring ?* 
 O ! who so hard an husbandman did ever find 
 
 A soil so kind? 
 Is not the soil a kind one which returns 
 
 Koses for thorns ? 
 
 She began to wash His Feet with Tears and wipe them 
 with the Hairs of her Head. 
 
 *EK eyes' flood licks His feet's fair stain, 
 Her hair's flame licks up that again. 
 This flame thus quench' d hath brighter beams, 
 This flood thus stained fairer streams. 
 
 * These two lines are not in the version of the Paris edition 
 of 1652. 
 
2S STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 On St. Peter cutting off Malchus's Ear. 
 ^ELL, Peter, dost thou wield thy active sword ; 
 Well for thyself, I mean, not for thy Lord. 
 To strike at ears is to take heed there be 
 Xo witness, Peter, of thy perjury. 
 
 John hi. 
 But Men loved Darkness rather than Light. 
 '^^l^HE world's Light shines : shine as it will, 
 The world will love its darkness still ; 
 I doubt though, when the world's in hell, 
 It will not love its darkness half so well. 
 
 Acts xxi. 
 I am ready not only to be bound but to die. 
 3^ OME death, come bands, nor do you shrink, 
 my ears, 
 At those hard words man's cowardice calls fears. 
 Save those of fear, no other bands fear I ; 
 Nor other death than this ; the fear to die. 
 
 On St. Peter casting away his Nets at our Saviour s 
 
 Call. 
 A Ai 1^ HOU hast the art on't, Peter, and canst tell 
 
 o4P 
 
 To cast thy nets on all occasions well. 
 When Christ calls, and thy nets would have 
 thee stay, 
 To cast them well's to cast them quite away. 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 29 
 
 Our Lord in His Circumcision to His Father. 
 "^3P0 Thee these first-fruits of niy growing death, 
 M For what else is my life ? lo ! I bequeath. 
 Taste this, and as Thou lik'st this lesser flood, 
 Expect a sea, my heart shall make it good. 
 Thy wrath that wades here now ere long shall swim, 
 The flood-gate shall be set wide ope for him. 
 Then let him drink, and drink, and do his worst, 
 To drown the wantonness of his wild thirst. 
 Now's but the nonage of my pains, my fears 
 Are yet both in their hopes, not come to years. 
 The day of my dark woes is yet but morn, 
 My tears but tender, and my death new-born. 
 Yet may these unfledged griefs give fate some guess, 
 These cradle -torments have their towardness ; 
 These purple buds of blooming death may be 
 Erst the full stature of a fatal tree; 
 And, till my riper woes to age are come, 
 This knife may be the spear's prceludium. 
 
 On the Wounds of our crucified Lord. 
 THESE wakeful wounds of Thine ! 
 
 Are they mouths ? or are they eyes ? 
 Be they mouths, or be they eyne, 
 Each bleeding part some one supplies. 
 
 Lo, a mouth ! whose full-bloom' d lips 
 
 At too dear a rate are roses. 
 Lo, a blood-shot eye ! that weeps 
 
 And many a cruel tear discloses. 
 
30 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 thou that on this foot hast laid 
 
 Many a kiss and many a tear, 
 Now thou shalt have all repaid, 
 
 Whatsoe'er thy charges were. 
 
 This foot hath got a mouth and lips, 
 To pay the sweet sum of thy kisses ; 
 
 To pay thy tears, an eye that weeps, 
 Instead of tears, such gems as this is. 
 
 The difference only this appears, 
 
 Nor can the change offend, 
 The debt is paid in ruby tears, 
 
 Which thou in pearls didst lend. 
 
 On our crucified Lord, naked and bloody. 
 I H' have left Thee naked, Lord ; O that they had ! 
 This garment, too, I would they had denied. 
 Thee with Thyself they have too richly clad, 
 Opening the purple wardrobe of Thy side. 
 O never could there garment be too good 
 For Thee to wear, but this of Thine own blood ! 
 
 Easter-day. 
 \ ISE, Heir of fresh Eternity, 
 From thy virgin-tomb : 
 Rise, mighty Man of wonders, and Thy world 
 with Thee ; 
 Thy tomb, the universal East, 
 Nature's new womb, 
 Thy tomb, fair Immortality's perfumed nest. 
 
 r 2>" 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 31 
 
 Of all the^ glories make noon gay 
 
 This is the morn ; 
 This rock buds forth the fountain of the streams of day ; 
 
 In joy's white annals lives this hour, 
 When life was born, 
 No cloud-scowl on his radiant lids, no tempest-lower. 
 
 Life, by this light's nativity, 
 
 All creatures have; 
 Death only by this day's just doom is forced to die. 
 
 Nor is death forced ; for may he lie 
 Throned in thy grave, 
 Death will on this condition be content to die. 
 
 On the bleeding Wounds of our crucified Lord. 
 #ESIT, no more, it is full tide ; 
 
 From Thy head and from Thy feet, 
 From Thy hands and from Thy side, 
 All Thy purple rivers meet. 
 
 What need Thy fair head bear a part 
 In showers ? as if Thine eyes had none ; 
 
 WTiat need they help to drown Thine heart, 
 That strives in torrents of its own ? 
 
 Thy restless feet now cannot go, 
 
 For us and our eternal good, 
 As they were ever wont ! What though 
 
 They swim, alas ! in their own flood ? 
 
32 STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 
 
 Thy hands to give, Thou canst not lift ; 
 
 Yet will Thy hand still giving be ; 
 It gives, but O, itself s the gift : 
 
 It gives though bound, though bound 'tis free. 
 
 But O, Thy side ; Thy deep digg'd side 
 
 That hath a double Nilus going, 
 Nor ever was the Pharian tide 
 
 Half so fruitful, half so flowing. 
 
 Water'd by the showers they bring, 
 
 The thorns that Thy blest brows encloses, 
 
 A cruel and a costly spring, 
 
 Conceive proud hopes of proving roses.* 
 
 No hair so small but pays his river 
 
 To this Ked Sea of Thy blood, 
 Their little channels can deliver 
 
 Something to the general flood. 
 
 But, while I speak, whither are run 
 
 All the rivers named before ? 
 I counted wrong ; there is but one : 
 
 But O, that one is one all o'er. 
 
 Rain-swolTn rivers may rise proud, 
 
 Bent all to drown and overflow ; 
 But when indeed all's overflowed, 
 
 They themselves are drowned too. 
 
 * This verse' 7 is not in the version of the Paris edition of 1652. 
 
STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 33 
 
 This Thy blood's deluge, a dire chance, 
 Dear Lord, to Thee, to us is found 
 
 A deluge of deliverance, 
 
 A deluge lest we should he drown'd. 
 
 Ne'er wast Thou, in a sense so sadly true, 
 The well of living waters, Lord, till now ! 
 
 Samson to his Delilah. 
 
 |BUEL, could not once blinding me suffice ? 
 When first I look'd on thee I lost mine eyes. 
 
 Psalm xxiii. 
 ^APPYme! O happy sheep ! 
 
 Whom my God vouchsafes to keep ; 
 
 Even my God, even He it is 
 That points me to these ways of bliss ; 
 On whose pastures cheerful Spring 
 All the year doth sit and sing, 
 And, rejoicing, smiles to see 
 Their green backs wear his livery. 
 Pleasure sings my soul to rest, 
 Plenty wears me at her breast, 
 Whose sweet temper teaches me 
 JSTor wanton nor in want to be. 
 At my feet the blubb'ring mountain, 
 Weeping, melts into a fountain, 
 Whose soft silver- sweating streams 
 Make high noon forget his beams. 
 When my wayward breath is flying 
 He calls home my soul from dying, 
 
34 STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 
 
 Strokes and tames my rabid grief, 
 And does woo me into life : 
 When my simple weakness strays, 
 Tangled in forbidden ways, 
 He, my Shepherd, is my guide, 
 He's before me, on my side, 
 And behind me, He beguiles 
 Craft in all her knotty wiles : 
 He expounds the giddy wonder 
 Of my weary steps, and under 
 Spreads a path clear as the day. 
 Where no churlish rub says nay 
 To my joy- conducted feet, 
 Whilst they gladly go to meet 
 Grace and Peace, to meet new lays 
 Tuned to my great Shepherd's praise. 
 Come now all ye terrors, sally, 
 Muster forth into the valley, 
 Where triumphant darkness hovers 
 With a sable wing, that covers 
 Brooding horror. Come thou, Death, 
 Let the damps of thy dull breath 
 Overshadow even the shade, 
 And make darkness' self afraid ; 
 There my feet, even there shall find 
 Way for a resolved mind. 
 Still my Shepherd, still my God, 
 Thou art with mej still Thy rod, 
 And Thy staff, whose influence 
 Gives direction, gives defence. 
 At the whisper of Thy word 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 35 
 
 Crown'd abundance spreads my board : 
 
 While I feast, my foes do feed 
 
 Their rank malice, not their need : 
 
 So that with the selfsame bread 
 
 They are starved, and I am fed. 
 
 How my head in ointment swims ! 
 
 How my cup o'erlooks her brims ! 
 
 So, even so still may I move 
 
 By the line of Thy dear love ; 
 
 Still may Thy sweet mercy spread 
 
 A shady arm above my head, 
 
 About my paths ; so shall I find 
 
 The fair centre of my mind, 
 
 Thy temple, and those lovely walls 
 
 Bright ever with a beam that falls 
 
 Fresh from the pure glance of Thine eye, 
 
 Lighting to Eternity. 
 
 There I'll dwell for ever, there 
 
 Will I find a purer air. 
 
 To feed my life with, there I'll sup 
 
 Balm and nectar in my cup, 
 
 And thence my ripe soul will I breathe 
 
 Warm into the arms of death. 
 
 Psalm cxxxvh. 
 
 N the proud banks of great Euphrates' flood 
 There we sat, and there we wept : 
 Our harps, that now no music understood, 
 Nodding on the willows slept, 
 While unhappy captives we, 
 Lovely Sion, thought on thee. 
 
36 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 They, they that snatch'd us from our country's breast 
 
 Would have a song carved to their ears 
 In Hebrew numbers, then, O cruel jest ! 
 
 When harps and hearts were drown'd in tears : 
 Come, they cried, come, sing and play 
 One of Sion's songs to day. 
 
 Sing ? play ? to whom shall we sing or play 
 
 If not, Jerusalem, to thee ? 
 Ah ! thee, Jerusalem ; ah ! sooner may 
 This hand forget the mastery 
 Of music's dainty touch, than I 
 The music of thy memory. 
 
 Which when I lose, O may at once my tongue 
 
 Lose this same busy speaking art, 
 Unperch'd, her vocal arteries unstrung, 
 No more acquainted with my heart, 
 On my dry palate's roof to rest 
 A wither'd leaf, an idle guest ! 
 
 No, no, thy good, Sion, alone must crown 
 
 The head of all my hope-nursed joys. 
 But, Edom, cruel thou ! thou criedst, Down, down 
 Sink Sion, down, and never rise ! 
 
 Her falling thou didst urge and thrust, 
 And haste to dash her into dust ! 
 
 Dost laugh ? proud Babel's daughter ! Do, laugh on, 
 
 Till thy ruin teach thee tears ; 
 Even such as these, laugh, till a 'venging throng 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 37 
 
 Of woes too late do rouse thy fears ; 
 
 Laugh, till thy children's Weeding bones 
 Weep precious tears upon the stones ! 
 
 QUEM VIDISTIS PASTORES, ETC. 
 
 A Hymn of the Nativity, sung by the Shepherds. 
 
 Chorus. 
 I^OME, we shepherds whose blest sight 
 
 Hath met Love's noon in [Nature's night ; 
 Come, lift we up our loftier song, 
 And wake the sun that lies too long. 
 
 To all our world of well-stol'n joy 
 
 He slept, and dreamt of no such thing, 
 
 While we found out Heaven's fairer eye, 
 And kiss'd the cradle of our King ; 
 
 Tell him he rises now too late 
 
 To show us aught worth looking at. 
 
 Tell him we now can show him more 
 Than he e'er show'd to mortal sight, 
 
 Than he himself e'er saw before, 
 
 Which to be seen needs not his light : 
 
 Tell him, Tityrus, where th' hast been, 
 
 Tell him, Thyrsis, what th' hast seen. 
 
 Tityrus. 
 Gloomy night embraced the place 
 
 Where the noble infant lay : 
 The babe look'd up, and show'd His face ; 
 
38 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 In spite of darkness it was day. 
 It was Thy day, sweet, and did rise, 
 Not from the East, but from Thy eyes. 
 
 Chorus. It was Thy day, sweet, <fcc. 
 
 Thyrsis. 
 Winter chid aloud, and sent 
 
 The angry North to wage his wars : 
 The North forgot his fierce intent, 
 
 And left perfumes instead of sears. 
 By those sweet eyes' persuasive powers, 
 Where he meant frosts he scatter'd flowers. 
 Chorus. By those sweet eyes', &c. 
 
 Both. 
 We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest, 
 
 Young dawn of our eternal day ; 
 We saw Thine eyes break from the East, 
 
 And chase the trembling shades away : 
 We saw Thee, and we blest the sight, 
 We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light. 
 
 Tityrus. 
 Poor world, said I, what wilt thou do 
 To entertain this starry stranger? 
 Is this the best thou canst bestow — 
 
 A cold and not too cleanly manger ? 
 Contend, the powers of heaven and earth, 
 To fit a bed for this huge birth. 
 
 Chorus. Contend, the powers, &c. 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 39 
 
 Thyrsis. 
 Proud world, said I, cease jour contest, 
 
 And let the mighty babe alone, 
 The phoenix builds the phoenix' nest, 
 
 Love's architecture is His own. 
 The babe, whose birth embraves this morn, 
 Made His own bed ere He was born. 
 
 Chorus. The babe whose birth, <fcc. 
 
 Tityrus. 
 I saw the curl'd drops, soft and slow, 
 
 Come hovering o'er the place's head, 
 Off'ring their whitest sheets of snow, 
 
 To furnish the fair infant's bed. 
 Forbear, said I, be not too bold, 
 Your fleece is white, but 'tis too cold. 
 
 Thyhsis. 
 I saw th' obsequious seraphim 
 
 Their rosy fleece of fire bestow, 
 For well they now can spare their wings, 
 
 Since Heaven itself lies here below. 
 Well done, said I ; but are you sure 
 Your down, so warm, will pass for pure ? 
 Chorus. Well done, said I, &c. 
 
 Both. 
 Xo, no, your Bang's not yet to seek 
 
 Where to repose His royal head ; 
 See, see how soon His new-bloom'd cheek 
 
 'Twixt mother's breasts is gone to bed. 
 
40 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Sweet choice, said we, no way but so, 
 Not to lie cold, jet sleep in snow ! 
 
 Chorus. Sweet choice, said we, &c. 
 
 Full Chorus. 
 Welcome all wonders in one sight ! 
 
 Eternity shut in a span ! 
 Summer in winter ! day in night ! 
 
 Chorus. 
 Heaven in earth ! and God in man ! 
 Great little one, whose all-embracing birth 
 Lifts earth to Heaven, stoops Heaven to earth ! 
 
 Welcome, tho' nor to gold, nor silk, 
 To more than Csesar's birthright is : 
 
 Two sister seas of virgin's milk, 
 With many a rarely-temper'd kiss, 
 
 That breathes at once both maid and mother, 
 
 Warms in the one, cools in the other. 
 
 She sings Thy tears asleep, and dips 
 
 Her kisses in Thy weeping eye ; 
 She spreads the red leaves of Thy lips, 
 
 That in their buds yet blushing lie. 
 She 'gainst those mother diamonds tries 
 The points of her young eagle's eyes.* 
 
 Welcome — tho' not to those gay flies, 
 Gilded i' th' beams of earthly kings, 
 Slippery souls in smiling eyes — 
 
 * This verse is not in the version of the Paris edition of 1652. 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 41 
 
 But to poor shepherds, homespun things, 
 Whose wealth's their flocks, whose wit's to he 
 Well read in their simplicity. 
 
 Yet, when young April's husband show'rs 
 
 Shall bless the fruitful Maia's bed, 
 We'll bring the first-born of her flowers, 
 
 To kiss Thy feet, and crown Thy head. 
 To Thee, dread Lamb ! whose love must keep 
 The shepherds while they feed their sheep. 
 
 To Thee, meek Majesty, soft King 
 
 Of simple graces and sweet loves ! 
 Each of us his lamb will bring, 
 
 Each his pair of silver doves ! 
 At last, in fire of Thy fair eyes, 
 Ourselves become our own best sacrifice I 
 
SOSPETTO D'HEEODE. 
 
 LIBRO PRIMO. 
 
 Argomento. 
 
 Casting the times with their strong signs, 
 Death's master His own death divines 5 
 Struggling for help, His best hope is 
 Herod's suspicion may heal His : 
 Therefore He sends a friend to wake 
 The sleeping tyrant's fond mistake, 
 Who fears, in vain, that He whose birth 
 Means heav'n should meddle with his earth. 
 
 I USE, now the servant of soft loves no more, 
 Hate is thy theme, and Herod ; whose unblest 
 Hand — so what dares not jealous great- 
 ness ? — tore 
 A thousand sweet babes from their mothers' breast, 
 The blooms of martyrdom. O, be a door 
 Of language to my infant lips, ye best 
 
 Of confessors ! whose throats, answering his swords, 
 Gave forth your blood for breath, spoke souls for words. 
 
 Great Anthony ! Spain's well-beseeming pride. 
 Thou mighty branch of emperors and kings ; 
 The beauties of whose dawn what eye may bide, 
 Which with the sun himself weighs equal wings ! 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 43 
 
 Map of heroic worth ! whom far and wide 
 To the believing world Fame boldly sings : 
 
 Deign thou to wear this humble wreath that bows 
 
 To be the sacred honour of thy brows. 
 
 Nor needs my Muse a blush, or these bright flow'rs, 
 Other than what their own blest beauties bring ; 
 They were the smiling sons of those sweet bow'rs 
 That drink the dew of life, whose deathless spring 
 Nor Syrian flame, nor Borean frost deflow'rs : 
 From whence heav'n-labouring bees, with busy wing, 
 
 Suck hidden sweets, which well-digested proves 
 
 Immortal honey for the hive of loves. 
 
 Thou, whose strong hand, with so transcendent worth, 
 
 Holds high the reign of fair Parthenope, 
 
 That neither Rome nor Athens can bring forth 
 
 A name in noble deeds rival to thee ! 
 
 Thy fame's full noise makes proud the patient earth, 
 
 Far more than matter for my Muse and me. 
 
 The Tyrrhene seas and shores sound all the same, 
 And in their murmurs keep thy mighty name ! 
 
 Below the bottom of the great abyss, 
 There, where one centre reconciles all things, 
 The world's profound heart pants ; there placed is 
 Mischief's old master : close about him clings 
 A curl'd knot of embracing snakes, that kiss 
 His correspondent cheeks : these loathsome strings 
 Hold the perverse prince in eternal ties, 
 Fast bound, since first he forfeited the skies. 
 
44 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 The judge of torments, and the king of tears, 
 He fills a burnish'd throne of quenchless fire : 
 And, for his old fair robes of light, he wears 
 A gloomy mantle of dark flames ; the tire 
 That crowns his hated head, on high appears, 
 Where seven tall horns, his empire's pride, aspire : 
 
 And, to make up hell's majesty, each horn 
 
 Seven crested Hydras horribly adorn. 
 
 His eyes, the sullen dens of death and night, 
 Startle the dull air with a dismal red : 
 Such his fell glances as the fatal light 
 Of staring comets, that look kingdoms dead : 
 From his black nostrils and blue lips, in spite 
 Of hell's own stink, a worser stench is spread : 
 
 His breath hell's lightning is : and each deep groan 
 Disdains to think that heav'n thunders alone. 
 
 His flaming eyes' dire exhalation 
 
 Unto a dreadful pile gives fiery breath ; 
 
 Whose unconsumed consumption preys upon 
 
 The never-dying life of a long death. 
 
 In this sad house of slow destruction, 
 
 His shop of flames, he fries himself, beneath 
 A mass of woes ; his teeth for torment gnash, 
 While his steel sides sound with his tail's strong lash. 
 
 Three rigorous virgins, waiting still behind, 
 
 Assist the throne of th' iron-sceptred king : 
 
 With whips of thorns and knotty vipers twined 
 
 They rouse him, when his rank thoughts need a sting : 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 45 
 
 Their locks are beds of uncomb'd snakes, that wind 
 About their shady brows in wanton rings : 
 
 Thus reigns the wrathful king, and while he reigns, 
 His sceptre and himself both he disdains. 
 
 Disdainful wretch ! how hath one bold sin cost 
 Thee all the beauties of thy once bright eyes ! 
 How hath one black eclipse cancell'd and crost 
 The glories that did gild thee in thy rise ! 
 Proud morning of a perverse day ! how lost 
 Art thou unto thyself, thou too self- wise 
 Narcissus ! foolish Phaeton ! who, for all 
 Thy high-aim'd hopes, gain'dst but a flaming fall. 
 
 Prom death's sad shades to the life -breathing air, 
 This mortal enemy to mankind's good 
 Lifts his malignant eyes, wasted with care, 
 To become beautiful in human blood : 
 "Where Jordan melts his crystal, to make fair 
 The fields of Palestine, with so pure a flood, 
 There does he fix his eyes : and there detect 
 New matter, to make good Ins great suspect. 
 
 He calls to mind th' old quarrel, and what spark 
 Set the contending sons of heav'n on fire : 
 Oft in his deep thought he revolves the dark 
 Sibyl's divining leaves : he does enquire 
 Into th' old prophecies, trembling to mark 
 How many present prodigies conspire 
 
 To crown their past predictions ; both he lays 
 Together, in his pond'rous mind both weighs. 
 
46 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Heaven's golden-winged herald late he saw 
 
 To a poor Galilean virgin sent ; 
 
 How low the bright youth bow'd, and with what awe 
 
 Immortal flow'rs to her fair hand present. 
 
 He saw th' old Hebrew's womb neglect the law 
 
 Of age and barrenness, and her babe prevent 
 
 His birth, by his devotion, who began 
 
 Betimes to be a saint, before a man. 
 
 He saw rich nectar-thaws release the rigour 
 Of th' icy North ; from frost-bound Atlas' hands 
 His adamantine fetters fall ; green vigour 
 Gladding the Scythian rocks and Libyan sands ; 
 He saw a vernal smile sweetly disfigure 
 Winter's sad face, and through the flow'ry lands 
 Of fair Engaddi, honey- sweating fountains 
 With manna, milk, andbalm,new broach the mountains. 
 
 He saw how, in that blest day-bearing night, 
 The heav'n-rebuked shades made haste away ; 
 How bright a dawn of angels with new light 
 Amazed the midnight world, and made a day 
 Of which the morning knew not ; mad with spite, 
 He mark'd how the poor shepherds ran to pay 
 Their simple tribute to the babe, whose birth 
 Was the great business both of heav'n and earth. 
 
 He saw a threefold sun, with rich increase, 
 Make proud the ruby portals of the East ; 
 He saw the temple sacred to sweet Peace, 
 Adore her Prince's birth, flat on her breast ; 
 
STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 47 
 
 He saw the falling idols all confess 
 
 A coming Deity ; he saw the nest 
 
 Of pois'nous and unnatural loves, earth-nurst, 
 Touch'd with the world's true antidote, to burst. 
 
 He saw heav'n blossom with a new-born light, 
 On which, as on a glorious stranger, gazed 
 The golden eyes of night ; whose beam made bright 
 The way to Bethle'm, and as boldly blazed, 
 Nor ask'd leave of the sun, by day as night ; 
 By whom, as heavVs illustrious handmaid, raised. 
 Three kings, or, what is more, three wise men went 
 Westward to find the world's true orient. 
 
 Struck with these great concurrences of things, 
 Symptoms so deadly unto death and him, 
 Fain would he have forgot what fatal strings 
 Eternally bind each rebellious limb. 
 He shook himself, and spread his spacious wings : 
 Which, like two bosom'd sails, embrace the dim 
 
 Air with a dismal shade ; but all in vain. 
 
 Of sturdy adamant is his strong chain. 
 
 While thus heavVs highest counsels, by the low 
 Footsteps of their effects, he traced too well, 
 He toss'd his troubled eves, embers that glow 
 Now with new rage, and wax too hot for hell. 
 With his foul claws he fenced his furrow" d brow, 
 And gave a ghastly shriek, whose horrid yell 
 
 Kan trembling through the hollow vaults of night, 
 The while his twisted tail he gnaw'd for spite. 
 
48 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Yet on the other side fain would he start 
 
 Above his fears, and think it cannot be : 
 
 He studies Scripture, strives to sound the heart, 
 
 And feel the pulse of every prophecy ; 
 
 He knows, but knows not how, or by what art, 
 
 The heav'n-expecting ages hope to see 
 
 A mighty babe, whose pure, unspotted birth 
 From a chaste virgin womb should bless the earth. 
 
 But these vast mysteries his senses smother, 
 And reason — for what's faith to him ? — devour : 
 How she that is a maid should prove a mother, 
 Yet keep inviolate her virgin flow'r ; 
 How God's Eternal Son should be man's brother, 
 Poseth his proudest intellectual pow'r ; 
 How a pure spirit should incarnate be, 
 And life itself wear death's frail livery. 
 
 That the great angel-blinding light should shrink 
 His blaze, to shine in a poor shepherd's eye ; 
 That the unmeasured God so low should sink, 
 As pris'ner in a few poor rags to lie ; 
 That from His mother's breast He milk should drink 
 Who feeds with nectar heav'n's fair family ; 
 That a vile manger His low bed should prove 
 Who thunders on a throne of stars above ; 
 
 That He whom the sun serves should faintly peep 
 Through clouds of infant flesh ; that He, the old 
 Eternal Word, should be a child, and weep ; 
 That He who made the fire should fear the cold ; 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 49 
 
 That lieavVs high majesty His court should keep 
 In a clay-cottage, by each blast controlTd ; 
 
 That glory's self should serve our griefs and fears ; 
 
 And free eternity submit to years : 
 
 And further, that the law's eternal giver 
 Should bleed in His own law's obedience ; 
 And to the circumcising knife deliver 
 Himself, the forfeit of his slaves' offence ; 
 That the unblemish'd Lamb, blessed for ever, 
 Should take the mark of sin, and pain of sense ; 
 These are the knotty riddles, whose dark doubt 
 Entangles his lost thoughts, past finding out. 
 
 While new thoughts boil'd in his enraged breast, 
 
 His gloomy bosom's darkest character 
 
 Was in his shady forehead seen express'd. 
 
 The forehead's shade, in grief's expression there, 
 
 Is what in sign of joy among the blest 
 
 The face's light 'ning, or a smile is here. 
 
 Those stings of care that his strong heart oppress'd, 
 A desperate me ! drew from his deep breast. 
 
 me ! thus bellow' d he ; me ! what great 
 Portents before mine eyes their pow'rs advance ? 
 And serve my purer sight, only to beat 
 Down my proud thought, and leave it in a trance ? 
 Frown I ; and can great nature keep her seat ? 
 And the gay stars lead on their golden dance ? 
 Can His attempts above still prosp'rous be, 
 Auspicious still, in spite of hell and me ? 
 
50 STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 
 
 He has my heaven — what would He more? — whose bright 
 And radiant sceptre this bold hand should bear ; 
 And for the never-fading fields of light, 
 My fair inheritance, he confines me here, 
 To this dark house of shades, horror, and night, 
 To draw a long-lived death, where all my cheer 
 Is the solemnity my sorrow wears, 
 That mankind's torment waits upon my tears. 
 
 Dark, dusky man, He needs would single forth, 
 To make the partner of His own pure ray : 
 And should we pow'rs of Heav'n, spirits of worth, 
 Bow our bright heads before a king of clay ? 
 It shall not be, said I, and clomb the North, 
 Where never wing of angel yet made way : 
 
 What though I miss'd my blow? yet I stroke high, 
 And to dare something is some victory. 
 
 Is He not satisfied ? Means He to wrest 
 Hell from me too, and sack my territories ? 
 Yile human nature means He not t' invest, — 
 O my despite ! — with His divinest glories ? 
 And rising with rich spoils upon His breast, 
 With His fair triumphs fill all future stories ? 
 
 Must the bright arms of heaven rebuke these eyes ? 
 
 Mock me, and dazzle my dark mysteries ? 
 
 Art thou not Lucifer ? he to whom the droves 
 Of stars that gild the morn in charge were given ? 
 The nimblest of the lightning-winged loves ? 
 The fairest, and the first-born smile of heaven ? 
 
STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 51 
 
 Look in what pomp the mistress planet moves, 
 
 Rev'rently circled by the lesser seven ; 
 
 Such, and so rich, the flames that from thine eyes 
 Oppress'd the common people of the skies. 
 
 Ah, wretch ! what boots thee to cast back thy eyes 
 Where dawning hope no beam of comfort shows ? 
 While the reflection of thy forepast joys 
 Renders thee double to thy present woes ; 
 Rather make up to thy new miseries, 
 And meet the mischief that upon thee grows. 
 
 If hell must mourn, heav'n sure shall sympathise ; 
 
 What force cannot effect, fraud shall devise. 
 
 And yet whose force fear I ? Have I so lost 
 Myself? my strength, too, with my innocence? 
 Come, try who dares, heav'n, earth, whate'er dost boast 
 A borrowed being, make thy bold defence : 
 Come, thy Creator, too ; what though it cost 
 Me yet a second fall ? we'd try our strengths. 
 Heaven saw us struggle once, as brave a fight 
 Earth now should see, and tremble at the sight. 
 
 Thus spoke th' impatient prince, and made a pause ; 
 His foul hags raised their heads, and clapp'd their hands ; 
 And all the powers of hell, in full applause, 
 Flourish' d their snakes, and toss'd their flaming brands. 
 We, said the horrid sisters, wait thy laws, 
 Th' obsequious handmaids of thy high commands ; 
 Be it thy part, hell's mighty lord, to lay 
 On us thy dread commands, ours to obey. 
 
52 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 What thy Alecto, what these hands can do, 
 Thou mad'st bold proof upon the brow of heav'n ; 
 Nor should'st thou bate in pride, because that now 
 To these thy sooty kingdoms thou art driven : 
 Let heav'ns Lord chide above, louder than thou, 
 In language of His thunder, thou art even 
 < With Him below : here thou art lord alone, 
 Boundless and absolute : hell is thine own. 
 
 If usual wit and strength will do no good, 
 Virtues of stones, nor herbs : use stronger charms, 
 Anger, and love, best hooks of human blood. 
 If all fail, we'll piit on our proudest arms, 
 And pouring on heavVs face the sea's huge flood, 
 Quench his curl'd fires ; we'll wake with our alarms 
 Ruin, where'er she sleeps at Nature's feet, 
 And crush the world till his wide corners meet. 
 
 Replied the proud king, O my crown's defence ! 
 Stay of whose strong hopes, you of whose brave worth 
 The frighted stars took faint experience, 
 When 'gainst the thunder's mouth we marched forth : 
 Still you are prodigal of your love's expence 
 In our great projects, both 'gainst heav'n and earth : 
 I thank you all, but one must single out, — 
 Cruelty, she alone shall cure my doubt. 
 
 Fourth of the cursed knot of hags is she, 
 Or rather all the other three in one ; 
 Hell's shop of slaughter she does oversee, 
 And still assists the execution : 
 
STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 53 
 
 But chiefly there does she delight to be 
 Where hell's capacious cauldron is set on : 
 
 And while the black souls boil in their own gore, 
 To hold them down, and look that none seethe o'er. 
 
 Thrice howFd the caves of night, and thrice the sound, 
 Thund'ring upon the banks of those black lakes, 
 Hung through the hollow vaults of hell profound : 
 At last her list'ning ears the noise o'ertakes, 
 She lifts her sooty lamps, and looking round, 
 A gen'ral hiss, from the whole tire of snakes 
 
 Rebounding, through hell's inmost caverns came, 
 
 In answer to her formidable name. 
 
 'Mongst all the palaces in hell's command, 
 
 Xo one so merciless as this of hers. 
 
 The adamantine doors for ever stand 
 
 Impenetrable, both to pray'rs and tears ; 
 
 The wall's inexorable steel no hand 
 
 Of Time or teeth of hungry Ruin fears. 
 Their ugly ornaments are the bloody stains 
 Of ragged limbs, torn skulls, and dash'd out brains. 
 
 There has the purple Vengeance a proud seat, 
 Whose ever-brandish'd sword is sheatlrd in blood : 
 About her Hate, Wrath, War, and Slaughter sweat. 
 Bathing their hot limbs in life's precious flood. 
 There rude, impetuous Rage does storm and fret : 
 And there, as master of this murd'ring brood, 
 Swinging a huge scythe, stands impartial Death, 
 With endless business almost out of breath. 
 
54 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 For hangings and for curtains, all along 
 
 The walls — abominable ornaments ! — 
 
 Are tools of wrath, anvils of torments hung ; 
 
 Fell executioners of foul intents, 
 
 Nails, hammers, hatchets sharp, and halters strong, 
 
 Swords, spears, with all the fatal instruments 
 
 Of sin, and death, twice dipp'd in the dire stains 
 Of brothers' mutual blood, and fathers' brains. 
 
 The tables furnish'd with a cursed feast, 
 
 Which Harpies with lean Famine feed upon, 
 
 Unfill'd for ever. Here, among the rest, 
 
 Inhuman Erisichthon, too, makes one ; 
 
 Tantalus, Atreus, Progne, here are guests : 
 
 Wolvish Lycaon here a place hath won. 
 The cup they drink in is Medusa's skull, 
 Which, mix'd with gall and blood, they quaff brim full . 
 
 The foul queen's most abhorred maids of honour, 
 Medea, Jezebel, many a meagre witch, 
 With Circe, Scylla, stand to wait upon her ; 
 But her best housewives are the Parca3, which 
 Still work for her, and have their wages from her ; 
 They prick a bleeding heart at every stitch ; 
 Her cruel clothes of costly threads they weave, 
 Which short-cut lives of murder 'd infants leave. 
 
 The house is hears'd about with a black wood, 
 Which nods with many a heavy-headed tree ; 
 Each flower's a pregnant poison, tried and good : 
 Each herb a plague : the winds' sighs timed be 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 55 
 
 By a black fount, which weeps into a flood. 
 
 Through the thick shades obscurely might you see 
 Minotaurs, Cyclopses, with a dark drove 
 Of Dragons, Hydras, Sphinxes, fill the grove. 
 
 Here Diomed's horses, Phereus' dogs appear, 
 
 With the fierce lions of Therodamas ; 
 
 Busiris has his bloody altar here ; 
 
 Here Sylla his severest prison has ; 
 
 The Lestrigonians here then 1 table rear ; 
 
 Here strong Procrustes plants his bed of brass ; 
 Here cruel Scyron boasts his bloody rocks, 
 And hateful Schinas his so feared oaks. 
 
 Whatever schemes of blood, fantastic frames 
 
 Of death Mezentius, or Geryon drew ; 
 
 Phalaris, Ochus, Ezelinus, names 
 
 Mighty in mischief, with dread Xero too ; 
 
 Here are they all ; here all the swords or flames 
 
 Assyrian tyrants, or Egyptian knew. 
 
 Such was the house, so furnish' d was the hall, 
 Whence the fourth Fury answer'd Pluto's call. 
 
 Scarce to this monster could the shady king 
 The horrid sum of his intentions tell ; 
 But she, swift as the momentary wing 
 Of lightning, or the words he spoke, left hell. 
 She rose, and with her to our world did bring 
 Pale proof of her fell presence, th' air too well, 
 With a changed countenance, witnessed the fight, 
 And poor fowls intercepted in their flight. 
 
56 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Heav'n saw her rise, and saw hell in the sight. 
 The fields' fair eyes saw her, and saw no more, 
 But shut their flow'ry lids ; for ever night 
 And winter strow her way : yea, such a sore 
 Is she to nature, that a general fright, 
 An universal palsy spreading o'er 
 
 The face of things, from her dire eyes had run, 
 Had not her thick snakes hid them from the sun. 
 
 Now had the night's companion from her den, 
 Where all the husy day she close doth lie, 
 With her soft wing wiped from the brows of men 
 Day's sweat ; and by a gentle tyranny, 
 And sweet oppression, kindly cheating them 
 Of all their cares, tamed the rebellious eye 
 Of sorrow ; with a soft and downy hand 
 Sealing all breasts in a Lethsean band. 
 
 When the Erinnys her black pinions spread, 
 And came to Bethle'm, where the cruel king 
 Had now retired himself, and borrowed 
 His breast awhile from care's unquiet sting*. 
 Such as at Thebes' dire feast she show'd her head, 
 Her sulphur-breathed torches brandishing, 
 Such to the frighted palace now she comes, 
 And with soft feet searches the silent rooms. 
 
 By proud usurping Herod now was borne 
 The sceptre, which of old great David sway'd. 
 Whose right by David's lineage so long worn, 
 Himself a stranger to, his own had made: 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 57 
 
 And from the head of Judah's house quite torn 
 The crown ; for which upon their necks he laid 
 A sad yoke, under which they sigh'd in vain, 
 And, looking on their lost state, sigh'd again. 
 
 Up through the spacious palace passed she, 
 To where the king's proudly-reposed head — 
 If any can be soft to Tyranny 
 And self- tormenting sin — had a soft bed. 
 She thinks not fit such he her face should see, 
 As it is seen by hell ; and seen with dread : 
 To change her face's style she cloth devise, 
 And in a pale ghost's shape to spare his eyes. 
 
 Herself awhile she lays aside, and makes 
 
 Ready to personate a mortal part. 
 
 Joseph the king's dead brother's shape she takes. 
 
 What he by nature was, she is by art. 
 
 She comes to th' king, and with her cold hand slakes 
 
 His spirits, the sparks of life, and drills his heart, 
 Life's forge ; feign'd is her voice, and false, too, be 
 Her words — Sleep's! thou, fond man? Sleep'st thou? 
 said she. 
 
 So sleeps a pilot whose poor bark is press'd 
 With many a merciless o'er-mast'ring wave ; 
 For whom, as dead, the wrathful winds contest, 
 Which of them deep'st shall dig her wat'ry grave. 
 Why dost thou let thy brave soul lie suppress'd 
 In death-like slumbers, while thy dangers crave 
 A waking eye and hand ? Look up, and see 
 The fates ripe in their great conspiracy. 
 
58 STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 
 
 Know'st thou not how of th' Hebrew's royal stem — 
 That old dry stock — a despair'd branch is sprung, 
 A most strange babe ! who here, conceal'd by them, 
 In a neglected stable lies, among 
 Beasts and base straw : already is the stream 
 Quite turn'd : th' ingrateful rebels this their young 
 Master, with voice free as the trump of Fame, 
 Their new king, and thy successor proclaim. 
 
 What busy motions, what wild engines stand 
 On tiptoe in their giddy brains ? th' have fire 
 Already in their bosoms ; and their hand 
 Already reaches at a sword : they hire 
 Poisons to speed thee ; yet through all the land 
 What one comes to reveal what they conspire ? 
 
 Go now, make much of these ; wage still their wars, 
 And bring home on thy breast more thankless scars. 
 
 Why did I spend my life, and spill my blood, 
 That thy firm hand for ever might sustain 
 A well-pois'd sceptre ? Does it now seem good 
 Thy brother's blood be spilt, life spent in vain ? 
 'Gainst thy own sons and brothers thou hast stood 
 In arms, when lesser cause was to complain : 
 And now cross fates a watch about thee keep — 
 Can'st thou be careless now, now can'st thou sleep ? 
 
 WTiere art thou, man ? What cowardly mistake 
 Of thy great self hath stol'n king Herod from thee ? 
 O, call thyself home to thyself ; wake, wake, 
 And fence the hanging sword heav'n throws upon thee : 
 
STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 59 
 
 Redeem a worthy wrath ; rouse thee, and shake 
 Thyself into a shape that may "become thee : 
 Be Herod, and thou shalt not miss from me 
 Immortal stings to thy great thoughts and thee. 
 
 So said, her richest snake, which to her wrist 
 
 For a beseeming bracelet she had tied — 
 
 A special worm it was as ever kiss'd 
 
 The foamy lips of Cerberus — she applied 
 
 To the king's heart ; the snake no sooner hiss'd, 
 
 But virtue heard it, and away she hied ; 
 
 Dire flames diffuse themselves through every vein : 
 This done, home to her hell she hied amain. 
 
 He wakes, and with him, ne'er to sleep, new fears : 
 His sweat-bedewed bed had now betray' d him 
 To a vast field of thorns ; ten thousand spears, 
 All pointed in his heart, seem'd to invade him : 
 So mighty Were th' amazing characters 
 With which his feeling dream had thus dismay'd him, 
 He his own fancy-framed foes defies : 
 In rage, My arms ! Give me my arms ! he cries. 
 
 As when a pile of food-preparing fire 
 The breath of artificial lungs embraves, 
 The cauldron-prison'd waters straight conspire, 
 And beat the hot brass with rebellious waves ; 
 He murmurs and rebukes their bold desire ; 
 Th' impatient liquor frets, and foams, and raves ; 
 Till his o'erflowing pride suppress the flame, 
 Whence his high spirits and hot coinage came. 
 
60 STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 
 
 So boils the fired Herod's blood-swoll'n breast, 
 Not to be slaked but by a sea of blood : 
 His faithless crown he feels loose on his crest, 
 Which on false tyrant's head ne'er firmly stood : 
 The worm of jealous envy and unrest, 
 To which his gnaw'd heart is the growing food, 
 Makes him impatient of the ling'ring light, 
 Hate the sweet peace of all-coniposing night. 
 
 A thousand prophecies that talk strange things 
 Had sown of old these doubts in his deep breast ; 
 And now of late came tributary kings, 
 Bringing him nothing but new fears from th' East ; 
 More deep suspicions, and more deadly stings, 
 With which his fev'rous cares their cold increased : 
 And now his dream, hell's firebrand, still more bright, 
 Show'd him his fears, and kill'd him with the sight. 
 
 No sooner, therefore, shall the morning see — 
 Night hangs yet heavy on the lids of day — 
 But all his councillors must summon'd be, 
 To meet their troubled lord : without delay 
 Heralds and messengers immediately 
 Are sent about, who, posting every way 
 To th' heads and officers of every band, 
 Declare who sends, and what is his command. 
 
 Why art thou troubled, Herod ? What vain fear 
 Thy blood-revolving breast to rage doth move ? 
 Heav'n's King, who doffs Himself weak flesh to wear, 
 Comes not to rule in wrath, but serve in love : 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 61 
 
 Nor would He this thy fear'd crown from thee tear. 
 But give Thee a better with Himself above. 
 Poor jealousy ! Why should He wish to prey 
 Upon thy crown, who gives His own away ? 
 
 Make to thy reason, man, and mock thy doubts ; 
 
 Look how below thy fears their causes are. 
 
 Thou art a soldier, Herod ! Send thy scouts, 
 
 See how He's furnish'd for so fear'd a war. 
 
 What armour does He wear ? a few thin clouts. 
 
 His trumpets ? tender cries. His men to dare 
 
 So much ? rude shepherds. What his steeds ? alas, 
 Poor beasts ! a slow ox, and a simple ass. 
 
 EL FINE DEL EEBRO PREMO. 
 
 ON A PRAYER-BOOK SENT TO MRS. M. R. 
 
 Ifmr^po 0? here a little volume, but great book ! 
 A nest of new-born sweets, 
 Whose native pages disdaining 
 
 To be thus folded, and complainiDg 
 
 Of these ignoble sheets, 
 
 Affect more comely bands, 
 
 Pair one, from thy kind hands, 
 
 And confidently look 
 
 To find the rest 
 
 Of a rich binding in your breast.* 
 
 * So in the Paris edition of 1652. In all the others- 
 Fear it not, sweet, 
 It is no hypocrite, 
 Much larger in itself, than in its look ! 
 
62 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 It is in one choice handful, heaven ; and all 
 Heaven's royal hosts encainp'd, thus small 
 To prove that true schools use to tell, 
 
 A thousand angels in one point can dwell. 
 
 It is love's great artillery, 
 
 Which here contracts itself, and conies to lie 
 
 Close couch'd in their white bosom ; and from thence, 
 
 As from a snowy fortress of defence, 
 
 Against their ghostly foe to take their part, 
 
 And fortify the hold of your chaste heart. 
 
 It is an armoury of light ; 
 
 Let constant use but keep it bright, 
 
 You'll find it yields 
 To holy hands and humble hearts, 
 
 More swords and shields 
 Than sin hath snares, or hell hath darts. 
 
 Only be sure 
 
 The hands be pure 
 That hold these weapons, and the eyes 
 Those of turtles, chaste, and true, 
 
 Wakeful, and wise. 
 Here's a friend shall fight for you ; 
 Hold but this book before your heart, 
 Let prayer alone to play his part. 
 
 But, ! the heart 
 That studies this high art 
 Must be a sure housekeeper, 
 And yet no sleeper. 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 63 
 
 Dear soul, be strong, 
 
 Mercy will come ere long, 
 
 And bring her bosom full of blessings, 
 
 Flowers of never-fading graces ; 
 
 To make immortal dressings 
 
 For worthy souls, whose wise embraces 
 
 Store up themselves for Him who is alone 
 
 The spouse of virgins, and the Virgin's Son. 
 
 But if the noble bridegroom when He comes 
 Shall find the wand'ring heart from home, 
 Leaving her chaste abode 
 To gad abroad : 
 Amongst the gay mates of the god of flies 
 To take her pleasure, and to play 
 And keep the Devil's holy day ; 
 To dance in the sunshine of some smiling, 
 But beguiling 
 
 Spheres of sweet and sugar' d lies, 
 
 Some slippery pah" 
 
 Of false, perhaps, as fair 
 Flattering, but foreswearing eyes. 
 
 Doubtless some other heart 
 
 Will get the start 
 Meanwhile, and, stepping in before, 
 Will take possession of that sacred store 
 Of hidden sweets, and holy joys, 
 Words which are not heard with ears— 
 
64 STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 
 
 These tumultuous shops of noise — 
 
 Effectual whispers, whose still voice 
 The soul itself more feels than hears. 
 
 Amorous languishments, luminous trances, 
 Sights which are not seen with eyes, 
 
 Spiritual and soul-piercing glances : 
 
 Whose pure and subtle lightning flies 
 
 Home to the heart, and sets the house on fire ; 
 
 And melts it down in sweet desire : 
 Yet does not stay 
 
 To ask the windows leave to pass that way. 
 
 Delicious deaths, soft exhalations 
 
 Of soul ; dear and divine annihilations ; 
 
 A thousand unknown rites 
 
 Of joys, and ratified delights. 
 
 A hundred thousand goods, glories, and graces, 
 
 And many a mystic thing, 
 
 Which the divine embraces 
 Of the dear spouse of spirits with them will bring ; 
 
 For which it is no shame 
 That dull mortality must not know a name. 
 
 Of all this store 
 
 Of blessings, and ten thousand more, 
 
 If when He come 
 He find the heart from home, 
 
 Doubtless He will unload 
 Himself some otherwhere, 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 65 
 
 And pour abroad 
 His precious sweets, 
 On the fair soul whom first he meets. 
 
 O fair ! O fortunate I O rich ! dear ! 
 
 O happy, and thrice happy she, 
 
 Dear silver-breasted dove 
 
 "Whoe'er she be, 
 
 Whose early love, 
 
 With winged vows, 
 Makes haste to meet her morning spouse, 
 And close with his immortal kisses ! 
 
 Happy, indeed, who never misses 
 
 To improve that precious hour : 
 And every day 
 vSeize her sweet prey, 
 
 All fresh and fragrant as he rises, 
 
 Dropping, with a balmy shower, 
 
 A delicious dew of spices. 
 
 O, let the blessful heart hold fast 
 Her heavenly armful, she shall taste 
 At once ten thousand paradises ; 
 
 She shall have power 
 
 To rifle and deflower 
 The rich and roseal spring of those rare sweets, 
 "Which with a swelling bosom there she meets. 
 Boundless and infinite, bottomless treasures 
 
 Of pure inebriating pleasures ; 
 Happy proof she shall discover, 
 What joy, what bliss, 
 
66 STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 
 
 How many heavens at once it is, 
 To have a God become her lover ! 
 
 ON MR. G. HERBERT'S BOOK, 
 
 Entitled, " The Temple of Sacred Poems," sent to a 
 Gentlewoman. 
 
 NOW you, fair, on what you look ? 
 Divinest love lies in this book, 
 Expecting fire from your eyes, 
 To kindle this His sacrifice. 
 When your hands untie these strings, 
 Think you've an angel by the wings ; 
 One that gladly will be nigh 
 To wait upon each morning sigh, 
 To flutter in the balmy air 
 Of your well -perfumed prayer. 
 These white plumes of His He'll lend you, 
 Which every day to heaven will send you ; 
 To take acquaintance of the sphere, 
 And all the smooth-faced kindred there. 
 And though Herbert's name do owe 
 These devotions, fairest, know 
 That while I lay them on the shrine 
 Of your white hand, they are mine. 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 A HYMN TO THE NAME AND HONOUR OF 
 THE ADMIRABLE SAINT TERESA, 
 
 Foundress of the Reformation of the discalced Carme- 
 lites, both men and women; a woman for angelical 
 height of speculation, for masculine courage of perform- 
 ance, more than a woman ; who, yet a child, 
 outran maturity, and durst plot 
 a martyrdom. 
 
 \ OVE, thou art absolute, sole Lord 
 Of life and death. To prove the word, 
 We'll now appeal to none of all 
 Those thy old soldiers, great and tall, 
 Ripe men of martyrdom, that could reach down 
 With strong arms then* triumphant crown : 
 Such as could with lusty breath 
 Speak loud, unto the face of death, 
 Their great Lord's glorious name ; to none 
 Of those whose spacious bosoms spread a throne 
 For love at large to fill ; spare blood and sweat : 
 We'll see Him take a private seat, 
 And make His mansion in the mild 
 And milky soul of a soft child. 
 
 Scarce has she learnt to lisp a name 
 Of martyr, yet she thinks it shame 
 Life should so long play with that breath 
 Which spent can buy so brave a death. 
 
68 STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 
 
 She never undertook to know 
 
 What death with love should have to do. 
 
 Nor has she e'er jet understood 
 
 Why, to show love, she should shed blood ; 
 
 Yet, though she cannot tell you why, 
 
 She can love, and she can die. 
 
 Scarce has she blood enough to make 
 
 A guilty sword blush for her sake ; 
 
 Yet has a heart dares hope to prove 
 
 How much less strong is death than love. 
 
 Be love but there ; let poor six years 
 Be posed with the maturest fears 
 Man trembles at, we straight shall find 
 Love knows no nonage, nor the mind. 
 'Tis love, not years or limbs, that can 
 Make the martyr, or the man. 
 Love touch' d her heart, and lo ! it beats 
 High, and burns with such brave heats ; 
 Such thirst to die, as dares drink up 
 A thousand cold deaths in one cup. 
 Good reason, for she breathes all fire ; 
 Her weak breast heaves with strong desire 
 Of what she may, with fruitless wishes, 
 Seek for amongst her mother's kisses. 
 
 Since 'tis not to be had at home, 
 
 She'll travel to a martyrdom. 
 
 No home for her confesses she, 
 
 But where she may a martyr be. 
 
 She'll to the Moors, and trade with them, 
 
 For this unvalued diadem ; 
 
STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 69 
 
 She offers them her dearest breath, 
 
 ^Vith Christ's name in't, in change for death : 
 
 She'll bargain with them, and will give 
 
 Them God, and teach them how to live 
 
 In Him ; or, if they this deny. 
 
 For Him she'll teach them how to die. 
 
 So shall she leave amongst them sown, 
 
 Her Lord's blood, or at least her own. 
 
 Farewell then, all the world, adien ! 
 Teresa is no more for you. 
 Farewell all pleasures, sports, and joys, 
 Never till now esteemed toys ! 
 Farewell whatever dear may be, 
 Mother's arms, or father's knee ! 
 Farewell house, and farewell home ! 
 She's for the Moors and martyrdom. 
 
 Sweet, not so fast ; lo ! thy fair spouse, 
 "Whom thou seek'st with so swift vows, 
 Calls the back, and bids thee come 
 T' embrace a milder martyrdom. 
 
 Blest pow'rs forbid, thy tender life 
 Should bleed upon a barbarous knife, 
 Or some base hand have power to rase 
 Thy breast's chaste cabinet, and uncase 
 A soid kept there so sweet. 0, no, 
 Wise heaven will never have it so : 
 Thou art love's victim, and must die 
 A death more mystical and high ! 
 
70 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Into love's arms thou shalt let fall 
 A still surviving funeral. 
 
 His is the dart must make the death, 
 
 Whose stroke will taste thy hallow'd breath ; 
 
 A dart thrice dipp'd in that rich flame 
 
 Which writes thy spouse's radiant name 
 
 Upon the roof of heaven, where aye 
 
 It shines, and, with a sovereign ray, 
 
 Beats bright upon the burning faces 
 
 Of souls, which in that name's sweet graces 
 
 Find everlasting smiles. So rare, 
 
 So spiritual, pure and fair, 
 
 Must be the immortal instrument 
 
 Upon whose choice point shall be spent 
 
 A life so loved : and that there be 
 
 Fit executioners for thee, 
 
 The fairest first-born sons of fire, 
 
 Blest seraphim, shall leave their quire, 
 
 And turn love's soldiers, upon thee 
 
 To exercise their archery. 
 
 O, how oft shalt thou complain 
 
 Of a sweet and subtle pain ! 
 
 Of intolerable joys ! 
 
 Of a death, in which who dies 
 
 Loves his death, and dies again, 
 
 And would for ever so be slain ; 
 
 And lives and dies, and knows not why 
 
 To live, but that he still may die ! 
 
STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 
 
 How kindlv will thy gentle heart 
 
 Kiss the sweetly-killing dart ! 
 
 And close in his embraces keep 
 
 Those delicious wounds, that weep 
 
 Balsam, to heal themselves with thus, 
 
 "When these thy deaths, so numerous, 
 
 Shall all at once die into one. 
 
 And melt thy soul' s sweet mansion ; 
 
 Like a soft lump of incense, hasted 
 
 By too hot a fire, and wasted 
 
 Into perfuming clouds, so fast 
 
 Shalt thou exhale to heaven at last 
 
 In a resolving sigh, and then. — 
 
 O, what ? Ask not the tongues of men. 
 
 Angels cannot tell ; suffice, 
 
 Thyself shalt feel thine own full joys, 
 
 And hold them fast for ever there. 
 
 So soon as thou shalt first appear, 
 
 The moon of maiden stars, thy white 
 
 Mistress, attended by such bright 
 
 Souls as thy shining self, shall come, 
 
 And in her first ranks make thee room ; 
 
 Where, 'mongst her snowy family. 
 
 Immortal welcomes wait for thee. 
 
 0, what delight, when she shall stand 
 
 And teach thy lips heaven, with her hand, 
 
 On which thou now mayst to thy wishes 
 
 Heap up thy consecrated kisses. 
 
 What joy shall seize thy soul, when she, 
 
72 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Bending her blessed eyes on thee, 
 Those second smiles of heaven, shall dart 
 Her mild rays through thy melting heart ! 
 
 Angels, thy old friends, there shall greet thee, 
 
 Glad at their own home now to meet thee. 
 
 All thy good works which went before, 
 
 And waited for thee at the door, 
 
 Shall own thee there : and all in one 
 
 Weave a constellation 
 
 Of crowns, with which the king, thy spouse, 
 
 Shall build up thy triumphant brows. 
 
 All thy old woes shall now smile on thee, 
 
 And thy pains sit bright upon thee : 
 
 All thy sorrows here shall shine, 
 
 And thy sufferings be divine. 
 
 Tears shall take comfort, and turn gems, 
 
 And wrongs repent to diadems. 
 
 Even thy death shall live ; and new 
 
 Dress the soul which late they slew. 
 
 Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scars 
 
 As keep account of the Lamb's wars. 
 
 Those rare works, where thou shalt leave writ 
 Love's noble history, with wit 
 Taught thee by none but Him, while here 
 They feed our souls, shall clothe thine there. 
 Each heavenly word by whose hid flame 
 Our hard hearts shall strike fire, the same 
 Shall flourish on thy brows ; and be 
 Both fire to us and flame to thee : 
 Whose light shall live bright in thy face 
 
STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 
 
 By glory, in our hearts by grace. 
 Thou shalt look round about, and see 
 Thousands of crown'd souls throng to be 
 Themselves thy crown, sons of thy vows, 
 The virgin-births with which thy spouse 
 Made fruitful thy fair soul ; go now, 
 And with them all about thee bow 
 To Him ; put on, He'll say, put on 
 My rosy love, that thy rich zone, 
 Sparkling with the sacred flames 
 Of thousand souls, whose happy names 
 Heaven keeps upon thy score : thy bright 
 Life brought them first to kiss the light 
 That kindled them to stars ; and so 
 Thou with the Lamb, thy Lord, shalt go. 
 And, wheresoe'er He sets His white 
 Steps, walk with Him those ways of light, 
 Which who in death would live to see, 
 Must learn in life to die like thee. 
 
 AN APOLOGY FOR THE PRECEDENT 
 HYMN, 
 
 As having been written when the Author was yet a 
 Protestant. 
 
 ^^HUS have I back again to thy bright name, 
 Fair flood of holy fires ! transfused the flame 
 I took from reading thee. 'Tis to thy wrong, 
 I know, that in my weak and worthless song 
 Thou here art set to shine, where thy full day 
 
74 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Scarce dawns. O, pardon, if I dare to say 
 Thine own dear books are guilty : for from thence 
 I learnt to know that love is eloquence, 
 That heavenly maxim gave me heart to try 
 If, what to other tongues is tuned so high, 
 Thy praise might not speak English, too ; forbid, 
 By all thy mysteries that here lie hid, 
 Forbid it, mighty love ! let no fond hate 
 Of names and words so far prejudicate ; 
 Souls are not Spaniards, too, one friendly flood 
 Of baptism blends them all into one blood. 
 Christ's faith makes but one body of all souls, 
 And love's that body's soul ; no law controls 
 Our free traffic for heaven ; we may maintain 
 Peace, sure, with piety, though it come from Spain. 
 What soul soe'er in any language can 
 Speak heaven like hers is my soul's countryman. 
 O, 'tis not Spanish, but 'tis heaven she speaks, 
 'Tis heaven that lies in ambush there, and breaks 
 From thence into the wond'ring reader's breast, 
 Who finds his warm heart hatch into a nest 
 Of little eagles and young loves, whose high 
 Flights scorn the lazy dust, and things that die. 
 There are enow, whose draughts, as deep as hell, 
 Drink up all Spain in sack. Let my soul swell 
 With thee, strong wine of love ! let others swim 
 In puddles ; we will pledge this Seraphim 
 Bowls full of richer blood than blush of grape 
 Was ever guilty of; change we, too, our shape, 
 My soul ! Some drink from men to beasts ; O, then, 
 Drink we till we prove more, not less, than men : 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 75 
 
 And turn not beasts, but angels. Let the king 
 
 Me ever into these His cellars bring, 
 
 Where flows such wine as we can have of none 
 
 But Him who trod the winepress all alone : 
 
 Wine of youth's life, and the sweet deaths of love ; 
 
 Wine of immortal mixture, which can prove 
 
 Its tincture from the rosy nectar ; wine 
 
 That can exalt weak earth ; and so refine 
 
 Our dust, that at one draught mortality 
 
 May drink itself up, and forget to die. 
 
 ON A TREATISE OF CHARITY. 
 
 QSE, then, immortal maid ! religion rise ! 
 Put on thyself in thine own looks : t' our eyes 
 Be what thy beauties, not our blots, have 
 made thee ; 
 Such as, ere our dark sins to dust betray' d thee, 
 Heav'n set thee downnew-dress'd; when thy bright birth 
 Shot thee like lightning to th' astonish'd earth. 
 From th' dawn of thy fair eyelids wipe away 
 Dull mists and melancholy clouds : take day 
 And thine own beams about thee : bring the best 
 Of whatsoe'er perfumed thy eastern nest. 
 Gird all thy glories to thee : then sit down, 
 Open this book, fair queen, and take thy crown. 
 These learned leaves shall vindicate to thee 
 Thy holiest, humblest, handmaid, Charity ; 
 She'll dress thee like thyself, set thee on high 
 Where thou shalt reach all hearts, command each eye. 
 
76 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Lo ! where I see thy off'rings wake, and rise 
 From the pale dust of that strange sacrifice 
 Which they themselves were ; each one putting on 
 A majesty that may beseem thy throne. 
 The holy youth of heav'n, whose golden rings 
 Girt round thy awful altars, with bright wings 
 Fanning thy fair locks, which the world believes 
 As much as sees, shall with these sacred leaves 
 Trick their tall plumes, and in that garb shall go 
 If not more glorious, more conspicuous though. 
 
 Be it enacted, then, 
 
 By the fair laws of thy firm -pointed pen, 
 
 God's services no longer shall put on 
 
 A sluttishness for pure religion : 
 
 No longer shall our churches' frighted stones 
 
 Lie scattered like the burnt and martyr'd bones 
 
 Of dead devotion ; nor faint marbles weep 
 
 In their sad ruins ; nor religion keep 
 
 A melancholy mansion in those cold 
 
 Urns ; like God's sanctuaries they look'd of old ; 
 
 Now seem they temples consecrate to none, 
 
 Or to a new god, Desolation. 
 
 No more th' hypocrite shall th' upright be 
 
 Because he's stiff, and will confess no knee : 
 
 While others bend their knee, no more shalt thou, 
 
 Disdainful dust and ashes, bend thy brow, 
 
 Nor on God's altar cast two scorching eyes, 
 
 Baked in hot scorn, for a burnt sacrifice ; 
 
 But, for a lamb, thy tame and tender heart, 
 
 New struck by love, still trembling on his dart ; 
 
 Or, for two turtle-doves, it shall suffice 
 
STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 77 
 
 To bring a pair of meek and humble eyes ; 
 This shall from henceforth be the masculine theme 
 Pulpits and pens shall sweat in ; to redeem 
 Virtue to action ; that life-feeding flame 
 That keeps religion warm : not swell a name 
 Of faith, a mountain-word, made up of air, 
 With those dear spoils that want to dress the fair 
 And fruitful charity's frill breasts, of old, 
 Turning her out to tremble in the cold. 
 What can the poor hope from us ? when we be 
 Uncharitable even to Charity. 
 
 OX THE GLORIOUS ASSUMPTION OF THE 
 BLESSED VIRGIN. 
 
 \ APK ! she is call'd, the parting hour is come ; 
 Take thy farewell, poor world, Heaven must 
 go home. 
 
 A piece of heavenly light, purer and brighter 
 Than the chaste stars . whose choice lamps come to light her , 
 While through the crystal orbs, clearer than they. 
 She climbs, and makes a far more milky way. 
 She's call'd again ; hark ! how tk' immortal dove 
 Sighs to his silver mate : rise up, my love, 
 Pise up, my fair, my spotless one ! 
 The winter's past, the rain is gone : 
 The spring is come, the flowers appear, 
 No sweets, since thou are wanting here. 
 
78 STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 
 
 Come away, my love ; 
 Come away, my dove ; 
 
 Cast off delay : 
 The court of heav'n is come, 
 To wait upon thee home ; 
 
 Come away, come away. 
 
 She's call'd again, and will she go ? 
 
 When heav'n bids come, who can say no ? 
 
 Heav'n calls her, and she must away ; 
 
 Heav'n will not, and she cannot stay. 
 
 Go then, go, glorious, on the golden wings 
 
 Of the bright youth of heaven, that sings 
 
 Under so sweet a burden : go, 
 
 Since thy great Son will have it so : 
 
 And while thou go'st, our song and we 
 
 Will, as we may, reach after thee. 
 
 Hail ! holy queen of humble hearts, 
 
 We in thy praise will have our parts ; 
 
 And though thy dearest looks must now be light 
 
 To none but the blest heavens, whose bright 
 
 Beholders, lost in sweet delight, 
 
 Feed for ever their fair sight 
 
 With those divinest eyes, which we 
 
 And our dark world no more shall see. 
 
 Though our poor joys are parted so, 
 
 Yet shall our lips never let go 
 
 Thy gracious name, but to the last 
 
 Our loving song shall hold it fast. 
 
 Thy sacred name shall be 
 Thyself to us, and we 
 
STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 79 
 
 With holy cares will keep it by us ; 
 
 We to the last 
 
 Will hold it fast, 
 And no assumption shall deny us. 
 All sweetest showers 
 Of fairest flowers 
 We'll strew upon it : 
 Though our sweetness cannot make 
 It sweeter, they may take 
 Themselves new sweetness from it. 
 
 Maria, men and angels sing, 
 Maria, mother of our King. 
 Live, rarest princess, and may the bright 
 Crown of a most incomparable light 
 Embrace thy radiant brows ! O, may the best 
 Of everlasting joys bathe thy white breast ! 
 Live our chaste love, the holy mirth 
 Of heaven, and humble pride of earth : 
 Live crown of women, queen of men : 
 Live mistress of our song ; and when 
 Our weak desires have done their best, 
 Sweet angels come, and sing the rest ! 
 
 A HYMN ON THE CIRCUMCISION OF OUR 
 LORD. 
 
 ISE, thou best and brightest morning, 
 Rosy with a double red ; 
 With thine own blush thy cheeks adorning, 
 And the dear drops this day were shed. 
 
80 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 All the purple pride of laces, 
 
 The crimson curtains of thy bed ; 
 
 Gild thee not with so sweet graces, 
 Nor set thee in so rich a red. 
 
 Of all the fair-cheek'd flowers that fill thee, 
 
 None so fair thy bosom strews, 
 As this modest maiden lily 
 
 Our sins have shamed into a rose. 
 
 Bid the golden god, the sun, 
 
 Burnish'd in his best beams rise, 
 
 Put all his red- eyed rubies on, — 
 These rubies shall put out his eyes. 
 
 Let him make poor the purple East, 
 
 Search what the world's close cabinets keep, 
 
 Bob the rich births of each bright nest 
 That flaming in their fair beds sleep. 
 
 Let him embrace his own bright tresses 
 With a new morning made of gems ; 
 
 And wear, in those his wealthy dresses, 
 Another day of diadems. 
 
 When he hath done all he may, 
 To make himself rich in his rise, 
 
 All will be darkness to the day 
 
 That breaks from one of these bright eyes. 
 
 And soon this sweet truth shall appear, 
 Dear babe, ere many days be done : 
 
STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 81 
 
 The morn shall come to meet thee here, 
 And leave the long-adored sun. 
 
 Here are beauties shall bereave him 
 
 Of all his eastern paramours : 
 His Persian lovers all shall leave him, 
 
 And swear faith to thy sweeter powers. 
 
 Nor while they leave him shall they lose the sun, 
 Eut in thy fairest eyes find two for one.* 
 
 ON HOPE. 
 
 By way of Question and Answer, between A. Cowley 
 and R. Crashaw* 
 
 Cowley. 
 | OPE, whose weak being ruin'd is, 
 Alike, if it succeed and if it miss : 
 TTliom ill and good doth equally confound, 
 And both the horns of fate's dilemma wound : 
 Vain shadow ! that doth vanish quite 
 Both at full noon and perfect night : 
 The Fates have not a possibility 
 Of blessing thee. 
 If things, then, from their ends we happy call, 
 'Tis Hope is the most hopeless thing of all. 
 
 Crashaw. 
 Dear Hope ! earth's dowry, and heaven's debt, 
 The entity of things that are not yet : 
 
 * These two lines are not in the version of the Paris edition 
 of 1652. 
 
82 STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 
 
 Subtlest, but surest being ! Thou by whom 
 Our nothing hath a definition : 
 
 Fair cloud of fire ! both shade and light, 
 
 Our life in death, our day in night : 
 
 Fates cannot find out a capacity 
 Of hurting thee. 
 From thee their thin dilemma with blunt horn 
 Shrinks, like the sick moon at the wholesome morn. 
 
 Cowley. 
 
 Hope, thou bold taster of delight, 
 Who, stead of doing so, devour'st it quite ; 
 Thou bring'st us an estate, yet leav'st us poor 
 By clogging it with legacies before. 
 
 The joys which we entire should wed 
 
 Come deflower'd virgins to our bed : 
 
 Good fortunes without gain imported be, 
 So mighty custom's paid to thee ! 
 For joy, like wine kept close, doth better taste, 
 If it take air before its spirits waste. 
 
 Crashaw. 
 
 Thou art love's legacy under lock 
 Of faith : the steward of our growing stock : 
 Our crown-lands lie above, yet each meal brings 
 A seemly portion for the sons of kings. 
 
 Nor will the virgin-joys we wed 
 
 Come less unbroken to our bed, 
 
 Because that from the bridal cheek of bliss 
 Thou thus steal'st down a distant kiss ; 
 Hope's chaste kiss wrongs no more joy's maidenhead, 
 Than spousal rites prejudge the marriage-bed. 
 
STEPS TO THE TEMPLE. 83 
 
 Cowley. 
 Hope, Fortune's cheating lottery. 
 Where for one prize an hundred blanks there be : 
 Fond archer, Hope, who tak'st thine aim so far, 
 That still or short or wide thine arrows are : 
 Thine empty cloud the eye itself deceives 
 With shapes that our own fancy gives : 
 A cloud which gilt and painted now appears. 
 But must drop presently in tears. 
 When thy false beams o'er reason's light prevail. 
 By ignes fatui, not Xorth stars, we sail. 
 
 Ceashaw. 
 
 Fair Hope ! our earlier heaven, by thee 
 Young Time is taster to Eternity. 
 The generous wine with age grows strong, not sour ; 
 Xor need we kill thy fruit to smell thy flower. 
 
 Thy golden head never hangs down. 
 
 Till in the lap of love's full noon 
 
 It falls and dies. 0, no, it melts away 
 As doth the dawn into the day : 
 As lumps of sugar lose themselves, and twine 
 Their subtle essence with the soul of wine. 
 
 Cowley. 
 
 Brother of Fear ! more gaily clad, 
 The merrier fool o' th' two, yet quite as mad : 
 Sire of repentance ! shield of fond desire. 
 That blows the chymic's and the lover's fire. 
 
 Still leading them insensibly on, 
 
 With the strange witchcraft of Anon ! 
 
84 STEPS TO TEE TEMPLE. 
 
 By thee the one doth changing nature through 
 Her endless labyrinths pursue, 
 And th' other chases woman, while she goes 
 More ways and turns than hunted Nature knows. 
 
 Ceashaw. 
 
 Fortune, alas ! above the world's law wars : 
 Hope kicks the curled heads of conspiring stars : 
 Her keel cuts not the waves where our winds stir, 
 And Fate's whole lottery is one blank to her. 
 
 Her shafts and she fly far above, 
 
 And forage in the fields of light and love. 
 
 Sweet Hope ! kind cheat ! fair fallacy ! by thee 
 We are not where or what we be, 
 But what and where we would : thus art thou 
 Our absent presence, and our future now. 
 
 Ceashaw. 
 Faith's sister ! nurse of fair desire ! 
 Fear's antidote ! a wise, a well-stay'd fire 
 Temper'd 'twixt cold despair and torrid joy : 
 Queen regent in young love's minority ! 
 Though the vex'd chymic vainly chases 
 His fugitive gold through all her faces, 
 And love's more fierce, more fruitless fires assay 
 One face more fugitive than they, 
 True Hope's a glorious huntress, and her chase, — 
 The God of nature in the field of grace ! 
 
THE 
 
 DELIGHTS OF THE MUSES; 
 
 OR, OTHER POEMS 
 WRITTEN ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS, 
 
 BY EICHAED CEASHAW. 
 
 MART. DIC MIHI QUID MELIUS DESIDIOSUS AGAS. 
 
THE DELIGHTS OF THE MUSES. 
 
 MUSIC'S DUEL. 
 
 ■ OW westward Sol had spent the richest 
 
 beams 
 Of noon's high glory, when, hard by the 
 
 streams 
 
 Of Tiber, on the scene of a green plat, 
 Under protection of an oak, there sat 
 A sweet lute's master : in whose gentle airs 
 He lost the day's heat, and his own hot cares. 
 Close in the covert of the leaves there stood 
 A nightingale, come from the neighbouring wood : — 
 The sweet inhabitant of each glad tree, 
 Their muse, their Syren, harmless Syren she 2 — 
 There stood she list'ning, and did entertain 
 The music's soft report, and mould the same 
 In her own murmurs, that whatever mood 
 His curious fingers lent, her voice made good. 
 The man perceived his rival, and her art ; 
 Disposed to give the light-foot lady sport, 
 Awakes his lute, and 'gainst the fight to come 
 Informs it, in a sweet prcdudium 
 
88 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 Of closer strains ; and ere the war begin 
 
 He slightly skirmishes on every string, 
 
 Charged with a flying touch ; and straightway she 
 
 Carves out her dainty voice as readily 
 
 Into a thousand sweet distinguished tones ; 
 
 And reckons up in soft divisions 
 
 Quick volumes of wild notes, to let him know 
 
 By that shrill taste she could do something too. 
 
 His nimble hand's instinct then taught each string 
 A cap'ring cheerfulness ; and made them sing 
 To their own dance ; now negligently rash 
 He throws his arm, and with a long-drawn dash 
 Blends all together, then distinctly trips 
 From this to that, then, quick returning, skips 
 And snatches this again, and pauses there. 
 She measures every measure, everywhere 
 Meets art with art ; sometimes, as if in doubt — 
 Not perfect yet, and fearing to be out — 
 Trails her plain ditty in one long-spun note 
 Through the sleek passage of her open throat : 
 A clear unwrinkled song ; then doth she point it 
 With tender accents, and severely joint it 
 By short diminutives, that, being reared 
 In controverting warbles evenly shared, 
 With her sweet self she wrangles ; he, amazed 
 That from so small a channel should be raised 
 The torrent of a voice, whose melody 
 Could melt into such sweet variety, 
 Strains higher yet, that tickled with rare art 
 The tattling strings — each breathing in his part — 
 Most kindly do fall out ; the grumbling base 
 
OF THE MUSES. 
 
 In surly groans disdains the treble's grace ; 
 
 The high-perch'd treble chirps at this, and chides 
 
 Until his finger — moderator — hides 
 
 And closes the sweet quarrel, rousing all, 
 
 Hoarse, shrill, at once : as when the trumpets call 
 
 Hot Mars to th' harvest of death's field, and woo 
 
 Men's hearts into their hands ; this lesson, too, 
 
 She gives him back, her supple breast thrills out 
 
 Sharp airs, and staggers in a warbling doubt 
 
 Of dallying sweetness, hovers o'er her skill, 
 
 And folds in waved notes, with a trembling bill, 
 
 The pliant series of her slippery song ; 
 
 Then starts she suddenly into a throng 
 
 Of short thick sobs, whose thund'ring vollies float 
 
 And roll themselves over her rubric throat 
 
 In panting murmurs, 'still'd out of her breast, 
 
 That ever-bubbling spring, the sugar'd nest 
 
 Of her delicious soul, that there does lie 
 
 Bathing in streams of liquid melody, — 
 
 Music's best seed-plot ; when in ripen'd airs 
 
 A golden-headed harvest fairly rears 
 
 His honey-dropping tops, plough' d by her breath, 
 
 Which there reciprocally laboureth. 
 
 In that sweet soil it seems a holy quire 
 
 Founded to th' name of great Apollo's lyre ; 
 
 Whose silver roof rings with the sprightly notes 
 
 Of sweet-lipp'd angel-imps, that swill their throats 
 
 In cream of morning Helicon ; and then 
 
 Prefer soft anthems to the ears of men, 
 
 To woo them from their beds, still mmmuring 
 
 That men can sleep while they their matins sing ; — 
 
 89 
 
90 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 Most divine service ! whose so early lay 
 Prevents the eyelids of the blushing day. 
 There might you hear her kindle her soft voice 
 In the close murmur of a sparkling noise, 
 And lay the ground- work of her hopeful song ; 
 Still keeping in the forward stream so long, 
 Till a sweet whirlwind, striving to get out, 
 Heaves her soft bosom, wanders round about, 
 And makes a pretty earthquake in her breast ; 
 Till the fledged notes at length forsake their nest, 
 Fluttering in wanton shoals, and to the sky, 
 Wing'd with their own wild echos, pratt'ling fly. 
 She opes the floodgate, and lets loose a tide 
 Of streaming sweetness, which in state doth ride 
 On the waved back of every swelling strain, 
 Rising and falling in a pompous train ; 
 And while she thus discharges a shrill peal 
 Of flashing airs, she qualifies their zeal 
 With the cool epode of a graver note ; 
 Thus high, thus low, -as if her silver throat 
 Would reach the brazen voice of war's hoarse bird ; 
 Her little soul is ravish'd : and so pour'd 
 Into loose ecstasies, that she is placed 
 Above herself — music's enthusiast ! 
 
 Shame now and anger mixed a double stain 
 In the musician's face ; yet once again, 
 Mistress, I come. Now reach a strain, my lute, 
 Above her mock, or be for ever mute ; 
 Or tune a song of victory to me, 
 Or to thyself sing thine own obsequy ! 
 So said, his hands sprightly as fire he flings, 
 
OF THE MUSES. 91 
 
 And with a quivering coyness tastes the strings : 
 
 The sweet-lipp'd sisters, musically frighted, 
 
 Singing their fears, are fearfully delighted : 
 
 Trembling as when Apollo's golden hairs 
 
 Are fann'd and frizzled in the wanton airs 
 
 Of his own breath, which, married to his lyre, 
 
 Doth tune the spheres, and make heaven's self look higher; 
 
 From this to that, from that to this, he flies, 
 
 Feels music's pulse in all her arteries ; 
 
 Caught in a net which there Apollo spreads, 
 
 His fingers struggle with the vocal threads, 
 
 Following those little rills, he sinks into 
 
 A sea of Helicon ; his hand does go 
 
 Those parts of sweetness which with nectar drop, 
 
 Softer than that which pants in Hebe's cup : 
 
 The humourous strings expound his learned touch 
 
 By various glosses ; now they seem to grutch 
 
 And murmur in a buzzing din, then gingle 
 
 In shrill-tongued accents, striving to be single ; 
 
 Every smooth turn, every delicious stroke, 
 
 Gives life to some new grace : thus doth he invoke 
 
 Sweetness by all her names ; thus, bravely thus — 
 
 Fraught with a fury so harmonious — 
 
 The lute's light Genius now does proudly rise, 
 
 Heaved on the surges of swoll'n rhapsodies, 
 
 Whose flourish, meteor-like, doth curl the air 
 
 "With flash of high-born fancies ; here and there 
 
 Dancing in lofty measures, and anon 
 
 Creeps on the soft touch of a tender tone, 
 
 Whose trembling murmurs, melting in wild airs, 
 
 Eun to and fro, complaining his sweet cares ; 
 
92 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 Because those precious mysteries that dwell 
 
 In music's ravish' d soul he dare not tell, 
 
 But whisper to the world : thus do they vary 
 
 Each string his note, as if they meant to carry 
 
 Their master's blest soul, snatch'd out at his ears 
 
 By a strong ecstasy, through all the spheres 
 
 Of music's heaven ; and seat it there on high 
 
 In th' empyrceum of pure harmony. 
 
 At length — after so long, so loud a strife 
 
 Of all the strings, still breathing the best life 
 
 Of blest variety, attending on 
 
 His fingers' fairest revolution, 
 
 In many a sweet rise, many as sweet a fall — 
 
 A full-mouth'd diapason swallows all. 
 
 This done, he lists what she would say to this ; 
 And she, although her breath's late exercise 
 Had dealt too roughly with her tender throat, 
 Yet summons all her sweet powers for a note. 
 Alas, in vain ! for while, sweet soul, she tries 
 To measure all those wild diversities 
 Of chatt'ring strings, by the small size of one 
 Poor simple voice, raised in a natural tone, 
 She fails ; and failing, grieves ; and grieving, dies ;- 
 She dies, and leaves her life the victor's prize, 
 Falling upon his lute. O, fit to have — 
 That lived so sweetly — dead, so sweet a grave ! 
 
OF THE MUSES. 93 
 
 UPON THE DEATH OF A GENTLEMAN. 
 
 J AITHLESS and fond mortality. 
 
 Who will ever credit thee ? 
 
 Fond and faithless thing ! that thus 
 In our best hopes beguilest us, 
 What a reckoning hast thou made 
 Of the hopes in him we laid ! 
 For life by volumes lengthened, 
 A hue or two to speak him dead. 
 For the laurel in his verse, 
 The sullen cypress o'er his hearse. 
 For a silver- crowned head, 
 A dirty pillow in death's bed. 
 For so dear, so deep a trust, 
 Sad requital, thus much dust ! 
 Now though the blow that snatch'd him hence 
 Stopp'd the mouth of eloquence, 
 Though she be dumb e'er since his death, 
 Not used to speak but in his breath ; 
 Yet if, at least, she not denies 
 The sad language of our eyes, 
 We are contented : for than this 
 Language none more fluent is. 
 Nothing speaks our grief so well, 
 As to speak nothing. Come, then, tell 
 Thy mind in tears, whoe'er thou be 
 That ow'st a name to misery ; 
 
94 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 Eyes are vocal, tears have tongues, 
 
 And there be words not made with lungs ; — 
 
 Sententious showers ! O, let them fall, 
 
 Their cadence is rhetorical. 
 
 Here's a theme will drink th' expence 
 
 Of all thy wat'ry eloquence ; 
 
 Weep then, only be express' d 
 
 Thus much, He's dead ; and weep the rest. 
 
 JP01ST THE DEATH OF MR. HERRYS. 
 
 PLANT of noble stem, forward and fair, 
 As ever whisper'd to the morning air, 
 Thrived in these happy grounds ; the 
 earth's just pride, 
 Whose rising glories made such haste to hide 
 His head in clouds, as if in him alone 
 Impatient nature had taught motion 
 To start from time, and cheerfully to fly 
 Before, and seize upon maturity. 
 Thus grew this gracious plant, in whose sweet shade 
 The sun himself oft wish'd to sit, and made 
 The morning Muses perch like birds, and sing 
 Among his branches ; yea, and vow'd to bring 
 His own delicious phoenix from the blest 
 Arabia, there to build her virgin nest, 
 To hatch herself in 'mongst his leaves : the day 
 Fresh from the rosy East rejoiced to play : 
 To them she gave the first and fairest beam 
 
OF THE MUSES. 95 
 
 That waited on her birth ; she gave to them 
 
 The purest pearls, that wept her evening death ; 
 
 The balmy Zephyrus got so sweet a breath, 
 
 By often kissing them, and now begun 
 
 Glad time to ripen expectation : 
 
 The timorous maiden-blossoms on each bough 
 
 Peep'd forth from then first blushes : so that now 
 
 A thousand ruddy hopes smiled in each bud, 
 
 And natter'd every greedy eye that stood 
 
 Fix'd in delight, as if already there 
 
 Those rare fruits dangled, whence the golden year 
 
 His crown expected ; when — O Fate ! O Time ! 
 
 That seldom lett'st a blushing youthful prime 
 
 Hide his hot beams in shade of silver age ! 
 
 So rare is hoary virtue — the dire rage 
 
 Of a mad storm these bloomy joys all tore, 
 
 Ravish' d the maiden blossoms, and down bore 
 
 The trunk ; yet in this ground his precious root 
 
 Still lives, which, when weak time shall be poured out 
 
 Into eternity, and circular joys 
 
 Dance in an endless round, again shall rise, 
 
 The fair sun of an ever -youthful spring, 
 
 To be a shade for angels while they sing ! 
 
 Meanwhile, whoe'er thou art that passest here, 
 
 O, do thou water it with one kind tear ! 
 
THE DELIGHTS 
 
 UPON THE DEATH OF THE MOST DESIRED 
 MR. HERRYS. 
 
 ) EATH, what dost ? O, hold thy blow ; 
 
 What thou dost, thou dost not know. 
 
 Death, thou must not here he cruel, 
 This is Nature's choicest jewel ! 
 This is he in whose rare frame 
 Nature labour'd for a name ; 
 And meant to leave his precious feature 
 The pattern of a perfect creature. 
 Joy of goodness, love of art, 
 Virtue wears him next her heart : 
 Him the Muses love to follow, 
 Him they call their vice-Apollo ! 
 Apollo, golden though thou be, 
 Th' art not fairer than is he ; 
 Nor more lovely lift'st thy head, 
 Blushing from thine Eastern bed ; 
 The glories of thy youth ne'er knew 
 Brighter hopes than he can show ! 
 "Why, then, should it ere be seen, 
 That his should fade while thine is green ? 
 And wilt thou, cruel boast, 
 Put poor Nature to such cost? 
 O, 'twill undo our common mother, 
 To be at charge of such another. 
 What ! think we to no other end, 
 
OF THE MUSES. 97 
 
 Gracious heavens do use to send 
 Earth her best perfection, 
 But to vanish and be gone ? 
 Therefore, only give to -day, 
 To-morrow to be snatch'd away ? 
 I've seen, indeed, the hopeful bud 
 Of a ruddy rose, that stood 
 Blushing to behold the ray 
 Of the new- saluted day — 
 His tender top not fully spread — 
 The sweet dash of a shower now shed, 
 Invited him no more to hide 
 Within himself the purple pride 
 Of his forward flower, when, lo ! 
 While he sweetly 'gan to show 
 His swelling glories, Auster spied him, 
 Cruel Auster thither hied him, 
 And with the rush of one rude blast 
 Shamed not spitefully to waste 
 All his leaves, so fresh, so sweet, 
 And lay them trembling at his feet. 
 I've seen the morning's lovely ray 
 Hover o'er the new-born day, 
 With rosy wings so richly bright, 
 As if he scorn'd to think of night ; 
 When a ruddy storm, whose scowl 
 Made heaven's radiant face look foul, 
 Call'd for an untimely night 
 To blot the newly-blossom'd light. 
 But were the rose's blush so rare, 
 Were the morning's smile so fair 
 
 H 
 
98 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 As is he, nor cloud nor wind 
 
 But would be courteous, would be kind. 
 
 Spare him, Death, O, spare him then, 
 Spare the sweetest among men : 
 Let not Pity with her tears 
 Keep such distance from thine ears ; 
 But, 0, thou wilt not, can'st not spare, 
 Haste hath never time to hear; 
 Therefore, if he needs must go, 
 And the Fates will have it so, 
 Softly may he be possess'd 
 Of his monumental rest ! 
 Safe, thou dark home of the dead, 
 Safe, hide his loved head ! 
 For pity's sake, O hide him quite, 
 From his mother Xature's sight : 
 Lest, for the grief his loss may move, 
 All her births abortive prove. 
 
 IN EUNDEM SCAZON. 
 
 VQC hospes, oculos flecte, sed lacrimis csecos, 
 Legit optime hsec, quern legere non sinit 
 flectus. 
 
 Ars nuper et natura, forma, virtusque 
 ^Emulatione fervidse, paciscuntur 
 Probare in uno juvene quid queant omnes, 
 Fuere tantaB terra nuper fuit liti 
 Ergo hie ab ipso judicem maneat ccelo.* 
 
 * From the edition of 1648. 
 
OF THE MUSES. 99 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 IF ever Pity were acquainted 
 With stern death ; if e'er he fainted 
 Or forgot the cruel vigour 
 
 Of an adamantine rigour, 
 
 Here, 0, here, we should have known it, 
 
 Here or nowhere he'd have shown it. 
 
 For he whose precious memory 
 
 Bathes in tears of every eye : 
 
 He to whom our sorrow brings 
 
 All the streams of all her springs, 
 
 Was so rich in grace and nature, 
 
 In all the gifts that bless a creature ; 
 
 The fresh hopes of his lovely youth 
 
 Flourish' d in so fair a growth ; 
 
 So sweet the temple was that shrined 
 
 The sacred sweetness of his mind ; 
 
 That could the Fates know to relent ; 
 
 Could they know what mercy meant ; 
 
 Or had ever learnt to bear 
 
 The soft tincture of a tear : 
 
 Tears would now have flow'd so deep 
 
 As might have taught grief how to weep ; 
 
 Now all their steely operation 
 
 Would quite have lost the cruel fashion : 
 
 Sickness would have gladly been 
 
 Sick himself to have saved him : 
 
 And his fever wish'd to prove 
 
100 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 Burning only in his love ; 
 
 Him when wrath itself had seen, 
 
 Wrath itself had lost his spleen ; 
 
 Grim destruction here amazed, 
 
 Instead of striking would have gazed ; 
 
 Even the iron-pointed pen, 
 
 That notes the tragic dooms of men, 
 
 Wet with tears still 'd from the eyes 
 
 Of the flinty destinies, 
 
 Would have learnt a softer style, 
 
 And have been ashamed to spoil 
 
 His life's sweet story, by the haste 
 
 Of a cruel stop ill placed 
 
 In the dark volume of our fate, 
 
 Whence each leaf of life hath date ; 
 
 Where, in sad particulars, 
 
 The total sum of man appears ; 
 
 And the short clause of mortal breath 
 
 Bound in the period of death. 
 
 In all the book if an ywhere 
 
 Such a term as this, " Spare here," 
 
 Could have been found, 'twould have been read, 
 
 Writ in white letters o'er his head : 
 
 Or close unto his name annex'd 
 
 The fair gloss of a fairer text. 
 
 In brief, if any one were free, 
 
 He was that one, and only he. 
 
 But he, alas ! even he is dead, 
 And our hopes' fair harvest spread 
 In the dust ! pity now spend 
 All the tears that grief can lend : 
 
OF THE MUSES. 101 
 
 Sad mortality may hide 
 
 In his ashes all her pride, 
 
 With this inscription o'er his head : — 
 
 All hope of never dying here lies dead. 
 
 HIS EPITAPH. 
 
 $ ASSEMxER, whoe'er thou art, 
 Stay awhile, and let thy heart 
 Take acquaintance of this stone, 
 
 Before thou passest further on. 
 
 This stone will tell thee that beneath 
 
 Is entomb'd the crime of death ; 
 
 The ripe endowments of whose mind 
 
 Left his years so much behind, 
 
 That, numb'ring of his virtue's praise, 
 
 Death lost the reckoning of his days ; 
 
 And, believing what they told, 
 
 Imagined him exceeding old. 
 
 In him perfection did set forth 
 
 The strength of her united worth ; 
 
 Him his wisdom's pregnant growth 
 
 Made so reverend, even in youth, 
 
 That in the centre of his breast — 
 
 Sweet as is the Phoenix' nest — 
 
 Every reconciled grace 
 
 Had their general meeting-place ; 
 
 In him goodness joy'd to see 
 
 Learning learn humihty. 
 
102 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 The splendour of his birth and blood 
 Was but the gloss of his own good ; 
 The flourish of his sober youth 
 Was the pride of naked truth ; 
 In composure of his face 
 Lived a fair but manly grace ; 
 His mouth was rhetoric's best mould, 
 His tongue the touchstone of her gold ; 
 What word soe'er his breast kept warm 
 Was no word now, but a charm : 
 For all persuasive graces thence 
 Suck'd their sweetest influence. 
 His virtue, that within had root, 
 Could not choose but shine without ; 
 And th' heart-bred lustre of his worth, 
 At each corner peeping forth, 
 Pointed him out in all his ways, 
 Circled round in his own rays : 
 That to his sweetness all men's eyes 
 Were vow'd love's flaming sacrifice. 
 
 Him while fresh and fragrant time 
 Cherish'd in his golden prime ; 
 Ere Hebe's hand had overlaid 
 His smooth cheeks with a downy shade ; 
 The rush of death's unruly wave 
 Swept him off into his grave. 
 
 Enough, now, if thou canst, pass on ; 
 For now, alas ! not in this stone, 
 Passenger, whoe'er thou art, 
 Is he entomb'd, but in thy heart. 
 
OF THE MUSES. 103 
 
 AN EPITAPH UPON HUSBAND AND WIFE, 
 
 Who died and were buried together. 
 
 I O these whom death again did wed, 
 This grave's the second marriage-bed. 
 For though the hand of Fate could force 
 
 'Twixt soul and body a divorce, 
 
 It could not sever man and wife, 
 
 Because they both lived but one life. 
 
 Peace, good reader, do not weep ; 
 
 Peace, the lovers are asleep. 
 
 They, sweet turtles, folded lie 
 
 In the last knot that love could tie. 
 
 Let them sleep, let them sleep on, 
 
 Till the stormy night be gone, 
 
 And the eternal morrow dawn ; 
 
 Then the curtains will be drawn, 
 
 And they wake into a light 
 
 Whose day shall never die in night. 
 
 AN EPITAPH UPON DOCTOE BROOK. 
 
 BBOOK, whose stream so great, so good, 
 Was loved, was honoured as a flood ; 
 Whose banks the Muses dwelt upon 
 
 More than their own Helicon ; 
 
 Here, at length, hath gladly found 
 
 A quiet passage underground : 
 
104 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 Meanwhile, his loved banks, now dry, 
 The Muses with their tears supply. 
 
 UPOST MR. STANINOUGH'S DEATH.* 
 
 )EAR relics of a dislodged soul, whose lack 
 Makes many a mourning paper put on black, 
 O, stay awhile, ere thou draw in thy head, 
 
 And wind thyself up close in thy cold bed ; 
 
 Stay but a little while, until I call 
 
 A summons worthy of thy funeral ! 
 
 Come then, youth, beauty, blood ! all ye soft pow'rs, 
 
 Whose silken flatteries swell a few fond hours 
 
 Into a false eternity ! Come, man — 
 
 Hyperbolized nothing ! — know thy span ! 
 
 Take thine own measure here ; down, down, and bow 
 
 Before thyself in thy idea ! thou 
 
 Huge emptiness ! contract thy bulk, and shrink 
 
 All thy wild circle to a point ! O, sink 
 
 Lower, and lower yet ; till thy small size 
 
 Call heaven to look on thee with narrow eyes ! 
 
 Lesser, and lesser yet ; till thou begin 
 
 To show a face fit to confess thy kin, 
 
 Thy neighbourhood to nothing ! 
 
 Proud looks, and lofty eyelids, here put on 
 
 Yourselves in this unfeign'd reflection ! 
 
 * Repeated, with alterations, at the end of the edition of 
 1670, under the title, " Death's Lecture — the Funeral of a 
 Young Gentleman." 
 
OF THE MUSES. 105 
 
 Here, gallant ladies, this impartial glass, 
 Though you be painted, shows you your own face. 
 These death-seal'd lips do dare to give the lie 
 To the proud hopes of poor mortality. 
 These curtain'd windows, this self-prison' d eye 
 Out-stares the lids of large-look' cl tyranny. 
 This posture is the brave one ! this that lies 
 Thus low stands up, methinks, thus, and defies 
 The world. All-daring dust and ashes ! only you, 
 Of all interpreters, read nature true ! 
 
 UPON THE DUKE OF YOKE'S* BIETH. 
 
 A Panegyric. 
 felTAIX, the mighty ocean's lovely bride, 
 
 Xow stretch thyself, fair isle, and grow ; 
 spread wide 
 
 Thy bosom, and make room ; thou art oppress'd 
 With thine own glories : and art strangely bless'd 
 Beyond thyself : for lo ! the gods, the gods, 
 Come fast upon thee, and those glorious odds 
 Swell thy full glories to a pitch so high, 
 As sits above thy best capacity ! 
 
 Are they not odds ? and glorious ? that to thee 
 Those mighty Genii throng, which well might be 
 Each one an age's labour ; that thy days 
 Are gilded with the union of those rays, 
 Whose each divided beam would be a sun, 
 To glad the sphere of any nation. 
 
 * Afterwards king James H. 
 
106 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 O, if for these thou mean'st to find a seat, 
 
 Th' hast need, O Britain, to be truly great ! 
 
 And so thou art, their presence makes thee so ; 
 
 They are thy greatness ; gods, where'er they go, 
 
 Bring their heav'n with them, their great footsteps place 
 
 An everlasting smile upon the face 
 
 Of the glad earth they tread on ; while with thee 
 
 Those beams that ampliate mortality, 
 
 And teach it to expatiate, and swell 
 
 To majesty and fulness, deign to dwell ; 
 
 Thou by thyself may'st sit, blest isle, and see 
 
 How thy great mother Nature doats on thee ! 
 
 Thee, therefore, from the rest apart she hurl'd, 
 
 And seem'd to make an isle, but made a world ! 
 
 Great Charles ! thou sweet dawn of a glorious day, 
 Centre of those thy grandsires, shall I say, 
 Henry, and James, or Mars and Phoebus rather ? 
 If this were wisdom's god, that war's stern father, 
 'Tis but the same, is said, Henry and James 
 Are Mars and Phoebus under divers names. 
 O thou full mixture of those mighty souls 
 Whose vast intelligences tuned the poles 
 Of peace and war ; thou for whose manly brow 
 Both laurels twine into one wreath, and woo 
 To be thy garland ; see, sweet prince, see 
 Thou and the lovely hopes that smile in thee 
 Are ta'en out, and transcribed by thy great mother ! 
 See, see thy real shadow, see thy brother, 
 Thy little self in less, read in these eyne 
 The'beams that dance in those full stars of thine. 
 From the same snowy alabaster rock 
 
OF THE MUSES. 107 
 
 These hands and thine were hewn, these cherries mock 
 The coral of thy lips. Thou art of all 
 This well- wrought copy the fair principal. 
 
 Justly, great Nature, may'st thou brag and tell 
 How even th' hast drawn this faithful parallel, 
 And match'd thy master-piece : O, then, go on, 
 Make such another sweet comparison :— 
 See'st thou that Mary there ? O, teach her, mother, 
 To show her to herself in such another. 
 Fellow this wonder, too, nor let her shine 
 Alone ; light such another star, and twine 
 Their rosy beams, so that the morn for one 
 Venus may have a constellation. 
 
 So have I seen, to dress their mistress, May, 
 Two silken sister-flowers consult, and lay 
 Their bashful cheeks together ; newly they 
 Peep'd from their buds, show'd like the garden's eyes 
 Scarce waked : like was the crimson of their joys, 
 Like were the pearls they wept ; so like, that one 
 Seem'd but the other's kind reflection. 
 
 But stay, what glimpse was that ? why blush' d the day ? 
 Why trembling ran the started air away ? 
 Who's this that comes circled in rays that scorn 
 Acquaintance with the sun ? what second morn 
 At mid-day opes a presence, which heaven's eye 
 Stands off and points at ? is't some deity, 
 Stepp'd from her throne of stars, deigns to be seen ? 
 Is it some deity ? or is't our queen ? 
 'Tis she, 'tis she, her awful beauties chase 
 The day's abashed glories, and in face 
 Of noon wear their own sunshine ! O, thou bright 
 
108 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 Mistress of wonders ! Cynthia's is the night ; 
 But thou at noon dost shine, and art all day — 
 Nor does the sun deny 't — our Cynthia. 
 Illustrious sweetness ! in thy faithful womb, 
 That nest of heroes, all our hopes find room ; 
 Thou art the mother Phoenix, and thy breast 
 Chaste as that virgin honour of the East, 
 But much more fruitful is ; nor does, as she, 
 Deny to mighty love a deity. 
 Then let the Eastern world brag and be proud 
 Of one coy Phoenix, while we have a brood, 
 A brood of Phoenixes, and still the mother ;* 
 And may we long ; long may'st thou live, t' increase 
 The house and family of Phoenixes : 
 Nor may the light that gives their eyelids light 
 E'en prove the dismal morning of thy night ; 
 Ne'er may a birth of thine be bought so dear 
 To make his costly cradle of thy bier. 
 O, may'st thou thus make all the year thine own, 
 And see such names of joy sit white upon 
 The brow of every month ; and when that's done, 
 May'st in a son of his find every son 
 Repeated, and that son still in another, 
 And so in each child often prove a mother ! 
 Long may'st thou, laden with such clusters, lean 
 Upon thy royal elm, fair vine ! and when 
 The heavens will stay no longer, may thy glory 
 And name dwell sweet in some eternal story ! 
 Pardon, bright excellence ! an untuned string, 
 That in thy ears thus keeps a murmuring ; 
 * Here a line seems deficient. 
 
OF THE MUSES. 
 
 109 
 
 O, speak a lowly muse's pardon ; speak 
 
 Her pardon or her sentence ; only break 
 
 Thy silence ! speak ; and she shall take from thence 
 
 Numbers, and sweetness, and an influence 
 
 Confessing thee ! or, if too long I stay, 
 
 O, speak thou, and my pipe hath nought to say. 
 
 For see, Apollo all this while stands mute, 
 
 Expecting by thy voice to tune his lute. 
 
 But gods are gracious, and their altars make 
 
 Precious their offerings that their altars take ; 
 
 Give, then, this rural wreath fire from thine eyes : 
 
 This rural wreath dares be thy sacrifice. 
 
 UPON FOED'S TWO TRAGEDIES, 
 
 Love's Sacrifice, and the Broken Heart. 
 
 HOU cheat'st us, Ford, mak'st one seem 
 two by art : 
 What is love's sacrifice but the broken heart ? 
 
 OX A FOUL MORNING, 
 Being then to take a Journey. 
 
 'HERE art thou, Sol, while thus the blind- 
 fold day 
 Staggers out of the East, losing her way, 
 Stumbling on night ? Rouse thee, illustrious youth, 
 And let no dull mists choke the light's fair growth. 
 
110 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 Point here thy beams, 0, glance on yonder flocks, 
 And make their fleeces golden as thy locks. 
 Unfold thy fair front, and there shall appear 
 Full glory flaming in her own free sphere. 
 Gladness shall clothe the earth, we will instile 
 The face of things an universal smile : 
 Say to the sullen morn, thou com'st to court her, 
 And wilt demand proud Zephyrus to sport her, 
 With wanton gales ; his balmy breath shall lick 
 The tender drops which tremble on her cheek ; 
 Which rarified, and in a gentle rain 
 On those delicious banks disthTd again, 
 Shall rise in a sweet harvest, which discloses 
 In every blush a bed of new-born roses. 
 He'll, fan her bright locks, teaching them to flow 
 And frisk in curled meanders : he will throw 
 A fragrant breath, suck'd from the spicy nest 
 O' th' precious Phoenix, warm upon her breast : 
 He with a dainty and soft hand will trim 
 And brush her azure mantle, which shall swim 
 In silken volumes ; wheresoe'er she'll tread, 
 Bright clouds, like golden fleeces, shall be spread. 
 
 Rise then, fair blue -eyed maid, rise and discover 
 Thy silver brow, and meet thy golden lover. 
 See how he runs, with what a hasty flight 
 Into thy bosom, bathed with liquid light. 
 Ply, fly, profane fogs, far hence fly away, 
 Taint not the pure streams of the springing day 
 With your dull influence ; it is for you 
 To sit and scowl upon night's heavy brow ; 
 Not on the fresh cheeks of the virgin morn, 
 
OF THE MUSES. Ill 
 
 Where nought but smiles and ruddy joys are worn : 
 Fly, then, and do not think with her to stay ; 
 Let it suffice, she'll wear no mask to-day. 
 
 UPON THE FAIR ETHIOPIAN, 
 
 Sent to a Gentlewoman. 
 
 ) O, here, the fair Chariclia ! in whom strove 
 So false a fortune and so true a love. 
 Now, after all her toils by sea and land, 
 O, may she but arrive at your white hand, 
 Her hopes are crown' d ; only she fears that then 
 She shall appear true Ethiopian ! 
 
 ON MARRIAGE. 
 
 WOULD be married, but I'd have no wife ; 
 I would be married to a single life. 
 
 TO THE MORNING. 
 
 Satisfaction for Sleep. 
 
 ?HAT succour can I hope the Muse will send, 
 Whose drowsiness hath wrong'd the Muse's 
 friend ? 
 
 What hope, Aurora, to propitiate thee, 
 Unless the Muse sing my apology ? 
 O ! in that morning of my shame, when I 
 Lay folded up in sleep's captivity ; 
 
112 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 How at the sight didst tliou draw back thine eyes 
 Into thy modest veil ! how didst thou rise 
 Twice dyed in thine own blushes, and didst run 
 To draw the curtains and awake the sun ! 
 Who, rousing his illustrious tresses, came, 
 And seeing the loath' d object, hid for shame 
 His head in thy fair bosom, and still hides 
 Me from his patronage ; I pray, he chides ; 
 And, pointing to dull Morpheus, bids me take 
 My own Apollo, try if I can make 
 His Lethe be my Helicon : and see 
 If Morpheus have a Muse to wait on me. 
 Hence 'tis my humble fancy finds no wings, 
 No nimble raptures, starts to heaven and brings 
 Enthusiastic flames, such as can give 
 Marrow to my plump genius, make it live 
 Dress'd in the glorious madness of a Muse, 
 Whose feet can walk the milky-way, and choose 
 Her starry throne ; whose holy heats can warm 
 The grave, and hold up an exalted arm 
 To lift me from my lazy urn, and climb 
 Upon the stooped shoulders of old Time, 
 And trace eternity. But all is dead, 
 All these delicious hopes are buried 
 In the deep wrinkles of his angry brow, 
 Where mercy cannot find them ; but, O thou 
 Bright lady of the morn, pity doth lie 
 So warm in thy soft breast, it cannot die ; 
 Have mercy, then, and when he next doth rise, 
 O, meet the angry god, invade his eyes, 
 And stroke his radiant cheeks ; one timely kiss 
 
OJF THE MUSES. 113 
 
 Will kill his anger, and revive my bliss. 
 
 So to the treasure of thy pearly dew 
 
 Thrice will I pay three tears, to show how true 
 
 My grief is ; so my wakeful lay shall knock 
 
 At th' oriental gates, and duly mock 
 
 The early lark's shrill orisons to be 
 
 An anthem at the day's nativity. 
 
 And the same rosy-finger'd hand of thine, 
 
 That shuts night's dying eyes, shall open mine. 
 
 But thou, faint god of sleep, forget that I 
 Was ever known to be thy votary. 
 No more my pillow shall thine altar be, 
 Nor will I offer any more to thee 
 Myself a melting sacrifice ; I'm born 
 Again a fresh child of the buxom morn. 
 Heir of the sun's first beams, why threat'st thou so ? 
 Why dost thou shake thy leaden sceptre ? Go, 
 Bestow thy poppy upon wakeful woe, 
 Sickness and sorrow, whose pale lids ne'er know 
 Thy downy finger dwell upon their eyes ; 
 Shut in their tears, shut out their miseries. 
 
 LOVE'S HOROSCOPE. 
 
 OVE, brave virtue's younger brother, 
 Erst hath made my heart a mother. 
 She consults the conscious spheres, 
 To calculate her young son's years ; 
 She asks if sad or saving pow'rs 
 Gave omen to his infant hours ; 
 i 
 
114 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 She asks each star that then stood by 
 If poor Love shall live or die. 
 
 Ah, my heart, is that the way ? 
 
 Are these the beams that rule thy day ? 
 
 Thou know'st a face in whose each look 
 
 Beauty lays ope Love's fortune-book, 
 
 On whose fair revolutions wait 
 
 The obsequious motions of Love's fate. 
 
 Ah, my heart ! her eyes and she 
 
 Have taught thee new astrology. 
 
 Howe'er Love's native hours were set, 
 
 Whatever starry synod met, 
 
 'Tis in the mercy of her eye, 
 
 If poor Love shall live or die. 
 
 If those sharp rays, putting on 
 Points of death, bid Love begone ; 
 Though the heavens in council sat 
 To crown an uncontrolled fate ; 
 Though their best aspects twined upon 
 The kindest constellation, 
 Cast amorous glances on his birth, 
 And whisper'd the confederate earth 
 To pave his paths with all the good 
 That warms the bed of youth and blood : 
 Love has no plea against her eye ; 
 Beauty frowns, and Love must die. 
 
 But if her milder influence move, 
 And gild the hopes of humble Love ; — 
 
OF THE MUSES. 115 
 
 Though heaven's inauspicious eye 
 Lay black on Love's nativity ; 
 Though every diamond in Jove's crown 
 Fix'd his forehead to a frown ; — 
 Her eye a strong appeal can give, 
 Beauty smiles, and Love shall live. 
 
 O, if Love shall live, 0, where 
 But in her eye, or in her ear, 
 In her breast, or in her breath, 
 Shall I hide poor Love from death ? 
 For in the life aught else can give, 
 Love shall die, although he live. 
 
 Or, if Love shall die, O, where, 
 But in her eye, or in her ear, 
 In her breath, or in her breast, 
 Shall I build his funeral nest ? 
 While Love shall thus entombed lie, 
 Love shall live, although he die ! 
 
 OUT OF VIRGIL, INT THE PRAISE OF THE 
 SPRING. 
 
 ^LL trees, all leafy groves confess the spring 
 Their gentlest friend ; then, then the lands 
 begin 
 
 To swell with forward pride, and seed desire 
 To generation ; heaven's almighty sire 
 
116 TEE DELIGHTS 
 
 Melts on the bosom of his love, and pours 
 
 Himself into her lap in fruitful showers ; 
 
 And by a soft insinuation, mix'd 
 
 With earth's large mass, doth cherish and assist 
 
 Her weak conceptions ; no lone shade, but rings 
 
 With chattering birds' delicious murmurings. 
 
 Then Venus' mild instinct, at set times, yields 
 
 The herds to kindly meetings, then the fields, 
 
 Quick with warm Zephyr's lively breath, lay forth 
 
 Their pregnant bosoms in a fragrant birth ; 
 
 Each body's plump and juicy, all things full 
 
 Of supple moisture : no coy twig but will 
 
 Trust his beloved bosom to the sun, 
 
 Grown lusty now ; no vine so weak and young 
 
 That fears the foul-mouth'd Auster, or those storms 
 
 That the south-west wind hurries in his arms, 
 
 But hastes her forward blossoms, and lays out, 
 
 Freely lays out her leaves ; nor do I doubt, 
 
 But when the world first out of Chaos sprang, 
 
 So smiled the days, and so the tenour ran 
 
 Of their felicity : a spring was there, 
 
 An everlasting spring ; the jolly year 
 
 Led round in his great circle ; no wind's breath, 
 
 As then, did smell of winter, or of death. 
 
 When light's sweet light first shone on beasts, and when 
 
 From then- hard mother earth sprang hardy men ; 
 
 When beasts took up their lodging in the wood, 
 
 Stars in their higher chambers ; never could 
 
 The tender growth of things endure the sense 
 
 Of such a change, but that the heav'n's indulgence 
 
 Kindly supplies sick nature, and doth mould 
 
 A sweetly-temper'd mean, nor hot nor cold. 
 
OF THE MUSES. 117 
 
 1 A PICTURE SENT TO A FRIEND. 
 
 PAINT so ill, my piece had need to be 
 Painted again by some good poesy : 
 iS^' I write so ill. my slender line is scarce 
 So much as tlr picture of a wefl-limn'd verse : 
 Yet may the love I send be true, though I 
 Send not true picture nor true poesy : 
 Both which away. I should not need to fear 
 Mj love or feign'" d or painted should appear. 
 
 EST PRAISE OF LESSIUS'S RULE OF 
 HEALTH.* 
 
 j>0 now. and with some daring drug, 
 Bait the disease, and. while thev tug. 
 Thou to maintain their precious strife 
 
 Spend the dear treasure of thy life : 
 
 Go. take physic, doat upon 
 
 Some big-named composition. — 
 
 The oraculous doctors* mystic bills. 
 
 Certain hard word- made into pills ; 
 
 And what at last shalt get by these ? 
 
 Only a costlier disease. 
 
 * Repeated, with some additional lines, at the end of the 
 edition of 1670: and primed, from ;t Hark hither,*'' among 
 the commendatory verses in praise of the translation of" The 
 Temperate Man, &c. the right Way of preserving Life and 
 Health."' &c. of Lessius and others, London. 167S, 12mo. 
 
118 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 Go, poor man, think what shall be 
 Bemedy against thy remedy. 
 That which makes us have no need 
 Of physic, that's physic indeed. 
 
 Hark hither, reader, would'st thou see 
 Nature her own physician be ? 
 Would'st see a man all his own wealth, 
 His own physic, his own health ? 
 A man whose sober soul can tell 
 How to wear her garments well ? 
 Her garments, that upon her sit, 
 As garments should do, close and fit ? 
 A well- clothed soul, that's not oppress'd, 
 Nor choked with what she should be dress'd ? 
 A soul sheathed in a crystal shrine, 
 Through which all her bright features shine ? 
 As when a piece of wanton lawn, 
 A thin aerial veil is drawn, 
 O'er beauty's face, seeming to hide, 
 More sweetly shows the blushing bride. 
 A soul whose intellectual beams 
 No mists do mask, no lazy streams? 
 A happy soul, that all the way 
 To heaven hath a summer's day ? 
 Would'st see a man whose well-warm'd blood 
 Bathes him in a genuine flood ? 
 A man whose tuned humours be 
 A seat of rarest harmony ? 
 Would'st see blithe looks, fresh cheeks beguile 
 Age ? Would'st see December smile ? 
 Would'st see a nest of roses grow 
 
OF THE MUSES. 319 
 
 In a bed of reverend snow ? 
 
 Warm thoughts, free spirits, flattering 
 
 Winter's self into a spring ? 
 
 In sum, would' st see a man that can 
 
 Live to be old, and still a man ? 
 
 Whose latest, and most leaden hours, 
 
 Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flow'rs ; 
 
 And, when life's sweet fable ends, 
 
 Soul and body part like friends : — 
 
 ~No quarrels, murmurs, no delay; 
 
 A kiss, a sigh, and so away ? 
 
 This rare one, reader, would'st thou see, 
 
 Hark hither ; and — thyself be he ! 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF HELIODORUS. 
 
 l HE smiling morn had newly waked the day, 
 And tipp'd the mountains in a tender ray : 
 When, on a hill, whose high imperious brow 
 Looks down, and sees the humble Nile below 
 Lick his proud feet, and haste into the seas, 
 Through the great mouth that's named from Hercules, 
 A band of men, rough as the arms they wore, 
 Look'd round, first to the sea, then to the shore :— 
 The shore that show'd them what the sea denied, 
 Hope of a prey. There to the main land tied 
 A ship they saw, no men she had ; yet press'd 
 Appear'd with other lading, for her breast 
 Deep in the groaning waters wallowed 
 
120 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 Up to the third ring ; o'er the shore was spread 
 
 Death's purple triumph ; on the blushing ground 
 
 Life's late forsaken houses all lay drown' d 
 
 In their own blood's dear deluge ; some new dead, 
 
 Some panting in their jet warm ruins bled, 
 
 ^\lnle then- affrighted souls, now wing'd for flight, 
 
 Lent them the last flash of her glimmering light : 
 
 Those yet fresh streams which crawled everywhere, 
 
 Show'd that stern war had newly bathed him there : 
 
 Nor did the face of this disaster show 
 
 Marks of a fight alone, but feasting too ; 
 
 A miserable and a monstrous feast, 
 
 ^Miere hungry war had made himself a guest ; 
 
 And, coming late, had eat up guest and all, 
 
 ^lio proved the feast to their own funeral, &c. 
 
 CUPID'S CRYER. OUT OF THE GREEK. 
 
 OYE is lost, nor can his mother 
 
 Her little fugitive discover : 
 
 She seeks, she sighs, but nowhere spies him ; 
 Love is lost ; and thus she cries him. 
 
 O yes ! if any happy eye 
 This roving wanton shall descry : 
 Let the finder surely know 
 Mine is the wag ; 'tis I that own 
 The winged wand'rer ; and that none 
 May think his labour vainly gone, 
 The glad descryer shall not miss 
 To taste the nectar of a kiss 
 
OF THE MUSES. 121 
 
 From Venus' lips ; but as for him 
 
 That brings him to me, he shall swim 
 
 In riper joys ; more shall be his, 
 
 Venus assures him, than a kiss. 
 
 But lest your eye discerning slide, 
 
 These marks may be your judgment's guide : 
 
 His skin, as with a fiery blushing, 
 
 High-coloured is ; his eyes still flushing 
 
 With nimble flames ; and though his mind 
 
 Be ne'er so cursed, his tongue is kind : 
 
 For never were his words in aught 
 
 Found the pure issue of his thought. 
 
 The working bees' soft-melting gold, 
 
 That which their waxen mines enfold, 
 
 Flows not so sweet as do the tones 
 
 Of his tuned accents ; but if once 
 
 His anger kindle, presently 
 
 It boils out into cruelty 
 
 And fraud : he makes poor mortals' hurts 
 
 The objects of his cruel sports ; 
 
 With dainty curls his froward face 
 
 Is crown r d about ; but, 0, what place, 
 
 What farthest nook of lowest hell, 
 
 Feels not the strength, the reaching spell 
 
 Of his small hand ? yet not so small 
 
 As 'tis powerful therewithal ; 
 
 Though bare his skin, his mind he covers, 
 
 And, like a saucy bird, he hovers 
 
 With wanton wing, now here, now there, 
 
 'Bout men and women ; nor will spare 
 
 Till at length he, perching, rest 
 
122 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 In the closet of their breast. 
 
 His weapon is a little bow, 
 
 Yet such a one as, Jove knows how, 
 
 Ne'er suffered jet his little arrow 
 
 Of heavVs highest arches to fall narrow. 
 
 The gold that on his quiver smiles 
 
 Deceives men's fears with nattering wiles : 
 
 But, O, too well my wounds can tell, 
 
 With bitter shafts 'tis sauc'd too well ; 
 
 He is all cruel, cruel all ; 
 
 His torch imperious, though but small, 
 
 Makes the sun, of flames the sire, 
 
 Worse than sun-burnt in his fire : 
 
 Wheresoe'er you chance to find him, 
 
 Seize him, bring him, but first bind him ; 
 
 Pity not him, but fear thyself, 
 
 Though thou see the crafty elf 
 
 Tell down his silver drops unto thee, 
 
 They're counterfeit, and will undo thee ; 
 
 With baited smiles if he display 
 
 His fawning cheeks, look not that way : 
 
 If he offer sugared kisses, 
 
 Start, and say the serpent hisses ; 
 
 Draw him, drag him, though he pray, 
 
 Woo, intreat, and, crying, say 
 
 Prithee, sweet, now let me go, 
 
 Here's my quiver, shafts and bow ; 
 
 I'll give thee all, take all : — take heed, 
 
 Lest his kindness make thee bleed. 
 
 Whate'er it be love offers, still presume 
 
 That, though it shines, 'tis fire, and will consume. 
 
OF THE MUSES. 123 
 
 \ IGH mounted on an ant, Nanus the tall 
 Was thrown, alas ! and got a deadly fall. 
 Under th' unruly beast's proud feet he lies 
 All torn ; with much ado yet e'er he dies, 
 He strains these words : Base envy, do laugh on, 
 Thus did I fall, and thus fell Phaeton. 
 
 UPON VENUS PUTTING ON MARS'S ARMS. 
 
 *HAT ! Mars's sword ! fair Cytherea, say, 
 "Why art thou arm'd so desperately to-day? 
 Mars thou hast beaten naked, and, O, then, 
 What need'st thou put on arms against poor men ? 
 
 UPON THE SAME. 
 
 ; ALL AS saw Venus arm'd, and straight she 
 cried, 
 
 '■' Come, if thou dar'st, thus, thus let us be 
 tried." 
 " Why, fool !" says Venus, " thus provok'st thou me, 
 That being naked, thou know'st could conquer thee ?" 
 
124 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 UPON BISHOP ANDREWS'S PICTURE 
 BEFORE HIS SERMONS. 
 
 | HIS reverend shadow cast that setting'sun, 
 Whose glorious course through our horizon 
 run, 
 
 Left the dim face of this dull hemisphere, 
 All one great eye, all drown' d in one great tear ! 
 Whose fair illustrious soul led his free thought 
 Through learning's universe, and, vainly, sought 
 Room for her spacious self, until at length 
 She found the way home ; and, with holy strength, 
 Snatch'd herself hence to heaven : fill'd a bright place, 
 'Mongst those immortal fires, and on the face 
 Of her great Maker fix'd her flaming eye, 
 There still to read true pure divinity. 
 And now that grave aspect hath deign'd to shrink 
 Into this less appearance, if you think 
 'Tis but a dead face art doth here bequeath, 
 Look on the following leaves, and see them breathe. 
 
 OUT OF MARTIAL. 
 
 OUR teeth thou had'st, that ranked in goodly 
 state, 
 
 Kept thy mouth's gate. 
 
 The first blast of thy cough left two alone ; 
 The second none. 
 
OF THE MUSES. 125 
 
 This last cough, iElia, cough'd out all thy fear — 
 Th' hast left the third cough now no business here. 
 
 A SOXG. OUT OF THE ITALIAX. 
 
 thy lover, 
 Dear, discover 
 
 That sweet blush of thine, that shameth, 
 When the roses 
 It discloses, 
 All the flowers that nature nameth ! 
 
 In free air, 
 
 Flow thy hair ; 
 That no more summer's best dresses 
 
 Be beholden, 
 
 For their golden 
 Locks, to Phoebus' flaming tresses. 
 
 O, deliver 
 Love his quiver ; 
 From thy eyes he shoots his arrow. 
 Where Apollo 
 
 Cannot follow, 
 Feather 'd with his mother's sparrows ! 
 
 O, envy not, 
 That we die not, 
 Those dear lips, whose door encloses 
 
126 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 All the Graces 
 In their places, 
 Brother pearls, and sister roses ! 
 
 From these treasures 
 
 Of ripe pleasures, 
 One bright smile to clear the weather : 
 
 Earth and heaven, 
 
 Thus made even, 
 Both will be good friends together. 
 
 The air does woo thee, 
 
 Winds cling to thee ; 
 Might a word once fly from out thee, 
 
 Storms and thunder 
 
 Would sit under, 
 And keep silence round about thee ! 
 
 But if Nature's 
 Common creatures 
 
 So dear glories dare not borrow ; 
 Yet thy beauty- 
 Owes a duty 
 
 To my loving, ling'ring sorrow ! 
 
 When, to end me, 
 
 Death shall send me 
 All his terrors, to affright me ; 
 
 Thine eyes' graces 
 
 Gild their faces, 
 And those terrors shall delight me ! 
 
OF THE MUSES. 127 
 
 When my dying 
 
 Life is flying, 
 Those sweet airs, that often slew me, 
 
 Shall revive me, 
 
 Or reprieve me, 
 And to many deaths renew me ! 
 
 OUT OF THE ITALIAN. 
 
 I OVE now no fire hath left him, 
 We two hetwixt ns have divided it ; 
 Your eyes the light hath reft him ; 
 The heart commanding in my heart doth sit : 
 O, that poor love he not for ever spoil'd, 
 Let my heat to your light he reconciled ! 
 
 So shall these flames, whose worth 
 
 Now all obscured lies, 
 Dress'd in those beams start forth, 
 
 And dance before your eyes. 
 
 Or else partake my flames, 
 
 I care not whether, 
 And so in mutual names, 
 
 O love, burn both together ! 
 
128 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 OUT OF THE ITALIAN. 
 
 OULD any one the true cause find 
 How love came naked, a boy, and blind ? 
 'Tis this : list'ning one day too long 
 
 To th' Syrens in my mistress' song, 
 
 The ecstasy of a delight 
 
 So much o'ermast'ring all his might, 
 
 To that one sense made all else thrall ; 
 
 And so he lost his clothes, eyes, heart, and all ! 
 
 ON THE FRONTISPIECE OF ISAACSON'S 
 CHRONOLOGY EXPLAINED. 
 
 ^F with distinctive eye and mind you look 
 Upon the front, you see more than one book. 
 Creation is God's book, wherein He writ 
 Each creature as a letter filling it. 
 History is creation's book ; which shows 
 To what effects the series of it goes. 
 Chronology's the book of history, and bears 
 The just account of days, of months, and years. 
 But resurrection, in a later press 
 And new edition, is the sum of these : 
 The language of these books had all been one 
 Had not th' aspiring tow'r of Babylon 
 Confused the tongues, and in a distance hurl'd 
 As far the speech, as men, o' th' new-fih"d world. 
 
OF THE MUSES. 129 
 
 Set then your eyes in method, and behold 
 Time's emblem, Saturn ; who, when store of gold 
 Coin'd the first age, devour'd that birth he fear'd ; 
 Till history, time's eldest child, appear'd, 
 And, phoenix-like, in spite of Saturn's rage, 
 Forced from her ashes heirs in every age. 
 From th' rising sun, obtaining by just suit, 
 A spring's ingender, and an autumn's fruit. 
 Who in those volumes, at her motion penn'd, 
 Unto creation's Alpha doth extend. 
 Again ascend, and view chronology, 
 By optic skill pulling far history 
 Nearer ; whose hand the piercing eagle's eye 
 Strengthens to bring remotest objects nigh. 
 Under whose feet you see the setting sun, 
 From the dark gnomon, o'er her volumes run, 
 Drown' d in eternal night, never to rise 
 Till resurrection show it to the eyes 
 Of earth-worn men ; and her shrill trumpet's sound 
 Affright the bones of mortals from the ground : 
 The columns both are crown'd with either sphere, 
 To show chronology and history bear 
 No other culmen than the double art 
 Astronomy, geography impart. 
 
130 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 OR THUS. 
 
 jj ET hoar j Time's vast bowels be the grave 
 To what his bowels birth, and being gave : 
 Let Nature die, and, phoenix-like, from 
 death, 
 Revived Nature take a second breath ; 
 If, on Time's right hand sit fair history ; 
 If, from the seed of empty ruin she 
 Can raise so fair an harvest, let her be 
 Ne'er so far distant, yet chronology, 
 Sharp-sighted as the eagle's eye, that can 
 Outstare the broad-beam'd day's meridian, 
 Will have a perspicil to find her out ; 
 And, through the night of error, and dark doubt, 
 Discern the dawn of truth's eternal ray, 
 As when the rosy morn buds into day ! 
 
 Now that Time's empire might be amply fill'd. 
 Babel's bold artists strive, below, to build 
 Ruin a temple ; on whose fruitful fall 
 History rears her pyramids, more tall 
 Than were th' Egyptian ! by the life, these give, 
 Th' Egyptian pyramids themselves must live : 
 On these she lifts the world ; and, on their base, 
 Shows the two terms and limits of Time's race : 
 That the creation is ; the judgment this ; 
 That the world's morning ; this her midnight is ! 
 
OF THE MUSES. 131 
 
 AN EPITAPH UPON MR. ASHTON, A 
 CONFORMABLE CITIZEN. 
 
 h HE modest front of this small floor. 
 Believe me, reader, can say more 
 Than many a braver marble can, — 
 
 " Here lies a truly honest man !" 
 
 One whose conscience was a thing 
 
 That troubled neither church nor king ; 
 
 One of those few that in this town 
 
 Honour all preachers ; hear their own. 
 
 Sermons he heard, yet not so many 
 
 As left no time to practise any ; 
 
 He heard them reverendly, and then 
 
 His practise preach'd them o'er again ; 
 
 His parlour-sermons rather were 
 
 Those to the eye, than to the ear ; 
 
 His prayers took then 1 price and strength 
 
 Not from the loudness nor the length ; 
 
 He was a protectant at home, 
 
 Not only in despite of Rome ; 
 
 He loved his father, yet his zeal 
 
 Tore not off his mother's veil ; 
 
 To th' church he did allow her dress, 
 
 True beauty to true holiness ; 
 
 Peace, which he loved in life, did lend 
 
 Her hand to bring him to his end ; 
 
 When age and death call'd for the score, 
 
 No surfeits were to reckon for ; 
 
132 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 Death tore not, therefore, but, sans strife, 
 Gently untwined his thread of life. 
 What remains, then, but that thou 
 Write these lines, reader, on thy brow, 
 And, by his fair example's light 
 Burn in thy imitation bright ? 
 So, while these lines can but bequeath 
 A life, perhaps, unto his death, 
 His better epitaph shall be — 
 His life still kept alive in thee. 
 
 OUT OF CATULLUS. 
 
 » OME, and let us live, my dear, 
 Let us love and never fear 
 What the sourest fathers say ; 
 Brightest Sol, that dies to day, 
 Lives again as blithe to-morrow ; 
 But if we, dark sons of sorrow, 
 Set, O then, how long a night 
 Shuts the eyes of our short light ! 
 Then let amorous kisses dwell 
 On our lips, begin and tell 
 A thousand and a hundred score, 
 A hundred and a thousand more, 
 Till another thousand smother 
 That, and that wipe off another. 
 Thus at last, when we have numbered 
 Many a thousand, many a hundred, 
 
OF THE MUSES. 133 
 
 We'll confound the reckoning quite, 
 And lose ourselves in wild delight : 
 While our joys so multiply, 
 As shall mock the envious eye. 
 
 WISHES TO HIS SUPPOSED MISTRESS. 
 
 HOE'ER she be, 
 That not impossible she, 
 That shall command my heart and me : 
 
 Where'er she lie, 
 
 Lock'd up from mortal eye, 
 
 In shady leaves of destiny : 
 
 Till that ripe birth 
 
 Of studied fate, stand forth, 
 
 And teach her fair steps to our earth : 
 
 Till that divine 
 
 Idea take a shrine 
 
 Of crystal flesh, through which to shine : 
 
 Meet you her, my Wishes, 
 Bespeak her to my blisses, 
 And be ye call'd my absent kisses. 
 
 I wish her beauty, 
 
 That owes not all its duty 
 
 To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie. 
 
134 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 Something more than 
 Taffata or tissue can, 
 Or rampant feather, or rich fan. 
 
 More than the spoil 
 
 Of shop, or silkworm's toil, 
 
 Or a bought blush, or a set smile. 
 
 A face, that's best 
 
 By its own beauty dress'd, 
 
 And can alone command the rest. 
 
 A face, made up 
 
 Out of no other shop, 
 
 Than what Nature's white hand sets ope. 
 
 A cheek, where youth 
 
 And blood, with pen of truth, 
 
 Write what the reader sweetly rueth. 
 
 A cheek, where grows 
 More than a morning rose, 
 Which to no box his being owes. 
 
 Lips, where all day 
 
 A lover's kiss may play, 
 
 Yet carry nothing thence away. 
 
 Looks, that oppress 
 
 Their richest tires, but dress 
 
 And clothe their simplest nakedness. 
 
OF THE MUSES. 135 
 
 Eyes, that displace 
 
 The neighbour diamond, and out-face 
 
 That sunshine by their own sweet grace. 
 
 Tresses, that wear 
 
 Jewels, but to declare 
 
 How much themselves more precious are. 
 
 Whose native ray 
 
 Can tame the wanton day 
 
 Of gems that in their bright shades play. 
 
 Each ruby there, 
 
 Or pearl that dare appear, 
 
 Be its own blush, be its own tear. 
 
 A well-tamed heart, 
 
 For whose more noble smart 
 
 Love may be long choosing a dart. 
 
 Eyes, that bestow 
 
 Full quivers on love's bow, 
 
 Yet pay less arrows than they owe. 
 
 Smiles, that can warm 
 
 The blood, yet teach a charm, 
 
 That chastity shall take no harm. 
 
 Blushes, that bin 
 
 The burnish of no sin, 
 
 Xor flames of aught too hot within. 
 
136 TEE DELIGETS 
 
 Joys, that confess 
 
 Virtue their mistress, 
 
 And have no other head to dress. 
 
 Fears, fond and slight, 
 
 As the coy bride's, when night 
 
 First does the longing lover right. 
 
 Tears, quickly fled, 
 
 And vain, as those are shed 
 
 For a dying maidenhead. 
 
 Days, that need borrow 
 
 No part of their good morrow, 
 
 From a fore-spent night of sorrow. 
 
 Days, that in spite 
 
 Of darkness, by the light 
 
 Of a clear mind, are day all night. 
 
 Nights, sweet as they 
 
 Made short by lovers' play, 
 
 Yet long by th' absence of the day. 
 
 Life, that dares send 
 
 A challenge to his end, 
 
 And when it comes, say, Welcome, friend ! 
 
 Sydneian showers 
 
 Of sweet discourse, whose powers 
 
 Can crown old winter's head with flowers. 
 
OF THE MUSES. 137 
 
 Soft silken hours, 
 
 Open suns, shady bowers, 
 
 ? Bove all — nothing within that lowers. 
 
 Whate'er delight 
 
 Can make day's forehead bright, 
 
 Or give down to the wings of night. 
 
 In her whole frame, 
 Have Xature all the name, 
 Art and ornament the shame. 
 
 Her flattery, 
 
 Picture and poesy, 
 
 Her counsel her own virtue be. 
 
 I wish her store 
 
 Of worth may leave her poor 
 
 Of wishes ; and I wish no more. 
 
 Xow, if Time knows 
 
 That her, whose radiant brows 
 
 Weave them a garland of my vows ; 
 
 Her, whose just bays 
 
 My future hopes can raise, 
 
 A trophy to her present praise ; 
 
 Her, that dares be 
 
 What these lines wish to see : 
 
 I seek no further, it is she. 
 
138 THE DELIGHTS 
 
 Tis she, and here, 
 
 Lo, I unclothe and clear 
 
 My Wish's cloudy character ! 
 
 May she enjoy it, 
 
 Whose merit dare apply it, 
 
 But modesty dares still deny it ! 
 
 Such worth as this is 
 Shall fix my flying wishes, 
 And determine them to kisses. 
 
 Let her full glory, 
 
 My fancies, fly before ye, 
 
 Be ye my fictions hut — her story. 
 
 UPON TWO GREEN APRICOCKS SENT TO 
 COWLEY BY SIR CRASHAW. 
 
 i AKE these, Time's tardy truants, sent by me 
 To be chastised, sweet friend, and chid by 
 thee. 
 
 Pale sons of our Pomona ! whose wan cheeks 
 Have spent the patience of expecting weeks, 
 Yet are scarce ripe enough at best to show 
 The red, but of the blush to thee they owe. 
 By thy comparison they shall put on 
 More summer in their shame's reflection, 
 
OF THE MUSES. 139 
 
 Than e'er the fruitful Phoebus' flaming kisses 
 Kindled on their cold lips. O, had my wishes, 
 And the dear merits of your Muse, their due, 
 The year had found some fruit early as you ; 
 Kipe as those rich composures, time computes 
 Blossoms, but our blest taste confesses fruits. 
 How does thy April-autumn mock those cold 
 Progressions 'twixt whose terms poor Time grows old ! 
 TTith thee alone he wears no beard ; thy brain 
 Gives him the morning world's fresh gold again. 
 'Twas only Paradise, 'tis only thou, 
 "Whose fruit and blossoms both bless the same bough. 
 Proud in the pattern of thy precious youth, 
 Nature, methinks, might easily mend her growth. 
 Could she in all her births but copy thee, 
 Into the public year's proficiency, 
 No fruit should have the face to smile on thee, 
 Young master of the world's maturity ! 
 But such whose sun-born beauties what they borrow 
 Of beams to-day, pay back again to-morrow, 
 Nor need be double-gilt. How, then, must these 
 Poor fruits look pale at thy Hesperides ! 
 Fain would I chide their slowness, but in their 
 Defects I draw mine own dull character. 
 Take them, and me in them, acknowledging 
 How much my summer waits upon thy spring ! * 
 * From the edition of 1648. 
 
CARMEN DEO NOSTRO, 
 
 TE DECET HYMNUS. 
 SACRED POEMS, 
 
 COLLECTED, 
 CORRECTED, 
 AUGMENTED, 
 
 Most humbly PRESENTED, 
 
 TO MY LADY THE COUNTESS OF DENBIGH. 
 
 BY HER MOST DEYOTED SERVANT 
 
 RICH. CRASHAW. 
 
 In hearty acknowledgement of his immortal obligation to her 
 goodness and charity. 
 
CRASHAWE, 
 
 THE ANAGRAM « HE WAS CAR." 
 
 "AS Car then Crashaw, or was Crashaw Car, 
 Since both within one name combined are? 
 Yes, Car's Crashaw, he Car ; 'tis love 
 alone 
 
 Which melts two hearts, of both composing one ; 
 So Crashaw's still the same : so much desired 
 By strongest wits ; so honour'd, so admired ; 
 Car was but he that enter'd as a friend 
 With whom he shared his thoughts, and did commend. 
 While jet he lived, this work ; they loved each other : 
 Sweet Crashaw was his friend : he Crashaw's brother ; 
 So Car hath title then ; 'twas his intent 
 That what his riches penn'd, poor Car should print ; 
 Nor fears he check, praising that happy one 
 Who was beloved by all ; disprais'd by none. 
 To wit, being pleased with all things, he pleased all , 
 Nor would he give nor take offence ; befall 
 What might, he would possess himself, and live 
 As dead, devoid of interest, t' all might give 
 
144 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Diseased his well-composed mind, forestall'd 
 
 With heavenly riches, which had wholly calTd 
 
 His thoughts from earth, to live above in th' air 
 
 A very bird of paradise. No care 
 
 Had he of earthly trash. What might suffice 
 
 To fit his soul to heavenly exercise, 
 
 Sufficed him ; and may we guess his heart 
 
 By what his lips bring forth, his only part 
 
 Is God and godly thoughts. Leaves doubt to none 
 
 But that to whom one God is all, all's one. 
 
 What he might eat or wear he took no thought, 
 
 His needful food he rather found than sought. 
 
 He seeks no downs, no sheets, his bed's still made ; 
 
 If he can find a chair or stool, he's laid ; 
 
 When day peeps in, he quits his restless rest ; 
 
 And still, poor soul, before he's up, he's dress'd. 
 
 Thus dying did he live, yet lived to die 
 
 In th' Virgin's lap, to whom he did apply 
 
 His virgin thoughts and words, and thence was styled 
 
 By foes, the chaplain of the virgin mild, 
 
 While yet he lived without : his modesty 
 
 Imparted this to some, and they to me. 
 
 Live happy, then, dear soul ! enjoy thy rest 
 
 Eternally by pains thou purchasedst, 
 
 While Car must live in care, who was thy friend, 
 
 Nor cares he how he live, so in the end 
 
 He may enjoy his dearest Lord and thee ; 
 
 And sit and sing more skilful songs eternally. 
 
 Thomas Cab. 
 
SACRED POEMS. 145 
 
 AX EPIGRAM 
 
 Upon the Pictures in the following Poems which the 
 
 Author first made with his own hand admirably vjell, 
 
 as may be seen in his Manuscript dedicated 
 
 to the Right Honourable Lady the 
 
 Lady Denbigh. 
 
 | WIXT pen and pencil rose a holy strife 
 TThich might draw virtue better to the life ; 
 But wits gave votes to that : but painters 
 swore 
 They never saw pieces so sweet before 
 As these : fruits of pure nature : where no art 
 Did lead the untaught pencil, nor had part 
 In th' work. 
 
 The hand grown bold, with wit will needs contest. 
 Doth it prevail ? ah, wo ! say each is best. 
 This to the ear speaks wonders ; that will try 
 To speak the same, yet louder, to the eye. 
 Both their aims are holy, both conspire 
 To wound, to burn the heart with heavenly fire. 
 This then's the doom, to do both parties right : 
 This, to the ear speaks best ; that, to the sight J* 
 
 Thxxmas Cab. 
 
 * Printed only in the edition of 1652. 
 
TO THE NOBLEST AND BEST OF LADIES 
 THE COUNTESS OF DENBIGH : 
 
 Persuading her to resolution in Religion, and to render 
 
 herself without farther delay into the communion 
 
 of the Catholic Church. 
 
 'HAT heaven-entreated heart is this 
 Stands trembling at the gate of bliss ? 
 Holds fast the door, yet dares not venture 
 
 Fairly to open it and enter ? 
 
 Whose definition is a doubt 
 
 'Twixt life and death, 'twixt in and out ? 
 
 Say, lingering fair ! why comes the birth 
 
 Of your brave soul so slowly forth ? 
 
 Plead your pretences, O you strong 
 
 In weakness, why you choose so long 
 
 In labour of yourself to lie, 
 
 Nor daring quite to live nor die. 
 
 Ah, linger not, loved soul ! a slow 
 
 And late consent was a long no ; 
 
 Who grants at last, long time had tried 
 
 And did his best to have denied. 
 
SACRED POEMS. 147 
 
 What magic bolts, what mystic bars 
 
 Maintain the will in these strange wars ! 
 
 What fatal, what fantastic bands 
 
 Keep the free heart from its own hands ! 
 
 So, when the year takes cold, we see 
 
 Poor waters their own prisoners be ; 
 
 Fetter'd and lock'd up fast they lie 
 
 In a sad self- captivity ; 
 
 Th' astonish' d nymphs their floods' strange fate deplore, 
 
 To see themselves their own severer shore. 
 
 Thou that alone canst thaw this cold, 
 
 And fetch the heart from its strong hold, 
 
 Almighty Love ! end this long war, 
 
 And of a meteor make a star. 
 
 O, fix this fair indefinite, 
 
 And 'mongst thy shafts of sovereign light 
 
 Choose out that sure decisive dart, 
 
 Which has the key of this close heart, 
 
 Knows all the corners oft, and can control 
 
 The self- shut cabinet of an unsearch'd soul ! 
 
 O, let it be at last Love's hour ; 
 
 Eaise this tall trophy of thy pow'r ; 
 
 Come once the conquering way, not to confute, 
 
 But kill this rebel-word — Irresolute ; 
 
 That so, in spite of all this peevish strength 
 
 Of weakness, she may write — Resolved at length ! 
 
 Unfold at length, unfold fair flow'r, 
 
 And use the season of Love's show'r ; 
 
 Meet his well-meaning wounds, wise heart ! 
 
 And haste to drink the wholesome dart ; 
 
 That healing shaft, which heav'n till now 
 
148 SACKED POEMS. 
 
 Has in Love's quiver hid for you. 
 O dart of love ! arrow of light ! 
 O, happy you, if it hit right ! 
 It must not fall in vain, it must 
 Not mark the dry regardless dust. 
 Fair one, it is your fate ; and brings 
 Eternal worlds upon its wings. 
 Meet it with wide -spread arms ; and see 
 Its seat your soul's just centre be. 
 Disband dull fears ; give Faith the day ; 
 To save your life, kill your delay ; 
 It is Love's siege, and sure to be 
 Your triumph, though his victory. 
 'Tis cowardice that keeps this field, 
 And want of courage not to yield. 
 Yield then, O yield, that Love may win 
 The fort at last, and let Life in. 
 Yield quickly, lest perhaps you prove 
 Death's prey, before the prize of Love. 
 This fort of your fair self, if 't be not won, 
 He is repuls'd indeed, but you're undone. 
 
 TO THE NAME ABOVE EVERY NAME, THE 
 NAME OF JESUS. A HYMN. 
 
 SING the name which none can say 
 But touch'd with an interior ray ; 
 The name of our new peace ; our good : 
 Our bliss, and supernatural blood ; 
 
SACRED POEMS. 149 
 
 The name of all our lives and loves. 
 
 Hearken, and help, ye holy doves ! 
 
 The high-born brood of day ; you bright 
 
 Candidates of blissful light, 
 
 The heirs elect of love ; whose names belong 
 
 Unto the everlasting life of sono* : 
 
 All ye wise souls, who in the wealthy breast 
 
 Of this unbounded name build your warm nest. 
 
 Awake, my glory, soul, if such thou be, 
 
 And that fair word at all refer to thee, 
 
 Awake and sing, 
 
 And be all wing ; 
 Bring hither thy whole self; and let me see 
 What of thy parent heav'n yet speaks in thee. 
 
 O, thou art poor 
 
 Of noble pow'rs, I see, 
 And full of nothing else but empty me ; 
 Narrow, and low, and infinitely less 
 Than this great morning's mighty business. 
 
 One little world or two, 
 
 Alas ! will never do ; 
 
 We must have store. 
 Go, soul, out of thyself, and seek for more ; 
 
 Go and request 
 Great Nature for the key of her huge chest 
 Of heavVs, the self- involving set of spheres, 
 Which dull mortality more feels than hears ; 
 
 Then rouse the nest 
 Of nimble art, and traverse round 
 The airy shop of soul- appeasing sound : 
 And beat a summons in the same 
 
150 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 All-sovereign name, 
 To warn each several kind 
 And shape of sweetness, be they such 
 
 As sigh with supple wind, 
 
 Or answer artful touch, 
 That they convene and come away 
 To wait at the love- crowned doors of that 
 
 Illustrious day. 
 Shall we dare this, my soul ? We'll do 't, and bring 
 ~No other note for 't, but the Name we sing. 
 
 Wake, lute and harp, 
 
 And every sweet-lipp'cl thing 
 
 That talks with tuneful string ; 
 Start into life, and leap with me 
 Into a hasty fit-tuned harmony. 
 
 Xor must you think it much 
 
 T' obey my bolder touch ; 
 I have authority in Love's name to take you 
 And to the work of love this morning wake you ; 
 
 Wake, in the name 
 Of Him who never sleeps, all things that are, 
 
 Or what's the same, 
 
 Are musical ; 
 
 Answer my call 
 
 And come along ; 
 Help me to meditate mine immortal song. 
 Come, ye soft ministers of sweet sad mirth, 
 Bring all your household-stuff of heav'n on earth : 
 O you, my soul's most certain wings, 
 Complaining pipes, and prattling strings, 
 
 Bring all the store 
 
SACRED POEMS. 151 
 
 Of sweets you have, and murmur that jou have no more. 
 
 Come, ne'er to part, 
 
 Nature and art ! 
 
 Come, and come strong, 
 To the conspiracy of our spacious song. 
 
 Bring all the pow'rs of praise 
 Your provinces of well-united worlds can raise ; 
 Bring all your lutes and harps of heav'n and earth ; 
 TVhate'er co-operates to the common mirth ; 
 
 Vessels of vocal joys, 
 Or you, more nohle architects of intellectual noise, 
 Cymbals of heav'n, or human spheres, 
 Solicitors of souls or ears ; 
 
 And when you are come, with all 
 That you can bring, or we can call, 
 
 O, may you fix 
 
 For ever here, and mix 
 
 Yourselves into the long 
 And everlasting series of a deathless song ! 
 Mix all your many worlds above, 
 And loose them into one of love. 
 
 Cheer thee, my heart ! 
 
 For thou, too, hast thy part 
 
 And place in the great throng 
 Of this unbounded, all-embracing song. 
 
 Pow'rs of my soul, be proud ! 
 
 And speak loud 
 To all the dear-bought nations this redeeming name ; 
 And in the wealth of one rich word proclaim 
 New smiles to nature. 
 
 May it be no wrong, 
 
152 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Blest heav'ns, to you, and your superior song, 
 That we dark sons of dust and sorrow 
 
 Awhile dare borrow 
 The name of your delights, and our desires, 
 And fit it to so far inferior lyres ! 
 Our murmurs have their music, too, 
 Ye mighty orbs, as well as you, 
 
 Xor yields the noblest nest 
 Of warbling seraphim to the ears of love, 
 A choicer lesson than the joyful breast 
 
 Of a poor panting turtle-dove. 
 And we, low worms, have leave to do 
 The same bright business, ye third Heav'ns, with you. 
 Gentle spirits, do not complain, 
 
 We will have care 
 
 To keep it fair, 
 And send it back to you again. 
 Come, lovely name ! appear from forth the bright 
 
 Regions of peaceful light ; 
 Look from Thine own illustrious home, 
 
 Fair king of names, and come : 
 Leave all thy native glories in their gorgeous nest, 
 And give thyself awhile the gracious guest 
 Of humble souls, that seek to find 
 
 The hidden sweets 
 
 "Which man's heart meets 
 When Thou art master of the mind. 
 Come, lovely name ! life of our hope ! 
 Lo, we hold our hearts wide ope ! 
 Unlock thy cabinet of day, 
 Dearest sweet, and come away. 
 
SACRED POEMS. 153 
 
 Lo, how the thirsty lands 
 Gasp for thy golden showers with long-stretch' d hands ! 
 
 Lo, how the labouring earth, 
 
 That hopes to be 
 
 AH heaven by thee, 
 
 Leaps at thy birth ! 
 Th' attending world, to wait thy rise, 
 
 First turn'd to eyes, 
 And then, not knowing what to do, 
 Turn'd them to tears, and spent them, too. 
 Come, royal name ! and pay th' expence 
 Of all this precious patience ; 
 
 O, come away, 
 And kill the death of this delay ! 
 O, see so many worlds of barren years 
 Melted and measured out in seas of tears ! 
 O, see the weary lids of wakeful hope, 
 Love's eastern windows, all wide ope, 
 
 With curtains drawn, 
 To catch the day-break of thy dawn ! 
 O, dawn, at last, long-look'd for day ! 
 Take thine own wings and come away. 
 Lo, where aloft it comes ! It comes, among 
 The conduct of adoring spirits, that throng, 
 Like diligent bees, and swarm about it. 
 
 O, they are wise, 
 And know what sweets are suck'd from out it ! 
 
 It is the hive 
 
 By which they thrive, 
 Where all their hoard of honey lies. 
 Lo, where it comes, upon the snowy dove's 
 
154 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Soft back, and brings a bosom big with loves ! 
 Welcome to our dark world, thou 
 
 Womb of day ! 
 Unfold thy fair conceptions, and display 
 The birth of our bright joys. 
 
 O, thou compacted 
 Body of blessings : spirit of souls extracted ! 
 O, dissipate thy spicy pow'rs, 
 Cloud of condensed sweets, and break upon us 
 
 In balmy show'rs ! 
 O, fill our senses, and take from us 
 All force of so profane a fallacy 
 To think aught sweet but that which smells of thee ! 
 Fair, flow'ry name, in none but thee, 
 And thy nectareal fragrancy, 
 
 Hourly there meets 
 An universal synod of all sweets ; 
 By whom it is defined thus 
 
 That no perfume 
 
 For ever shall presume 
 To pass for odoriferous, 
 But such alone whose sacred pedigree 
 Can prove itself some kin, sweet name, to thee. 
 Sweet name, in thy each syllable 
 A thousand blest Arabias dwell ; 
 A thousand hills of frankincense, 
 Mountains of myrrh, and beds of spices, 
 And ten thousand paradises, 
 The soul that tastes thee takes from thence. 
 How many unknown worlds there are 
 Of comforts, which thou hast in keeping ! 
 
SACRED POEMS. 155 
 
 How many thousand mercies there 
 In Pity's soft lap lie a- sleeping ! 
 Happy he who has the art 
 
 To awake them, 
 
 And to take them 
 Home, and lodge them in his heart. 
 O, that it were as it was wont to be ! 
 When thy old friends of fire, all full of thee, 
 Fought against frowns with smiles; gave glorious chase 
 To persecutions ; and against the face 
 Of death and fiercest dangers durst, with brave 
 And sober pace, march on to meet a grave. 
 On their bold breasts about the world they bore thee, 
 And to the teeth of hell stood up to teach thee ; 
 In centre of their inmost souls they wore thee, 
 Where racks and torments strived in vain to reach thee. 
 
 Little, alas ! thought they 
 Who tore the fair breasts of thy friends, 
 
 Their fury but made way 
 For thee, and served them in thy glorious ends. 
 What did their weapons, but with wider pores 
 Enlarge thy flaming-breasted lovers, 
 
 More freely to transpire 
 
 That impatient fire, 
 The heart that hides thee hardly covers ! 
 What did their weapons, but set wide the doors 
 For thee ; fair purple doors, of Love's devising, 
 The ruby windows which enrich'd the east 
 Of thy so oft-repeated rising! 
 Each wound of theirs was thy new morning, 
 And re-enthroned thee in thy rosy nest, 
 
156 SACKED POEMS. 
 
 With blush of thine own blood thy day adorning : 
 It was the wit of love o'erflow ? d the bounds 
 Of wrath, and made the way through all these wounds. 
 Welcome, dear, all-adored name ! 
 
 For sure there is no knee 
 
 That knows not thee. 
 Or, if there be such sons of shame, 
 
 Alas ! what will they do 
 When stubborn rocks shall bow, 
 And hills hang down their heav'n- saluting heads 
 
 To seek for humble beds 
 Of dust, where, in the bashful shades of night, 
 Next to their own low nothing they may lie, 
 And couch before the dazzling light of thy dread Majesty ! 
 They that by Love's mild dictate now 
 
 Will not adore thee, 
 Shall then, with just confusion, bow 
 
 And break before thee. 
 
 IN THE GLORIOUS EPIPHANY OF OUR 
 LORD GOD. 
 
 A Hymn sung as by the Three Kings. 
 
 First King. 
 
 ■ JiRIGHT babe, whose awful beauties 
 *fj make _ 
 §^ The morn incur a sweet mistake ; 
 2nd. For whom th' officious heav'ns devise 
 
SACRED POEMS. 157 
 
 To disinherit the sun's rise, 
 3rd. Delicately to displace 
 
 The day, and plant it fairer in Thy face ; 
 1st. O, Thou horn King of loves, 
 2nd. Oflights, 
 
 3rd. Of joys ! 
 
 Cho. Look up, sweet babe, look up, and see 
 For love of Thee, 
 Thus far from home, 
 The East is come 
 To seek herself in Thy sweet eyes ! 
 1st. We, who strangely went astray, 
 Lost in a bright 
 Meridian night, 
 2nd. A darkness made of too much day, 
 3rd. Beckon'd from far 
 
 By Thy fair star, 
 Lo, at last have found our way ! 
 Cho. To Thee, thou day of night ; thou East of West! 
 Lo, we at last have found the way 
 To Thee, the world's great universal East ; 
 The general and indifferent day ! 
 1st. All-circling point, all-cent'ring sphere, 
 
 The world's one, round, eternal year ; 
 2nd. Whose full and all-unwrinkled face 
 
 Nor sinks nor swells with time or place ; 
 3rd. But everywhere, and everywhile, 
 
 Is one consistent solid smile ; 
 1st. Not vex'd and tost 
 
 2nd. 'Twixt spring and frost, 
 
 3rd. Nor by alternate shreds of light 
 
158 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Sordidly shifting hands with shades and night. 
 Clio. O, little all, in Thy embrace 
 
 The world lies warm, and likes his place ; 
 Nor does his full globe fail to be 
 Kiss'd on both his cheeks by Thee : 
 Time is too narrow for Thy year, 
 Nor makes the whole world Thy half sphere. 
 1st To Thee, to Thee, 
 
 From him we flee ; 
 2nd. From him, whom, by a more illustrious lie, 
 The blindness of the world did call the eye ; 
 3rd. To him, who by these mortal clouds hast made 
 
 Thyself our sun, though Thine own shade. 
 1st. Farewell, the world's false light ; 
 Farewell, the white 
 Egypt, a long farewell to thee, 
 Bright idol ; black idolatry ; 
 The dire face of inferior darkness kiss'd 
 , And courted in the pompous mask of a more 
 specious mist. 
 2nd. Farewell, farewell, 
 
 The proud and misplaced gates of hell, 
 Perch'd in the morning's way, 
 And double-gilded as the doors of day ; 
 The deep hypocrisy of death and night 
 More desperately dark, because more bright. 
 3rd. Welcome, the world's sure way ; 
 
 , Heav'n's wholesome ray ! 
 Cho. "Welcome, to us ; and we, 
 
 Sweet, to ourselves in Thee, 
 1st. The deathless heir of all thy Father's day ; 
 
SACRED POEMS. 3 59 
 
 2nd. Decently born, 
 
 Embosom' d in a mucb more rosy morn — - 
 
 The blushes of thy all -unblemished mother. 
 3rd. Xo more that other 
 
 Aurora shall set ope 
 
 Her ruby casements, or hereafter hope 
 From mortal eyes 
 
 To meet religious welcomes at her rise. 
 Cho. We, precious ones, in you have won 
 
 A gentler morn, a juster sun. 
 Is/. His superficial beams sun-burnt our skin ; 
 2nd, But left within 
 
 3rd. The night and winter still of death and sin, 
 Cho. Thy softer, yet more certain darts 
 
 Spare our eyes, but pierce our hearts. 
 1st. Therefore, with his proud Persian spoils 
 2nd. We court Thy more concerning smiles. 
 3rd. Therefore, with his disgrace 
 
 We gild the humble cheek of this chaste place ; 
 Cho. And at Thy feet pour forth his face. 
 1st. The doting nations now no more 
 
 Shall any day but Thine adore ; 
 2nd. aSot, much less, shall they leave these eyes 
 
 For cheap Egyptian deities. 
 3rd. In whatsoe'er more sacred shape 
 
 Of ram, he-goat, or reverend ape, 
 
 Those beauteous ravishers oppressed so sore 
 
 The too -hard- tempted nations. 
 1st. Xever more 
 
 By wanton heifer shall be worn 
 2nd. A garland, or a gilded horn. 
 
160 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 The altar-stall'd ox, fat Osiris now, 
 "With his fair sister- cow, 
 3rd. Shall kick the clouds no more ; but lean and tame 
 Cho. See his horn'd face, and die for shame, 
 
 And Mithra now shall be no name. 
 1st. No longer shall the immodest lust 
 
 Of adulterous godless dust 
 2nd. Fly in the face of heav'n ; as if it were 
 
 The poor world's fault that he is fair. 
 3rd. Nor with perverse loves and religious rapes 
 
 Eevenge Thy bounties in their beauteous shapes, 
 
 And punish best things worst; because they stood 
 
 Guilty of being much for them too good. 
 1st. Proud sons of death, that durst compel 
 
 Heav'n itself to find them hell ; 
 2nd. And by strange wit of madness wrest 
 
 From this world's East the other's "West. 
 3rd. All-idolizing worms, that thus could crowd 
 
 And urge their sun into Thy cloud ; 
 
 Forcing his sometimes eclipsed face to be 
 
 A long deliquium to the light of Thee. 
 Clio. Alas ! with how much heavier shade 
 
 The shamefaced lamp hung down his head, 
 For that one eclipse he made, 
 Than all those he suffered ! 
 1st. For this he look'd so big, and every morn 
 
 With a red face confess' d this scorn ; 
 
 Or hiding his vex'd cheeks in a hired mist, 
 
 Kept them from being so unkindly kiss'd : 
 2nd. It was for this the day did rise 
 So oft with blubber'd eyes. 
 
SACRED POEMS. 161 
 
 For this the evening wept ; and we ne'er knew. 
 But call'd it dew. 
 3rd. This daily wrong 
 
 Silenced the morning sons, and danrp'd their song. 
 Clio. Xor was \ our deafness, hut our sins, that thus 
 
 Long made th' harmonious orbs all mute to us. 
 2nd. Time has a day in store, 
 
 "When this so proudly poor 
 
 And self-oppressed spark, that has so long 
 
 By the love-sick world heen made 
 
 Xot so much their sun as shade, 
 
 "Weary of this glorious wrong, 
 
 From them and from himself shall flee 
 
 For shelter to the shadow of Thy tree ! 
 Cho. Proud to have gain'd this precious loss, 
 
 And changed his false crown for Thy cross. 
 2nd. That dark day's clear doom shall define 
 
 Whose is the master fire, which sun would shine ; 
 
 That sable judgment-seat shall by new laws 
 
 Decide and settle the great cause 
 Of controverted light ; 
 Cho. And Nature's wrongs rejoice to do Thee right. 
 3rd. That forfeiture of noon to-night shall pay 
 
 All the idolat'rous theft done by this night of day; 
 
 And the great penitent press his own pale lips 
 
 With an elaborate love- eclipse. 
 
 To which the low world's laws 
 Shall lend no cause, 
 Cho. Save those domestic which He borrows 
 
 From our sins and His own sorrows. 
 1st. Three sad hours' sackcloth, then, shall show to us 
 
162 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 His penance, as our fault, conspicuous. 
 
 2nd, And he more needfully and nobly prove 
 
 The nations' terror now, than erst their love, 
 
 3rd. Their hated loves changed into wholesome fears 
 
 Cho. The shutting of his eye shall open theirs. 
 
 1st. As by a fair-eyed fallacy of day 
 Misled before they lost their way, 
 So shall they, by the seasonable fright 
 Of an unseasonable night, 
 Losing it once again, stumble on true light ; 
 
 2nd. And as before his too -bright eye 
 Was their more blind idolatry, 
 So his officious blindness now shall be 
 Their black, but faithful perspective of Thee ; 
 
 3rd. His new prodigious night, 
 
 Their new and admirable light ; 
 The supernatural dawn of thy pure day, 
 
 AVliile wond'ring they, 
 The happy converts now of Him 
 Whom they compelTd before to be their sin, 
 
 Shall henceforth see 
 To kiss him only as their rod, 
 Whom they so long courted as God ; 
 
 Cho. And their best use of him they worshipp'd be 
 To learn of him at least to worship Thee. 
 
 1st. It was their weakness woo'd his beauty ; 
 But it shall be 
 Their wisdom now, as well as duty, 
 T' enjoy his blot ; and, as a large black letter, 
 Use it to spell Thy beauties better ; 
 And make the night itself their torch to Thee. 
 
SACRED POEMS. 163 
 
 2nd. By the oblique ambush of this close night, 
 Couch'd in that conscious shade, 
 The right-eyed Areopagite 
 Shall with a vigorous guess invade 
 And catch thy quick reflex ; and sharply see 
 On this dark ground 
 To descant Thee. 
 3rd. price of the rich spirit ! with that fierce chase 
 Of this strong soul shall he 
 Leap at Thy lofty face, 
 And seize the swift flash, in rebound 
 From this obsequious cloud, 
 Once call'd a sun ; 
 Till dearly thus undone, 
 Cho. Till thus triumphantly tamed, O ye two 
 
 Twin suns ! and taught now to negotiate you. 
 1st. Thus shall that reverend child of light, 
 2nd. By being scholar first of that new night, 
 
 Come forth great master of the mystic day ; 
 3rd. And teach obscure mankind a more close way, 
 By the frugal negative light 
 Of a most wise and well-abused night, 
 To read more legible Thine original ray, 
 Cho. And make our darkness serve thy day ; 
 Maintaining 'twixt Thy world and ours 
 A commerce of contrary pow'rs ; 
 A mutual trade 
 'Twixt sun and shade, 
 By confederate black and white, 
 Borrowing day and lending night. 
 1st. Thus we, who when with all the noble pow'rs 
 
164 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 That, at Thy cost, are call'd, not vainly, ours ; 
 
 We vow to make brave way 
 Upwards, and press on for the pure intelligential 
 prey; 
 2nd. At least, to play 
 
 The amorous spies, 
 And peep and proffer at Thy sparkling throne ; 
 3rd. Instead of bringing in the blissful prize, 
 And fast'ning on thine eyes, 
 Forfeit our own, 
 And nothing gain, 
 But more ambitious loss, at least of brain ; 
 Cho. Now by abased lids shall learn to be 
 
 Eagles, and shut our eyes that we may see. 
 
 The Close. 
 Therefore to Thee and Thine auspicious ray, 
 Dread sweet ! lo, thus 
 At least by us, 
 The delegated eye of day 
 Does first his sceptre, then himself in solemn 
 tribute pay. 
 Thus he undresses 
 His sacred unshorn tresses ; 
 At Thy adored feet, thus, he lays down 
 1st. His gorgeous tire 
 
 Of flame and fire, 
 2nd. His glittering robe, 
 
 3rd. His sparkling crown, 
 
 1st. His gold, 
 
 2nd. His myrrh, 
 
SACRED POEMS. 165 
 
 3rd. His frankincense, 
 
 Clio. To which he now has no pretence. 
 
 For being show'd by this day's light, how far 
 He is from sun enough to make Thy star, 
 His best ambition now is but to be 
 Something a brighter shadow, sweet, of Thee ; 
 Or on heaven's azure forehead high to stand 
 Thy golden index ; with a duteous hand 
 Pointing us home to our own sun, 
 The world's and his Hyperion ! 
 
 TO THE QUEEN'S MAJESTY ON 
 TWELFTH-DAY. 
 
 fADAM, 
 
 'Mongst those long rows of crowns that gild 
 your race 
 
 These royal sages sue for decent place. 
 The day-break of the nations ; their first ray ; 
 When the dark world dawn'd into Christian day, 
 And smiled i' th' babe's bright face, the purpling bud 
 And rosy dawn of the right royal blood ; 
 Fair first-fruits of the Lamb ; sure kings in this ; 
 They took a kingdom while they gave a kiss : 
 But the world's homage, scarce in these well blown, 
 We read in you, rare queen, ripe and full grown. 
 For from this day's rich seed of diadems 
 Does rise a radiant crop of royal stems, 
 
166 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 A golden harvest of crown'd heads, that meet 
 
 And crowd for kisses from the Lamb's white feet. 
 
 In this illustrious throng, jour lofty flood 
 
 Swells high, fair confluence of all high-horn blood ! 
 
 With your bright head whose groves of sceptres bend 
 
 Their wealthy tops ; and for these feet contend. 
 
 So swore the Lamb's dread sire, and so we see't, 
 
 Crowns, and the heads they kiss, must court these feet. 
 
 Fix here, fair majesty ! May your heart ne'er miss 
 
 To reap new crowns and kingdoms from that kiss I 
 
 Nor may we miss the joy to meet in you 
 
 The aged honours of this day still new. 
 
 May the great time in you still greater be, 
 
 While all the year is your Epiphany ; 
 
 "While your each day's devotion duly brings 
 
 Three kingdoms to supply this day's three kings I 
 
 THE OFFICE OF THE HOLY CROSS. 
 FOR THE HOUR OF MATINS. 
 
 The Versicle. 
 J ORD, by Thy sweet and saving sign, 
 
 ^/Jpigfi p The Besponsor. 
 
 Defend us from our foes and Thine. 
 Ver. Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord ; 
 Res. And my mouth shall declare Thy praise. 
 Ver. O God, make speed to save me. 
 
SACRED POEMS. 167 
 
 Res. O Lord, make haste to help me. 
 Ver. Glory be to the Father, 
 And to the Son, 
 And to the Holy Ghost, 
 Res. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall 
 be, world without end. Amen. 
 
 The Hymn. 
 
 The wakeful matins haste to sing 
 
 The unknown sorrows of our King ; 
 
 The Father's word and wisdom made 
 
 Man for man, by man's betray' d ; 
 
 The world's price set to sale, and by the bold 
 
 Merchants of death and sin is bought and sold ; 
 
 Of His best friends, yea of Himself, forsaken, 
 
 By his worst foes, because he would, besieg'd and taken. 
 
 The Antiphon. 
 
 All hail, fair tree, 
 "Whose fruit we be ! 
 What song shall raise 
 Thy seemly praise, 
 "Who brouo-ht'st to light 
 Life out of death, day out of night ! 
 
 The Versicle. 
 
 Lo, we adore Thee, 
 Dread Lamb ! and bow thus low before Thee ; 
 
168 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 The Resjponsor. 
 'Cause by the covenant of Thy Cross 
 Thou hast saved at once the whole world's loss. 
 
 The Prayer. 
 O, my Lord Jesu Christ, Son of the living God ! 
 interpose, I pray Thee, Thine own precious death, Thy 
 Cross and Passion, betwixt my soul and Thy judgment, 
 now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to 
 grant me Thy grace and mercy ; to the living and dead 
 remission and rest ; to Thy Church, peace and concord ; 
 to us sinners, life and glory everlasting. "Who livest 
 and reignest with the Father, in the unity of the Holy 
 Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen. 
 
 FOR THE HOUR OF PRIME. 
 
 The Versicle. 
 ORD, by Thy sweet and saving sign, 
 
 The Resjwnsor. 
 Defend us from our foes and Thine. 
 Ver. Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord ; 
 Res. And my mouth shall declare Thy praise. 
 Ver. God, make speed to save me. 
 Res. O Lord, make haste to help me. 
 Ver. Glory be to, &c. 
 Res. As it was in, &o. 
 
SACRED POEMS. 169 
 
 The Hymn. 
 The early prime blushes to say 
 She could not rise so soon as they 
 Call'd Pilate up, to try if he 
 Could lend them any cruelty. 
 
 Their hands with lashes arni'd, then 1 tongues with li e s, 
 And loathsome spittle blot those beauteous eyes, 
 The blissful springs of joy, from whose all-cheering ray 
 The fair stars fill their weakful fires, the sun himself 
 drinks day. 
 
 The Antijphon. 
 
 Victorious sign 
 
 That now dost shine, 
 
 Transcrib'd above 
 Into the land of light and love ; 
 
 O, let us twine 
 
 Our roots with thine, 
 
 That we may rise 
 Upon thy wings and reach the skies ! 
 
 The Versicle. 
 Lo, we adore Thee, 
 Dread Lamb ! and fall 
 
 Thus low before Thee ; 
 
 The Respomor. 
 'Cause by the covenant of Thy Cross 
 Thou hast saved at once the whole world's loss. 
 
170 
 
 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 The Prayer. 
 O, my Lord Jesu Christ, Son of the living God ! 
 interpose, I pray Thee, Thine own precious death, Thy 
 Cross and Passion, betwixt my soul and Thy judgment, 
 now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to 
 grant me Thy grace and mercy ; to the living and dead, 
 remission and rest ; to Thy Church, peace and concord ; 
 to us sinners, life and glory everlasting. Who livest 
 and reignest with the Father, in the unity of the Holy 
 Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen. 
 
 THE THIRD. 
 
 The Versicle. 
 ORD, by that sweet and saving sign, 
 
 The Responsor. 
 Defend us from our foes and Thine. 
 Ver. Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord ; 
 Res. And my mouth shall declare Thy praise. 
 Ver. O God, make speed to save me. 
 Res. O Lord, make haste to help me. 
 Ver. Glory be to, &q. 
 Res. As it was in the, &e. 
 
 The Hymn. 
 The third hour's deafen'd with the cry 
 Of " crucify Him ! crucify !" 
 
SACRED POEMS. 171 
 
 So goes the vote, nor ask thein, why ? 
 
 " Live Barabbas !" and let God die. 
 
 But there is wit in wrath, and they will try 
 
 A hail more cruel than their crucify ; 
 
 For while in sport He wears a spiteful crown. 
 
 The serious show'rs along His decent face run sadly down. 
 
 The Antiphon. 
 
 Christ when He died 
 
 Deceived the Cross, 
 
 And on Death's side 
 
 Threw all the loss. 
 The captive world awak'd, and found 
 The prisoner loose, the jailor bound. 
 
 The Yersicle. 
 Lo, we adore Thee, 
 Dread Lamb ! and fall 
 
 Thus low before Thee ; 
 
 The Responsor. 
 
 'Cause by the covenant of Thy Cross 
 Thou hast saved at once the whole world's loss. 
 
 The Prayer. 
 O, my Lord Jesu Christ, Son of the living God ! 
 interpose, I pray Thee, Thine own precious death, Thy 
 Cross and Passion, betwixt my soul and Thy judgment, 
 now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to 
 grant me Thy grace and mercy ; to the living and dead, 
 remission and rest ; to Thy Church, peace and concord ; 
 
172 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 to us sinners, life and glory everlasting. Who livest 
 and reignest with the Father, in the unity of the Holy 
 Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen. 
 
 THE SIXTH. 
 
 The Versicle. 
 ORD, by Thy sweet and saving sign, 
 
 The Responsor. 
 Defend us from our foes and Thine. 
 Ver. Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord ; 
 Res. And my mouth shall declare Thy praise. 
 Ver. O God, make speed to save me. 
 Res. O Lord, make haste to help me. 
 Ver. Glory be to, &c. 
 Res. As it was in, &c. 
 
 The Hymn. 
 Now is the noon of sorrow's night 
 High in His patience as their spite. 
 Lo, the faint Lamb, with weary limb, 
 Bears that huge tree which must bear Him ! 
 That fatal plant, so great. of fame 
 For fruit of sorrow and of shame, 
 Shall swell with both for Him, and mix 
 All woes into one crucifix. 
 Is tortur'd thirst itself too sweet a cup ? 
 Gall and more bitter mocks shall make it up. 
 
SACKED POEMS. 173 
 
 Are nails blunt pens of superficial smart ? 
 Contempt and scorn can send sure wounds to search 
 the inmost heart. 
 
 The Antvphon. 
 
 O, dear and sweet dispute 
 'Twixt death's and love's far different fruit ! 
 
 Different as far 
 As antidotes and poisons are. 
 
 By that first fatal tree 
 
 Both life and liberty 
 
 Were sold and slain ; 
 By this they both look up and live again ! 
 
 The Versicle. 
 Lo, we adore Thee, 
 Dread Lamb ! and bow thus low before Thee ; 
 
 The Resjwnsor. 
 'Cause by the covenant of Thy Cross 
 Thou hast saved the world from certain loss. 
 
 The Prayer. 
 O, my Lord Jesu Christ, Son of the living God ! 
 interpose, I pray Thee, Thine own precious death, Thy 
 Cross and Passion, betwixt my soul and Thy judgment, 
 now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to 
 grant me Thy grace and mercy ; to the living and dead, 
 remission and rest ; to Thy Church, peace and concord ; 
 to us sinners, life and glory everlasting. Who livest 
 and reignest with the Father, in the unity of the Holy 
 Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen. 
 
174 
 
 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 THE NINTH. 
 
 The Versicle. 
 OKD, by Thy sweet and saving sign, 
 
 The Responsor. 
 Defend us from our foes and Thine. 
 Ver. Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord ; 
 Res. And my mouth shall declare Thy praise. 
 Ver. O God, make speed to save me. 
 Res. O Lord, make haste to help me. 
 Ver. Glory be to, <fcc. 
 Res. As it was in, (fee. 
 
 The Hymn. 
 The ninth* with awful horror hark'ned to those groans 
 Which taught attention even to rocks and stones. 
 Hear, Father, hear ! Thy Lamb, at last, complains 
 Of some more painful thing than all His pains. 
 Then bows His all-obedient head, and dies, 
 His own love's and our sin's great sacrifice. 
 The sun saw that, and would have seen no more ; 
 The centre shook, her useless veil th' inglorious temple 
 tore. 
 
 The Antiphon. 
 O, strange mysterious strife 
 Of open death and hidden life ! 
 
SACRED POEMS. 175 
 
 When on the Cross my King did bleed 
 Life seem'd to die, death died indeed. 
 
 The Versicle. 
 Lo, we adore Thee, 
 Dread Lamb ! and fall 
 Thus low before Thee ; 
 
 The Re sponsor, 
 'Cause by the covenant of Thy Cross 
 Thou hast saved at once the whole world's los>. 
 
 Tlie Prayer, 
 O, my Lord Jesu Christ, Son of the living God I 
 interpose. I pray Thee. Thine own precious death. Thy 
 Cross and Passion, betwixt my soul and Thy judgment, 
 now and in the horn of my death. And vouchsafe to 
 grant me Thy grace and mercy ; to the living and dead, 
 remission and rest ; to Thy Church, peace and concord ; 
 to us sinners, life and glory everlasting. Who livest 
 and reignest with the Father, in the unity of the Holy 
 Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen. 
 
176 
 
 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 EVEXSOXG. 
 
 The Versicle. 
 OKD, by Thy sweet and saving sign, 
 
 The Resjponsor. 
 Defend us from our 'foes and Thine. 
 Ver. Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord ; 
 Res. And my mouth shall declare Thy praise. 
 Ver. O God, make speed to save me. 
 Res. O Lord, make haste to help me. 
 Ver. Glory be to, etc. 
 Res. As it was in, <fcc. 
 
 The Hymn. 
 But there were rocks would not relent at tins. 
 Lo, for their own hearts they rend His ! 
 Their deadly hate lives still, and hath 
 A wild reserve of wanton wrath ; 
 Superfluous spear ! but there's a heart stands by 
 Will look no wounds be lost, no death shall die. 
 Gather now thy griefs ripe fruit, great Mother-maid ! 
 Then sit thee down, and sing thy evensong in the sad 
 tree's shade. 
 
 The Antiphon. 
 O sad, sweet tree ! 
 AVoeful and joyful, we 
 
SACRED POEMS. 177 
 
 Both weep and sing in shade of thee : 
 When the dear nails did lock 
 And graft into thy gracious stock 
 
 The hope, the health, 
 
 The worth, the wealth 
 Of all the ransonr d world, thou hadst the power, 
 
 In that propitious hour, 
 
 To poise each precious limb, 
 And prove how light the world was when it weigh' d 
 with Him. 
 
 "Wide may*st thou spread 
 Thine arms ; and with thy bright and blissful head 
 O'erlook all Libanus ! Thy lofty crown 
 The King Himself is ; thou His humble throne. 
 Where yielding, and yet conquering, He 
 Proved a new path of patient victory, 
 When won d' ring death by death was slain, 
 And our captivity His captive ta ? en. 
 
 TJie Versicle. 
 Lo, we adore Thee, 
 Dread Lamb ! and bow thus low before Thee ; 
 
 The Responsor. 
 'Cause by the covenant of Thy Cross 
 Thou hast saved the world from certain loss. 
 
 The Prayer. 
 O, my Lord Jesu Christ, Son of the living God ! 
 interpose, I pray Thee, Thine own precious death, Thy 
 Cross and Passion, betwixt my soul and Thy judgment, 
 
178 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to 
 grant me Thy grace and mercy ; to the living and dead, 
 remission and rest ; to Thy Church, peace and concord ; 
 to us sinners, life and glory everlasting. "Who livest 
 and reignest with the Father, in the unity of the Holy 
 Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen. 
 
 COMPLIN. 
 
 The Versicle. 
 ORD, by Thy sweet and saving sign, 
 
 The Responsor. 
 Defend us from our foes and Thine. 
 Ver. Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord ; 
 Res. And my mouth shall declare Thy praise. 
 Ver. God, make speed to save me. 
 Res. O Lord, make haste to help me. 
 Ver. Glory be to, ic. 
 Res. As it was in, &c. 
 
 The Hymn. 
 The complin hour comes last, to call 
 Us to our own life's funeral. 
 Ah, heartless task ! yet hope takes heed, 
 And lives in Him that here lies dead. 
 Run, Mary, run ! bring hither all the blest 
 Arabia, for thy royal phcenix' nest ; 
 
SACRED POEMS. 179 
 
 Pour on thy noblest sweets, which, when they touch 
 This sweeter body, shall indeed be such. 
 But must Thy bed, Lord, be a borrow'd grave, 
 Who lend'st to all things all the life they have ? 
 O, rather use this heart, thus far a fitter stone, 
 'Cause, though a hard and cold one, yet it is Thine own. 
 Amen. 
 
 The Antiphon. 
 
 O, save us, then, 
 
 Merciful King of men ! 
 
 Since thou would'st needs be thus 
 A Saviour, and at such a rate, for us ; 
 
 Save us, O save us, Lord ! 
 We now will own no shorter wish, nor name a narrower 
 word. 
 
 Thy blood bids us be bold ; 
 
 Thy wounds give us fair hold ; 
 
 Thy sorrows chide our shame ; 
 Thy Cross, Thy nature, and Thy name 
 
 Advance our claim 
 
 And cry with one accord, 
 
 Save them, O save them, Lord ! 
 
 The Versicle. 
 Lo, we adore Thee, 
 Dread Lamb ! and bow thus low before Thee ; 
 
 The Responsor. 
 'Cause by the covenant of Thy Cross 
 Thou hast saved the world from certain loss. 
 
180 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 The Prayer. 
 O, my Lord Jesu Christ, Son of the living God ! 
 interpose, I pray Thee, Thine own precious death, Thy 
 Cross and Passion, betwixt my soul and Thy judgment, 
 now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to 
 grant me Thy grace and mercy ; to the living and dead, 
 remission and rest ; to Thy Church, peace and concord ; 
 to us sinners, life and glory everlasting. Who livest 
 and reignest with the Father, in the unity of the Holy 
 Gho^t, one God, world without endo Amen. 
 
 THE KECOMMENDATION. 
 
 HESE hours, and that which hovers o'er 
 my end, 
 Into Thy hands and heart, Lord, I com- 
 mend ! 
 
 Take both to Thine account, that I and mine 
 In that hour, and in these, may be all Thine. 
 
 That as I dedicate my devoutest breath, 
 To make a kind of life for my Lord's death, 
 
 So from His living, and life-giving death, 
 
 My dying life may draw a new and never-fleeting breath ! 
 
SACRED POEMS. 181 
 
 VEXILLA REGIS. 
 
 The Hymn of the Holy Cross. 
 
 \ OOK up, languishing soul ! Lo, where the 
 fair 
 Badge of thy faith calls back thy care, 
 And bids thee ne'er forget 
 Thy life is one long debt 
 Of love to Him who, on this painful tree, 
 Paid back the flesh He took for thee. 
 
 Lo, how the streams of life from that frill nest 
 Of loves, thy Lord's too liberal breast, 
 
 Flow in an amorous flood 
 
 Of water wedding blood ! 
 With these He wash'd thy stain, transferr'd thy smart, 
 And took it home to His own heart. 
 
 But thou, great love, greedy of such sad gain, 
 Usurp'd the portion of Thy pain, 
 
 And from the nails and spear 
 
 Turn'd the steel point of fear, 
 Their use is changed, not lost ; and now they move 
 Xot stings of wrath, but wounds of love. 
 
 Tall tree of life ! Thy truth makes good 
 What was till now ne'er understood, 
 Though the prophetic King 
 
182 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Struck loud his faithful string ; 
 It was thy wood he meant should make the throne 
 For a more than Solomon. 
 
 Large throne of Love ! royally spread 
 With purple of too rich a red : 
 
 Thy crime is too much duty ; 
 
 Thy burthen too ihuch beauty ! 
 Glorious or grievous more ? thus to make good 
 Thy costly excellence with thy King's own blood. 
 
 Even balance of both worlds ! our world of sin, 
 And that of grace heav'n weigh'd in Him, 
 
 Us with our price thou weighed' st ; 
 
 Our price for us thou payed'st ; 
 Soon as the right-hand scale rejoiced to prove 
 How much death weigh'd more light than Love. 
 
 Hail, our alone Hope ! let Thy fair head shoot 
 Aloft ; and fill the nations with Thy noble fruit. 
 
 The while our hearts and we 
 
 Thus graft ourselves on Thee, 
 Grow Thou, and they ; and be Thy fair increase 
 The sinner's pardon, and the just man's peace. 
 
 Live, 0, for ever live and reign, 
 The Lamb whom His own love has slain ! 
 And let Thy lost sheep live t' inherit 
 That kingdom which this Cross did merit. Amen. 
 
SACRED POEMS. 183 
 
 CHARITAS 1STIMIA, 
 
 Or the Dear Bargain. 
 
 \ OKD, what is man ? why should he cost 
 Thee 
 So dear ? what had his ruin lost Thee ? 
 Lord, what is man ? that Thou hast over-bought 
 So much a thing of nought ? 
 
 Love is too kind, I see, and can 
 Make but a simple merchantman. 
 Twas for such sorry merchandise 
 Bold painters have put out his eyes. 
 
 Alas, sweet Lord ! what were't to Thee 
 If there were no such worms as we ? 
 Heav'n ne'ertheless still heav'n would be. 
 
 Should mankind dwell 
 
 In the deep hell, 
 What have his woes to do with Thee ? 
 
 Let" him go .weep 
 O'er his own wounds ; 
 Seraphim will not sleep, 
 Nor spheres let fall their faithful rounds. 
 
 Still would the youthful spirits sing, 
 And still Thy spacious palace ring ; 
 
184 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Still would those beauteous ministers of light 
 Burn all as bright, 
 
 And bow their flaming heads before Thee ; 
 Still thrones and dominations would adore Thee ; 
 Still would those ever-wakeful sons of fire 
 
 Keep warm Thy praise 
 
 Both nights and days, 
 And teach Thy loved name to their noble lyre. 
 
 Let froward dust then do its kind, 
 And give itself for sport to the proud wind. 
 Why should a piece of peevish clay plead shares 
 In the eternity of Thy old cares ? 
 Why shouldst Thou bow Thy awful breast to see 
 What mine own madnesses have done with me ? 
 
 Should not the king still keep his throne 
 Because some desperate fool's undone ? 
 Or will the world's illustrious eyes 
 Weep for every worm that dies ? 
 
 Will the gallant sun 
 
 E'er the less glorious run ? 
 Will he hang down his golden head, 
 Or e'er the sooner seek his western bed, 
 
 Because some foolish fly 
 
 Grows wanton, and will die ? 
 
 If I were lost in misery, 
 What was it to Thy heav'n, and Thee ? 
 
SACRED POEMS. 185 
 
 What was it to Thy precious blood 
 If my foul heart calTd for a flood ? 
 
 What if my faithless soul and I 
 Would needs fall in 
 With guilt and sin, 
 What did the Lamb that He should die ? 
 What did the Lamb that He should need, 
 When the wolf sins, Himself to bleed ? 
 
 If my base lust 
 Bargain'd with death and well-beseeming dust, 
 Why should the white 
 Lamb's bosom write 
 The purple name 
 Of my sin's shame ? 
 
 Why should His unstain'd breast make good 
 My blushes with His own heart blood ? 
 
 0, my Saviour, make me see 
 How dearly Thou hast paid for me, 
 
 That, lost again, my life may prove 
 As then in death, so now in love ! 
 
186 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 SANCTA MARIA DOLORUM, 
 
 Or the Mother of Sorrows ; a Pathetkal descant upon 
 
 the devout plainsong of " Stabat Mater 
 
 dolorosa'* 
 
 \ N shade of death's sad tree 
 Stood doleful she ; 
 Ah, she ! now by none other 
 Name to be known, alas ! but Sorrow's Mother. 
 
 Before her eyes 
 Her's, and the whole world's joys, 
 Hanging all torn, she sees, and in His woes 
 And pains her pangs and throes. 
 Each wound of His from every part, 
 All, more at home in Her own heart. 
 
 What kind of marble, then, 
 
 Is that cold man 
 
 Who can look on and see, 
 Nor keep such noble sorrow's company ? 
 
 Sure even from you, 
 
 My flints, some drops are due, 
 To see so many unkind swords contest 
 
 So fast for one soft breast ; 
 While with a faithful, mutual flood 
 Her eyes bleed tears, His wounds weep blood ! 
 
SACRED POEMS. 187 
 
 O, costly intercourse 
 
 Of death's, and worse 
 
 Divided loves : while Son and Mother 
 Discourse alternate wounds to one another ! 
 
 Quick deaths that grow 
 
 And gather as they come and go ; 
 His nails write swords in Her ; which soon Her heart 
 
 Pays back, with more than their own smart ; 
 Her swords, still growing with His pain, 
 Turn spears, and straight come home again. 
 
 She sees Her Son, Her God, 
 
 Bow with a load 
 
 Of borrow' d sins, and swim 
 In woes that were not made for Him. 
 
 Ah ! hard command 
 Of Love ! Here must She stand 
 Charged to look on, and with a steadfast eye 
 
 See Her life die ; 
 Leaving Her only so much breath 
 As serves to keep alive Her death. 
 
 O, Mother turtle-dove ! 
 
 Soft source of love ! 
 
 That these dry lids might borrow 
 Something from Thy full seas of sorrow ! 
 
 O, in that breast 
 
 Of Thine, the noblest nest 
 Both of Love's fires and floods, might I recline 
 
 This hard, cold heart of mine, 
 The chill lump would relent, and prove 
 Soft subject for the siege of Love ! 
 
188 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 O, teach those wounds to bleed 
 
 In me ; me, so to read 
 
 This book of loves, thus writ 
 In lines of death, my life may copy it 
 
 With loyal cares. 
 
 O, let me here claim shares ! 
 Yield something in thy sad prerogative, 
 
 Great Queen of griefs, and give 
 Me to my tears ; who, though all stone, 
 Think much that Thou should'st mourn alone. 
 
 Yea, let my life and me 
 
 Fix here with Thee, 
 
 And at the humble foot 
 Of this fair tree take our eternal root. 
 
 That so we may 
 
 At least be in Love's way ; 
 And in these chaste wars while the wing'd wounds flee 
 
 So fast 'twixt Him and Thee, 
 My breast may catch the kiss of some kind dart, 
 Though as at second hand from either heart. 
 
 O you, your own best darts, 
 
 Dear doleful hearts ! 
 
 Hail, and strike home and make me see 
 That wounded bosoms their own weapons be ! 
 
 Come, wounds ! come, darts ! 
 
 NaiPd hands ! and pierced hearts ! 
 Come, your whole selves, Sorrow's great Son and 
 Mother, 
 
 Nor grudge a younger brother 
 
SACRED POEMS. 189 
 
 Of griefs his portion, who, had all their due, 
 One single wound should not have left for you. 
 
 Shall I set there 
 
 So deep a share, 
 
 Dear wounds, and only now 
 In sorrows draw no dividend with you ! 
 
 O, be more wise, 
 
 If not more soft, mine eyes ! 
 Flow, tardy founts ! and into decent show'rs 
 
 Dissolve my days and hours : 
 And if thou yet, faint soul, defer 
 To bleed with Him, fail not to weep with Her. 
 
 Eich Queen, lend some relief, 
 
 At least in alms of grief, 
 
 To a heart who, by a sad right of sin, 
 Could prove the whole sum, too sure, due to him. 
 
 By all those stings 
 
 Of love, sweet bitter things, 
 Which these torn hands transcribed on Thy true heart ; 
 
 O, teach mine, too, the art 
 To study him so, till we mix 
 Wounds, and become one crucifix. 
 
 O, let me suck the wine 
 So long of this chaste vine, 
 Till, drunk of the dear wounds, I be 
 A lost thing to the world, as it to me ! 
 O, faithful friend 
 Of me and of mv end ! 
 
190 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Fold up my life in love, and lay't beneath 
 
 My dear Lord's vital death. 
 Lo, heart, thy hope's whole plea ! Her precious breath 
 Pour'd out in prayers for thee ; thy Lord's in death. 
 
 THE HYMN OF SAINT THOMAS IN 
 
 ADORATION OF THE BLESSED 
 
 SACRAMENT. 
 
 -ITH all the pow'rs my poor heart hath, 
 Of humble love and loyal faith, 
 Thus low, my hidden life ! I bow to Thee, 
 
 Whom too much love hath bow'd more low for me. 
 
 Down, down, proud sense ! discourses die, 
 
 Keep close, my soul's enquiring eye ! 
 
 Nor touch nor taste must look for more, 
 
 But each sit still in his own door. 
 
 Your ports are all superfluous here, 
 Save that which lets in faith — the ear. 
 Faith is my skill, faith can believe 
 As fast as love new laws can give. 
 Faith is my force, faith strength affords 
 To keep pace with those pow'rful words : 
 And words more sure, more sweet than they 
 Love could not think, truth could not say. 
 
 O, let Thy wretch find that relief 
 Thou didst afford the faithful thief; 
 
SACRED POEMS. 191 
 
 Plead for me, Love ! allege and show 
 
 That faith has farther here to go, 
 
 And less to lean on ; because then, 
 
 Though hid as God, wounds write Thee man ; 
 
 Thomas might touch none but might see, 
 
 At least, the suff 'ring side of Thee ; 
 
 And that, too, was Thyself which Thee did cover, 
 
 But here even that's hid, too, which hides the other. 
 
 Sweet, consider then, that I, 
 Though allow' d not hand nor eye 
 To teach at Thy loved face, nor can 
 Taste Thee God, or touch Thee man, 
 Both yet believe and witness Thee, 
 My Lord, too, and my God, as loud as He. 
 
 Help, Lord, my hope increase, 
 And fill my portion in Thy peace. 
 Give love for life, nor let my days 
 Grow, but in new powers to name Thy praise. 
 
 0, dear memorial of that death 
 Which lives still, and allows us breath ! 
 Kich, royal flood ! bountiful bread ! 
 "Whose use denies us to the dead ; 
 Whose vital gust alone can give 
 The same leave both to eat and live ; 
 Live ever, bread of loves, and be 
 My life, my soul, my surer self to me ! 
 
 O, soft self- wounding pelican, 
 Whose breast weeps balm for wounded man ! 
 
192 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Ah, this way bend thy benign flood, 
 To a bleeding heart that gasps for blood ; 
 That blood whose least drop sovereign be 
 To wash my worlds of sins from me ! 
 Come, love ! come, Lord ! and that long day 
 For which I languish, come away ; 
 When this dry soul those eyes shall see, 
 And drink the unseal'd source of Thee ; 
 When glory's sun faith's shade shall chase, 
 Then for Thy veil give me Thy face. Amen. 
 
 THE HYMN FOR THE BLESSED SACRAMENT. 
 
 LAUDA SION SALVATOREM. 
 
 JSE, royal Sion ! rise and sing 
 Thy soul's kind shepherd, thy heart's King. 
 Stretch all thy powers, call, if you can, 
 
 Harps of heav'n to hands of man — 
 
 This sovereign subject sits above 
 
 The best ambition of thy love. 
 
 Lo, the bread of life ! this day's 
 Triumphant text provokes Thy praise — 
 The living and life-giving bread 
 To the great twelve distributed, 
 When Life Himself at point to die, 
 Of Love, was his own legacy. 
 
SACKED POEMS. 193 
 
 Come. Love ! and let us work a song 
 Loud and pleasant, sweet and long ; 
 Let lips and hearts lift high the noise 
 Of so just and solemn joys, 
 Which on His white brows this bright day 
 Shall hence for ever bear away. 
 
 Lo, the new law of a new Lord, 
 With a new Lamb blesses the board ! 
 The aged Pascha pleads not years, 
 
 But spies love's dawn, and disappears. 
 Types yield to truths, shades shrink away, 
 And their night dies into our day. 
 
 But, lest that die too, we are bid 
 Ever to do what he once did ; 
 And, by a mindful, mystic breath. 
 That we may live, revive His death ; 
 With a well-blest bread and wine 
 Transumed and taught to turn divine. 
 
 The heav n-instructed house of faith 
 Here a holy dictate hath, 
 That they but lend their form and face, 
 Themselves with reverence leave their place, 
 Nature and name, to be made good 
 By nobler bread, more needful blood. 
 
 Where Nature's laws no leave will give, 
 Bold faith takes heart, and dares believe 
 In different species, name not things, 
 o 
 
194 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Himself to me my Saviour brings, 
 As meat in that, as drink in this ; 
 But still in both one Christ He is. 
 
 The receiving mouth here makes 
 Nor wound nor breach in what He takes, 
 Let one, or one thousand be 
 Here dividers, single he 
 Bears home no less, all they no more, 
 Nor leave they both less than before. 
 
 Though in itself this sovereign feast 
 Be all the same to every guest, 
 Yet on the same, life-meaning, bread 
 The child of death eats himself dead. 
 Nor is't Love's fault, but sin's dire skill 
 That thus from life can death distil. 
 
 When the blest signs thou broke shalt see, 
 Hold but thy faith entire as He, 
 Who, howsoe'er clad, cannot come 
 Less than whole Christ in every crumb, 
 In broken forms a stable faith 
 Untouch'd her precious total hath. 
 
 Lo, the life -food of angels then 
 Bow'd to the lowly mouths . of men ! 
 The childrens' bread, the bridegroom's wine, 
 Not to be cast to dogs or swine. 
 
 Lo, the full, final sacrifice 
 On which all figures fix'd their eyes, 
 
SACBED POEMS. 195 
 
 The ransom'd Isaac and his ram, 
 The manna,, and the Paschal Lamb ! 
 
 Jesu, Master, just and true ! 
 Our food, and faithful Shepherd too ! 
 O, by Thyself vouchsafe to keep, 
 As with Thyself Thou feed'st Thy sheep. 
 
 O, let that love which thus makes Thee 
 Mix with our low mortality, 
 Lift our lean souls, and set us up 
 Convictors of Thine own full cup, 
 Co-heirs of saints, that so all may 
 Drink the same wine, and the same way ; 
 Nor change the pasture, but the place, 
 To feed of Thee in Thine own face ! Amen. 
 
 THE HYMN " DIES IR.E DIES ILLA." 
 
 In Meditation of the Day of Judgment. 
 
 | E AH' ST thou, my soul, what serious things 
 Both the Psalm and Sibyl sings, 
 Of a sure Judge, from whose sharp ray 
 The world in flames shall fly away? 
 
 O, that Fire ! before whose face 
 Heav'n and earth shall find no place : 
 O, these Eyes ! whose angry light 
 Must be the day of that dread night. 
 
196 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 O, that Trump ! whose blast shall run 
 An even round with th' circling sun, 
 And urge the murmuring graves to bring 
 Pale mankind forth to meet his King. 
 
 Horror of nature, hell and death ! 
 "When a deep groan from beneath 
 Shall cry, " we come, we come," and all 
 The caves of night answer one call. 
 
 O, that Book ! whose leaves so bright 
 Will set the world in severe light. 
 O, that Judge ! whose hand, whose eye 
 None can endure, yet none can fly. 
 
 Ah, then, poor soul ! what wilt thou say ? 
 And to what patron choose to pray, 
 When stars themselves shall stagger, and 
 The most firm foot no more than stand ? 
 
 But Thou giv st leave, dread Lord, that we 
 Take shelter from Thyself in Thee ; 
 And with the wings of Thine own dove 
 Fly to Thy sceptre of soft love ! 
 
 Dear, remember in that day 
 Who was the cause Thou cani'st this way ; 
 Thy sheep was stray'd, and Thou wouldst be 
 Even lost Thyself in seeking me ! 
 
 Shall all that labour, all that cost 
 Of love, and even that loss, be lost ? 
 
SACRED POEMS. 197 
 
 And this loved soul judged worth no less 
 Than all that way and weariness ? 
 
 Just Mercy, then, Thy reckoning he 
 With my price, and not with me ; 
 'Twas paid at first with too much pain, 
 To be paid twice, or once in vain. 
 
 Mercy, my Judge ! mercy, I cry, 
 With blushing cheek and bleeding eye ; 
 The conscious colours of my sin 
 Are red without, and pale within. 
 
 O, let Thine own soft bowels pay 
 Thyself, and so discharge that day ! 
 If Sin can sigh, Love can forgive, 
 O, say the word, my soul shall live ! 
 
 Those mercies which Thy Mary found, 
 Or who Thy cross confess'd and crown'd, 
 Hope tells my heart the same loves be 
 Still alive, and still for me. 
 
 Though both my pray'rs and tears combine, 
 Both worthless are, for they are mine ; 
 But Thou Thy bounteous self still be, 
 And show Thou art by saving me. 
 
 O, when Thy last frown shall proclaim 
 The flocks of goats to folds of flame, 
 And all Thy lost sheep found shall be, 
 Let u Come ye blessed' ? then call me ! 
 
198 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 When the dread " Ite" shall divide 
 Those limbs of death from Thy left side, 
 Let those life- speaking lips command 
 That I inherit Thy right hand ! 
 
 O, hear a suppliant heart, all crushed 
 And crumbled into contrite dust ! 
 My hope, my fear ! my Judge, my Friend ! 
 Take charge of me, and of my end ! 
 
 THE HYMIST " O GLORIOSA DOMLSTA." 
 
 j AIL, most high, most humble one ! 
 Above the world, below thy Son, 
 Whose blush the moon beauteously mars 
 
 And stains the timorous light of stars. 
 
 He that made all things had not done 
 
 Till He had made Himself thy Son. 
 
 The whole world's host would be thy guest 
 
 And board Himself at thy rich breast. 
 
 O, boundless hospitality ! 
 
 The feast of all things feeds on thee. 
 The first Eve, mother of our fall, 
 
 Ere she bore any one, slew all. 
 
 Of her unkind gift might we have 
 
 The inheritance of a hasty grave ; 
 
 Quick buried in the wanton tomb 
 Of one forbidden bit, 
 
SACRED POEMS. 199 
 
 Had not a better fruit forbidden it ; 
 Had not thy healthful womb 
 
 The world's new Eastern window been 
 And given us heav'n again in giving Him : 
 Thine was the rosy dawn that sprung the day 
 Which renders all the stars she stole away. 
 
 Let then th' aged world be wise, and all 
 Prove nobly, here, unnatural : 
 'Tis gratitude to forget that other, 
 And call the maiden Eve their mother. 
 
 Ye redeem'd nations far and near, 
 Applaud your happy selves in her, 
 All you to whom this love belongs, 
 And keep 't alive with lasting songs. 
 
 Let hearts and lips speak loud, and say, 
 Hail, door of life, and source of day ! 
 The door was shut, the fountain seal'd, 
 Yet light was seen, and life revealed ; 
 The fountain seal'd, yet life found way. 
 
 Glory to Thee, great Virgin's Son, 
 In bosom of Thy Father's bliss ! 
 
 The same to Thee, sweet Spirit, be done, 
 As ever shall be, was, and is ! Amen. 
 
200 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 THE FLAMING HEART, 
 
 Upon the Book and Picture of the Seraphical Saint 
 
 Teresa, as she is usually expressed with a 
 
 Seraphim beside her. 
 
 pELL-MEAlSTING readers ! you that come 
 
 as friends 
 And catch the precious name this piece 
 
 pretends, 
 Make not too much haste t' admire 
 That fair-cheek'd fallacy of fire. 
 That is a seraphim, they say, 
 And this the great Teresia. 
 Readers, he ruled by me, and make 
 Here a well-placed and wise mistake ; 
 You must transpose the picture quite, 
 And spell it wrong to read it right ; 
 Read Him for Her, and Her for Him, 
 And call the saint the seraphim. 
 
 Painter, what didst thou understand 
 To put her dart into his hand ? 
 See, even the years and size of him 
 Shows this the mother seraphim. 
 This is the mistress flame, and duteous he 
 Her happy fireworks, here, comes down to see : 
 O, most poor-spirited of men ! 
 Had thy cold pencil kiss'd her pen, 
 Thou couldst not so unkindly err 
 
SACRED POEMS, 201 
 
 To show us this faint shade for her. 
 
 Why, man, this speaks pure mortal frame ; 
 
 And mocks with female frost love's manly flame, 
 
 One would'st suspect thou mean'st to print 
 
 Some weak, inferior woman Saint. 
 
 But, had thy pale-faced purple took 
 
 Fire from the burning cheeks of that bright book, 
 
 Thou woukFst on her have heap'd up all 
 
 That could be found seraphical ; 
 
 Whate'er this youth of fire wears fair, 
 
 Rosy fingers, radiant hair, 
 
 Glowing cheek, and glistring wings, 
 
 All those fair and flagrant things ; 
 
 But, before all, that fiery dart 
 
 Had filTd the hand of this great heart. 
 
 Do, then, as equal right requires, 
 Since his the blushes be, and her's the fires ; 
 Resume and rectify thy rude design, 
 Undress thy seraphim into mine; 
 Redeem this injury of thy art, 
 Give him the veil, give her the dart. 
 
 Give him the veil, that he may cover 
 The red cheeks of a rivall'd lover, 
 Ashamed that our world now can show 
 Nests of new seraphims here below. 
 
 Give her the dart, for it is she, 
 Fair youth, shoots both thy shaft and thee ; 
 Say, all ye wise and well-pierced hearts 
 That live and die amidst her darts, 
 What is't your tasteful spirits do prove 
 In that rare life of her and love ? 
 
202 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Say and bear witness. Sends she not 
 
 A seraphim at every shot ? 
 
 What magazines of immortal arms there shine ! 
 
 Heav'n's great artillery in each love -spun line. 
 
 Give, then, the dart to her who gives the flame, 
 
 Give him the veil who gives the shame. 
 
 But if it he the frequent fate 
 Of worst faults to be fortunate, 
 If all's prescription, and proud wrong 
 Hearkens not to an humble song, 
 For all the gallantry of him, 
 Give me the suff'ring seraphim. 
 His be the bravery of those bright things, 
 The glowing cheeks, the glistering wings, 
 The rosy hand, the radiant dart ; 
 Leave her alone the flaming heart. 
 
 Leave her that, and thou shalt leave her 
 Not one loose shaft, but Love's whole quiver. 
 For in Love's field was never found 
 A nobler weapon than a wound. 
 Love's passives are his activ'st part, 
 The wounded is the wounding heart. 
 O, heart ! the equal poise of Love's both parts, 
 Big alike with wounds and darts, 
 Live in these conquering leaves, live all the same, 
 And walk through all tongues one triumphant flame ; 
 Live here, great heart, and love, and die, and kill, 
 And bleed, and wound, and yield, and conquer still. 
 Let this immortal Life, where'er it comes, 
 Walk in a crowd of loves and martyrdoms. 
 Let mystic deaths wait on't, and wise souls be 
 
SACRED POEMS. 203 
 
 The love-slain witnesses of this life of thee. 
 
 O, sweet incendiary ! show here thy art 
 
 Upon this carcass of a hard, cold heart ; 
 
 Let all thy scatter'd shafts of light, that play 
 
 Among the leaves of thy large books of day, 
 
 Combined against this breast, at once break in 
 
 And take away from me myself and sin ; 
 
 This gracious robbery shall thy bounty be, 
 
 And my best fortunes such fair spoils of me. 
 
 O, thou undaunted daughter of desires ! 
 
 By all thy dower of lights and fires, 
 
 By all the eagle in thee, all the dove, 
 
 By all thy lives and deaths of love, 
 
 By thy large draughts of intellectual day, 
 
 And by thy thirsts of love more large than they ; 
 
 By all thy brim-fill'd bowls of fierce desire, 
 
 By thy last morning's draught of liquid fire, 
 
 By the full kingdom of that final kiss 
 
 That seiz'd thy parting soul, and seal'd thee his ; 
 
 By all the heav'ns thou hast in him, 
 
 Fair sister of the seraphim ! 
 
 By all of him we have in thee, 
 
 Leave nothing of myself in me : 
 
 Let me so read thy life that I 
 
 Unto all life of mine may die. 
 
204 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 A SOISFG. 
 
 OKD, when the sense of Thy sweet grace 
 Sends up my soul to seek Thy face, 
 Thy blessed eyes breed such desire, 
 I die in love's delicious fire. 
 
 O Love ! I am thy sacrifice, 
 Be still triumphant, blessed eyes ; 
 Still shine on me, fair suns ! that I 
 Still may behold though still I die. 
 
 Second Part. 
 Though still I die, I live again, 
 Still longing so to be still slain ; 
 So gainful is such loss of breath, 
 I die even in desire of death. 
 Still live in me this loving strife 
 Of living death and dying life : 
 For while Thou sweetly slayest me, 
 Dead to myself, I live in Thee. 
 
SACRED POEMS. 205 
 
 TO MISTRESS M. R.* COUNSEL CONCERNING 
 HER CHOICE. 
 
 ) EAR, heav'n-designed soul ! 
 Amongst the rest 
 
 Of suitors that besiege jour maiden breast, 
 Why may not I 
 
 My fortune try, 
 And venture to speak one good word, 
 Not for myself, alas ! but for my dearer Lord ? 
 You've seen already, in this lower sphere 
 Of froth and bubbles, what to look for here. 
 Say, gentle soul, what can you find 
 
 But painted shapes, 
 
 Peacocks and apes, 
 
 Illustrious flies, 
 Gilded dunghills, glorious lies, 
 
 Goodly surmises 
 
 And deep disguises, 
 Oaths of water, words of wind ? 
 Truth bids me say, 'tis time you ceased to trust 
 Your soul to any son of dust. 
 'Tis time you listen to a braver love, 
 
 Which from above 
 
 Calls you up higher, 
 
 And bids you come 
 
 And choose your room 
 
 * See antea, p. 61- 
 
206 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 Among his own fair sons of fire, 
 
 Where you among 
 
 The golden throng, 
 That watches at his palace doors, 
 
 May pass along 
 And follow those fair stars of yours ; 
 Stars much too fair and pure to wait upon 
 The false smiles of a sublunary sun. 
 Sweet, let me prophesy that at last 'twill prove 
 
 Your wary love 
 Lays up his purer and more precious vows, 
 And means them for a far more worthy spouse 
 Than this world of lies can give ye, 
 Ev'n for him with whom nor cost, 
 Xor love, nor labour can be lost ; 
 Him who never will deceive ye. 
 Let not my Lord, the mighty lover 
 Of souls, disdain that I discover 
 
 The hidden art 
 Of His high stratagem to win your heart. 
 
 It was His heav'rdy art 
 
 Kindly to cross you 
 
 In your mistaken love, 
 
 That, at the next remove, 
 
 Thence He might toss you, 
 
 And strike your troubled heart 
 Home to Himself, to hide it in His breast, 
 
 The bright ambrosial nest, 
 Of love, of life, and everlasting rest. 
 
 Happy mistake ! 
 That thus shall wake 
 
SACRED POEMS. 207 
 
 Your wise soul, never to be won 
 
 Xow with a love below the sun. 
 
 Your first choice fails ; O, when you choose again, 
 
 May it not be among the sons of men ! 
 
 ALEXIAS. 
 
 The Complaint of the forsaken wife of Saint Alexis. 
 
 THE FIRST ELEGY. 
 
 LATE the Roman youth's loved praise and 
 pride, 
 
 ^Vhorn long none could obtain, though 
 thousands tried, 
 Lo, here am left, alas ! for my lost mate 
 T' embrace my tears, and kiss an unkind fate. 
 Sure in my early woes stars were at strife, 
 And tried to make a widow ere a wife. 
 Xor can I tell, and this new tears doth breed, 
 In what strange path my Lord's fan 1 footsteps bleed. 
 O, knew I where he wander 'd, I should see 
 Some solace in my sorrow's certainty ; 
 I'd send my woes in words should weep for me. 
 AYho knows how powerful well- writ pray'rs would be ! 
 Sending' s too slow a word, myself would fly ; 
 Who knows my own heart's woes so well as I? 
 But how shall I steal hence ? Alexis, thou, 
 Ah, thou thyself, alas ! has taught me how 
 Love, too, that leads thee would lend me the wings 
 
208 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 To bear me harmless through, the hardest thino-s : 
 
 And where love lends the wing, and leads the way, 
 
 What dangers can there he dare say me nay ? 
 
 If I be shipwrecked, love shall teach to swim ; 
 
 If drown'd, sweet is the death endured for him ; 
 
 The noted sea shall change his name with me, 
 
 I 'mongst the blest stars a new name shall be ; 
 
 And sure where lovers make their wat'ry graves 
 
 The weeping mariner will augment the waves. 
 
 For who so hard, but, passing by that way, 
 
 W31 take acquaintance of my woes, and say, 
 
 Here't was the Eoman maid found a hard fate, 
 
 While through the world she sought her wand'ring mate ; 
 
 Here perish'd she, poor heart ! heav'ns, be my vows 
 
 As true to me as she was to her spouse ! 
 
 O, live so rare a love ! live ! and in thee 
 
 The too frail life of female constancy. 
 
 Farewell, and shine, fair soul, shine there above, 
 
 Firm in thy crown as here fast in thy love. 
 
 There thy lost fugitive thou hast found at last ; 
 
 Be happy, and for ever hold him fast ! 
 
 THE SECOND ELEGY. 
 
 <L^L 
 
 F HOUGH all the joys I had fled hence with thee, 
 Unkind ! yet are my tears still true to me ; 
 I'm wedded o'er again since thou art gone, 
 Nor could' st thou, cruel, leave me quite alone. 
 
SACRED POEMS. 209 
 
 Alexis's widow now is Sorrow's wife, 
 With him shall I weep out my weary life. 
 Welcome, my sad, sweet mate ! now have I got 
 At last a constant love that leaves me not : 
 Firm he, as thou art false, nor need my cries 
 Thus vex the earth, and tear the [lofty] skies. 
 For him, alas ! ne'er shall I need to he 
 Troublesome to the world, thus, as for thee, 
 For thee I talk to trees ; with silent groves 
 Expostulate my woes and much-wrong'd loves. 
 Hills and relentless rocks, or if there be 
 Things that in hardness more allude to thee ; 
 To these I talk in tears, and tell my pain, 
 And answer, too, for them in tears again. 
 How oft have I wept out the weary sun ! 
 My wat'ry hour-glass hath old time outrun. 
 O, I am learned grown, poor love and I 
 Have studied over all astrology. 
 I'm perfect in heav'n's state, with every star 
 My skilful grief is grown familiar. 
 Rise, fairest of those fires, whate'er thou be 
 Whose rosy beam shall point my sun to me ; 
 Such as the sacred light that erst did bring 
 The eastern princes to their infant King. 
 O rise, pure lamp ! and lend thy golden ray 
 That weary love at last may find his way. 
 
210 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 THE THIED ELEGY. 
 
 \ ICH, churlish land ! that hid'st so long in thee, 
 My treasures, rich, alas ! by robbing me. 
 Needs must my miseries owe "that man a spite 
 Whoe'er he be was the first wand'ring knight. 
 O, had he ne'er been at that cruel cost 
 Nature's virginity had ne'er been lost. 
 Seas had not been rebuked by saucy oars, 
 But lain lock'd up safe in their sacred shores ; 
 Men had not spurn'd at mountains, nor made wars 
 With rocks ; nor bold hands struck the world's strong bars ; 
 Nor lost in too large bounds, our little Eome 
 Full sweetly with itself had dwelt at home. 
 My poor Alexis then in peaceful life 
 Had under some low roof loved his plain wife ; 
 But now, ah me ! from where he has no foes 
 He flies, and into wilful exile goes. 
 Cruel, return ; or tell the reason why 
 Thy dearest parents have deserved to die ; 
 And I, what is my crime I cannot tell, 
 Unless it be a crime t' have loved too well. 
 If heats of holier love and high desire 
 Make big thy fair breast with immortal fire, 
 What needs my virgin lord fly thus from me, 
 Who only wish his virgin wife to be ? 
 Witness, chaste heav'ns ! no happier vows I know 
 Than to a virgin grave untouch'd to go. 
 
SACRED POEMS. 211 
 
 Love's truest knot by Venus is not tied, 
 
 Nor do embraces only make a bride. 
 
 The queen of angels, and men cbaste as you, 
 
 Was maiden wife, and maiden mother too. 
 
 Cecilia, glory of her name and blood, 
 
 With happy gain her maiden vows made good. 
 
 The lusty bridegroom made approach : young man, 
 
 Take heed, said she, take heed, Valerian ! 
 
 My bosom's guard, a spirit great and strong, 
 
 Stands armed to shield me from all wanton wrong. 
 
 My charity is sacred, and my sleep 
 
 Wakeful, her dear vows undefiled to keep. 
 
 Pallas bears arms, forsooth, and should there be 
 
 No fortress built for true virginity ? 
 
 No gaping gorgon this, none, like the rest 
 
 Of your learned lies : here you'll find no such jest. 
 
 I'm yours ; O, were my God, my Christ so too, 
 
 I'd know no name of love on earth but you. 
 
 He yields, and straight baptized, obtains the grace 
 
 To gaze on the fair soldier's glorious face. 
 
 Both mix'd at last their blood in one rich bed 
 
 Of rosy martyrdom twice married. 
 
 O, burn our Hymen bright in such high flame ; 
 
 Thy torch, terrestrial love, have here no name. 
 
 How sweet the mutual yoke of man and wife, 
 
 When holy fires maintain love's heav'nly life ! 
 
 But I, so help me, Heav'n, my hopes to see, 
 
 When thousands sought my love, loved none but thee. 
 
 Still as their vain tears my firm vows did try, 
 
 Alexis, he alone is mine, said I ; 
 
 Half true, alas ! half false proves that poor line, 
 
 Alexis is alone, but is not mine. 
 
212 SACRED POEMS. 
 
 DESCRIPTION OF A RELIGIOUS HOUSE 
 AND CONDITION OF LIFE. 
 
 Out of Barclay. 
 f O roofs of gold o'er riotous tables shining. 
 
 Whole days and suns devoured with endless 
 dining ; 
 
 No sails of Tyrian silk proud pavements sweeping ; 
 Nor ivory couches costlier slumbers keeping ; 
 False lights of flaring gem ; tumultuous joys ; 
 Halls full of flattering men and frisking boys ; 
 "Whatever false shows of short and slippery good 
 Mix the mad sons of men in mutual blood. 
 But walks and unshorn woods, and souls just so 
 Unforced and genuine, but not shady though ; 
 Our lodgings hard and homely as our fare, 
 That chaste and cheap as the few clothes we wear. 
 Those course and negligent, as the natural locks 
 Of these loose groves, rough as th' unpolish'd rocks. 
 A hasty portion of prescribed sleep ; 
 Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep, 
 And sing, and sigh, and work, and sleep again ; 
 Still rolling a round sphere of still- returning pain ; 
 Hands full of hearty labours do much that more they 
 
 may, 
 And work for work, not wages ; let to-morrow's 
 New drops wash off the sweat of this day's sorrows ; 
 
SACKED POEMS. 213 
 
 A long and daily- dying life, which breathes 
 
 A respiration of reviving deaths. 
 
 But neither are there those ignoble stings 
 
 That nip the bosom of the world's best things. 
 
 And lash earth-labouring souls ; 
 
 No cruel guard of diligent cares, that keep 
 
 Crown'd woes awake, as things too wise for sleep : 
 
 But reverend discipline, and religious fear, 
 
 And soft obedience, find sweet biding here ; 
 
 Silence and sacred rest, peace and pure joys. 
 
 Kind loves keep house, lie close, and make no noise, 
 
 And room enough for monarchs, while none swells 
 
 Beyond the kingdoms of contentful cells. 
 
 The self-rememb'ring soul sweetly recovers 
 
 Her kindred with the stars ; not basely hovers 
 
 Below ; but meditates her immortal way 
 
 Home to th' original source of light and intellectual day. 
 
POEMATA LATINA. 
 
POEMATA LATINA. 
 
 BULLA. 
 
 UIDtibivana suos offertmea bulla timores? 
 Quid facit ad vestrum pondus inane 
 meum ? 
 Expectat nostros humeros toga fortior ; 
 ista 
 En mea bulla, lares en tua dextera milii. 
 
 Quid tu ? quae nova machina, 
 Qua? tarn fortuito globo 
 In vitam properas brevem ? 
 Qualis virgineos adhuc 
 Cypris concutiens sinus, 
 Cypris jam nova, jam recens, 
 Et spumis media in suis, | 
 Promsit purpureum latus ; 
 Conclia de patria micas, 
 Pulchroque exsilis impetu ; 
 Statim et mi Hi bus ebria 
 Ducens terga coloribus 
 E vol vis tumidos sinus 
 Spheera plena volubili. 
 
218 POEMATA LATINA. 
 
 Cujus per varium latus, 
 Cujus per teretem globum 
 Iris lubrica cursitans 
 Centum per species vagas, 
 Et picti facies chori 
 Circum regnat, et undique, 
 Et se Diva volatilis 
 Jucundo levis impetu 
 Et vertigine perfida 
 Lasciva sequitur fiiga 
 Et pulchre dubitat ; fluit 
 Tarn fallax toties novis, 
 Tot se per reduces vias, 
 Erroresque reciprocos 
 Spargit vena coloribus ; 
 Et pompa natat ebria. 
 Tali militia micans 
 Agmen se rude dividit ; 
 Campis quippe volantibus, 
 Et campi levis sequore 
 Ordo insanus obambidans 
 Passim se fugit, et fugat. 
 Passim perdit, et invenit. 
 Pulchrum spargitur hie Chaos. 
 Hie viva, hie vaga flumina 
 Eipa non propria meant, 
 Sed miscent socias vias, 
 Communique sub alveo 
 Stipant delicias suas. 
 Quarum proximitas vaga 
 Tarn discrimine lubrico, 
 
POEMATA LATINA. 219 
 
 Tarn subtilibus arguit 
 Juncturani tenuem notis, 
 Pompa ut florida niillibi 
 Sinceras habeat vias ; 
 Nee vultu nitent suo. 
 Sed dulcis cumulus novos 
 Miscens purpureus sinus 
 Flagrant divitiis suis, 
 Privatum renuens jubar, 
 Floris diluvio vagi, 
 Floris sidere publico 
 Late ver subit aureum, 
 At que effunditur in sua? 
 Vires undique copia?. 
 Nempe omnis quia cernitur, 
 Nullus cernitur bic color, 
 Et vicinia contumax 
 Allidit species vagas. 
 Illic contiguis aquis 
 Marcent pallidulae faces. 
 Unde hie vena tenellulse, 
 Flammis ebria proximis 
 Discit purpureas vias, 
 Et rubro salit alveo. 
 Ostri sanguineum jubar 
 Lambunt lactea flumina ; 
 Suasu cserulei maris 
 Mansuescit seges aurea ; 
 Et lucis faciles gena3 
 Vanas ad nebulas stupent ; 
 Subque avis rubicundulis 
 
220 POEMATA LATINA. 
 
 Flagrant sobria lilia. 
 Yicinis adeo rosis 
 Vicinae invigilant nives, 
 Ut sint et nives rosse, 
 Ut sint et rosse nives ; 
 Aecenduntque rosae nives, 
 Extinguuntque nives rosas. 
 Illic cum viridi rubet, 
 Hie et cum rutile viret 
 Lascivi facies chori. 
 Et quicquid rota lubrica 
 Caudae stelligera3 notat, 
 Pulcbrum pergit et in ambitum. 
 Hie coeli implicitus labor, 
 Orbes orbibus obvii ; 
 Hie grex velleris aurei 
 Grex pellucidus aetberis ; 
 Qui noctis nigra pascua 
 Puris morsibus atterit ; 
 Hie quicquid nitidum et vagum 
 Coali vibrat arenula 
 Dulci pingitur in joco. 
 Hie mundus tener impedit 
 Sese amplexibus in suis. 
 Succinctique sinu globi 
 Errat per proprium decus. 
 Hie nictant subita3 faces, 
 Et ludunt tremulum diem. 
 Mox se surripiunt sui et 
 Quaarunt tecta supercili ; 
 Atque abdunt petulans jubar, 
 
POEMATA LATINA. 221 
 
 Subsiduntque proterviter. 
 Atque baac omnia quam brevis 
 Sunt mendacia niacbinae ! 
 Currunt scilicet omnia 
 Spbaera, non vitrea quidem, 
 Ut quondam Siculus globus, 
 Sed vitro nitida raagis, 
 Sed vitro fragili rnagis, 
 Et vitro vitrea magis. 
 
 Sum venti ingenium breve 
 Flos sum, scilicet, aeris ; 
 Sidus scilicet aequoris ; 
 Naturae jocus aureus, 
 Naturae vaga fabula, 
 Naturae breve somnium. 
 Nugarum decus et dolor ; 
 Dulcis, doctaque vanitas. 
 Aurae filia perfidae ; 
 Et risus facilis parens. 
 Tantum gutta superbior, 
 Fortunatius et lutum. 
 
 Sum fluxae pretiirm spei ; 
 Una ex Hesperidum insulis. 
 Formae pjxis, amantium 
 Clare caecus ocellulus ; 
 Yanae et cor leve gloriae. 
 
 Sum caecae speculum Deaa, 
 Sum Fortunae ego tessera, 
 
222 POEMATA LAT1NA. 
 
 Quani dat militibus suis ; 
 Sum Fortunse ego symbolum, 
 Quo sancit fragilem fidem 
 Cum mortalibus ebriis 
 Obsignatque tabellulas. 
 
 Sum blanduin, petulans, vagum, 
 Pulchrum, purpureum, et decens, 
 Comptum, floridulum, et recens, 
 Distinctum nivibus, rosis, 
 Undis, ignibus, aere, 
 Pic turn, gemmeum, et aureum, 
 O sum, scilicet, O nihil. 
 
 Si piget, et longam traxisse in taedia pompam 
 Vivax, et nimium Bulla videtur anus ; 
 
 Tolle tuos oculos, pensum leve desinet, illam 
 Parca metet facili non operosa manu. 
 
 Vixit adhuc. Cur vixit ? adhuc tu nempe legebas ; 
 Tempe fuit tempus turn potuisse mori. 
 
 THESAURUS MALORUM FCEMINA. 
 
 JUIS deus, o quis erat qui te, mala foemina, 
 finxit? 
 Proh ! crimen superum, noxa pudenda 
 deum ! 
 Quae divum manus est adeo non dextera mundo ? 
 In nostras clades ingeniosa manus ! 
 
POEMATA LATINA. 223 
 
 Parcite ; peccavi : nee enim pia numina possunt 
 
 Tarn crudele semel vel voluisse nefas. 
 Vestrum opus est pietas ; opus est concordia vestrum : 
 
 Vos equideni tales haud reor artifices. 
 Heus inferna coliors ! foetus cognoscite vestros. 
 
 Xum pudet banc vestrum viucere posse scelus ? 
 Plaudite Tartarei proceres, Erebique potentes, 
 
 (Ndd mirum est tantuni vos potuisse malum,) 
 Jam vestras laudate manus. Si forte tacetis, 
 
 Artificum laudes grande loquetur opus. 
 Quam bene vos omnes speculo contemplor in isto ? 
 
 Pietas in angustum cogitur omne malum. 
 Quin dormi Pluto. Eabidas compesce sorores, 
 
 Jam non poscit opem nostra ruina tuam. 
 Ha3C satis in nostros fabricata est macbina muros, 
 
 Mortales furias Tartara nostra dabunt. 
 
 IN APOLLINEA DEPEREUNTEM DAPHNEK 
 
 JJTULTE Cupido, 
 Quid tua flamnia parat ? 
 Annos sole sub ipso 
 
 Accensae pereunt faces ? 
 
 Sed fax nostra potentior istis, 
 
 Flammas inflammare potest, ipse uritur ignis, 
 
 Ecce flammarum potens 
 
 Majore sub flamma gemit. 
 
 Eheu ! quid boc est ? En Apollo 
 
224 POEMATA LATINA. 
 
 Lyra tacente (ni sonet dolores) 
 
 Coma jacente squallet seternus decor 
 
 Ores, en ! dominse quo placeat magis, 
 
 Languido tardum jubar igne promit. 
 
 Pallente vultu territat sethera. 
 
 Mundi oculus lacrymis senescit, 
 
 Et solvit pelago debita, quodque hauserat ignibus, 
 
 His lacrymis rependit. 
 
 Noctis adventu properans se latebris recondit, 
 
 Et opacas tenebrarum colit umbras, 
 
 Namque suos odit damnans radios, nocensque lumen. 
 
 An lateat tenebris dubitat, an educat diem, 
 
 Hinc suadet hoc luctus furens, inde repugnat amor. 
 
 ^JSTEAS PATRIS SUI BAJULUS. 
 
 [(ENIA Trojae — Hostis et ignis 
 Hostis inter et ignes — ^Eneas spolium pium 
 Atque humeris venerabile pondus 
 
 Excipit, et sgevse nunc 6 nunc parcite flammae, 
 
 Parcite haud (clamat) mihi ; 
 
 Sacrse favete sarcinse, 
 
 Quod si negatis, nee licebit 
 
 Vitam juvare, sed juvabo funus ; 
 
 Bogusque nam patris ac bustum mei. 
 
 His dictis acies pervolat hostium 
 
 Gestit, et partis veluti trophseis 
 
 Ducit triumphos. Nam furor hostium 
 
POEMATA LATINA. 225 
 
 Jam stupet et pietate tanta 
 
 Victor vincitur ; imo et moritur 
 
 Troja libenter funeribusque gaudet, 
 
 Ac faces admittit orans, ne lateat tenebras 
 
 Per opacas opus ingens pietatis. 
 
 Debita sic patri solvis tua, sic pari rependis 
 
 Officio. Dederat vitam tibi, tu reddis huic, 
 
 Felix ! parentis qui pater diceris esse tui. 
 
 IN PIGMALIONA. 
 
 iCENITJET arias 
 
 Pigmaliona suae, 
 
 Quod felix opus esset 
 Infelix erat artifex. 
 Sentit vulnera, nee videt ictum. 
 Quis credit ? gelido veniunt de marmore flammse. 
 Marmor ingratum nimis 
 Incendit autoreni suum. 
 Concepit hie vanos furores ; 
 Opus suum miratur at que adorat. 
 Prius creavit, ecce nunc colit ruanus, 
 Tentantes digitos molliter applicat ; 
 Decipit molles caro dura tactus. 
 An virgo vera est, an sit eburnea ; 
 Reddat an oscula quse dabantur 
 INescit. Sed dubitat, sed metuit, munere supplicat, 
 Blanditiasque miscet. 
 
 Te, miser, poenas dare vult, lios Venus, hos triumphos 
 Q 
 
226 POEMATA LATINA. 
 
 Capit a te, quod amorem fugis omnem. 
 Cur fugis heu vivos ? mortua te necat puella. 
 Non erit innocua hsec, quamvis tua fingas manu, 
 Ipsa heu nocens erit nimis, cujus imago nocet. 
 
 ARION. 
 
 [JQUAMMEA viva3 
 
 Lubrica terga ratis 
 
 Jam conscendet Arion. 
 Merces tarn nova solvitur 
 Navis quam nova scanditur. Ilia 
 Aerea est merces, hsec est et aquatica navis. 
 Perdidere ilium viri 
 Mercede magna, servat hie 
 Mercede nulla piscis : et sic 
 Salute plus ruina constat illi ; 
 Minoris et servatur hinc quam perditur. 
 Hie dum findit aquas, findit hie aera : 
 Cursibus, piscis ; digitis, Arion : 
 Et sternit undas, sternit et aera : 
 Carminis hoc placido Tridente 
 Abjurat sua jam murmura, ventusque modestior 
 Auribus ora mutat : 
 
 Ora dediscit, minimos et metuit susurros. 
 (Sonus alter restat, ut fit sonus illis) 
 Aura strepens circum muta sit lateri adjacente penna, 
 Ambit et ora viri, nee vela ventis hie egent ; 
 Attendit hanc ventus ratem : non trahit, at trahitur. 
 
POEMATA LATINA. 227 
 
 PHCENICIS GENETHLIACON ET EPICEDIOK 
 
 HQEXIX alumna mortis, 
 Quani mira tua puerpera ! 
 Tu scandis haud nidos, sed ignes. 
 Non parere sed perire ceu parata : 
 Mors obstetrix ; atque ipsa tu teipsum pans. 
 Tu tuique mater ipsa es, 
 Tu tuique filia. 
 Tu sic odora messis 
 Surgis tuorum fuuerum ; 
 Tibique per tuam ruinam 
 Reparata, te succedis ipsa. Mors 6 
 Fsecunda ! Sancta 6 lucra pretiosae necis ! 
 Vive (monstrum dulce) vive 
 Tu tibique suffice. 
 
 EPITAPHIUM. 
 
 I/UISQUIS nectareo serenus sevo. 
 Et spe lucidus aureae juventae 
 IS escis purpureos abire soles. 
 Xescis vincula, ferreamque noctem 
 Imi carceris, horridumque Ditem, 
 Et spectas tremulum procul senectam, 
 Hinc discas lacrymas, et hinc reponas. 
 Hie, 6 scilicet hie brevi sub antro 
 
228 POEMATA LATINA. 
 
 Spes et gaudia mille, mille longam 
 (Heu longam miseris) induere noctem. 
 Flammantem nitidse facem juventse, 
 Submersit Stygiae paludis unda. 
 Ergo si lacrymas neges doloris 
 Hue certo lacrymas feres timoris. 
 
 DAMNO AFFICI S^PE FIT LUCRUM. 
 
 i AMjSTA adsunt multis taciti compendia lucri 
 Felicique docent plus properare mora, 
 Luxuriem annorum posita sic pelle redemit 
 Atque sagax serpens in nova ssecla subit. 
 Cernis ut ipsa sibi replicato suppetat sevo, 
 Seque iteret, mult a morte perennis avis. 
 Succrescat generosa sibi, facilesque per ignes 
 
 Perque suos cineres, per sua fata ferax. 
 Qua? solers jactura sui ? quis funeris usus ? 
 Flammarmnque fides, ingeniumque rogi ? 
 Siccine fraude subis ? pretiosaque funera ludis ? 
 
 Siccine tu mortem, ne moriaris, adis ? 
 
 Felix cui medico tanta experientia mortis, 
 
 Cui tarn Parcarum est officiosa manus. 
 
POEMATA LATINA. 229 
 
 HUMAXJE VIT2E DESCRIPTIO. 
 
 VITA, tanturu lubricus quidam furor 
 Spoliuruque vitee ! scilicet longi brevis 
 Erroris hospes ! Error 6 mortalium ! 
 O certus error ! qui sub ineerto vagum 
 Suspeudit sevum, mille per dolos viaa 
 Fugacis, et proterva per volumina 
 Fluidi laboris, ebrios lactat gradus ; 
 Et irretitos ducit in nihilum dies. 
 O fata ! quantum perfidse vitse fugit 
 Umbris quod imputemus atque aims, ibi 
 Et umbra et aura serias partes agunt 
 Miscentque scenani, volviniur ludibrio 
 Procacis sestus, ut per incertum more 
 Fragiiis protervo cymba cum nutat freto. 
 Et ipsa vitse, fila, queis nentes Deae 
 iEvi severa testa producunt manu, 
 Hsec ipsa nobis implicant vestigia 
 Ketrahunt trahuntque donee e verso gradu 
 Kuina lassos alt a deducat pedes. 
 Felix, fugaces quisquis excipiens dies 
 Gressus serenos fixit, insidiis sui 
 Nee servit aevi, vita inoffensis buic 
 Feretur amis, atque clauda rarius 
 Titubabit bora : vortices anni vagi 
 Hie extricabit, sanus assertor sui. 
 
230 POEMATA LATINA. 
 
 TRAXQUILLITAS ANIMI, SIMILITUDES 
 
 DUCTA AB AVE CAPTIYA ET 
 
 CAXORA TAMEN. 
 
 Tcum delicias leves, loquacem 
 Convivam nemoris. vagamque musam 
 Observans dubia viator arte 
 
 Prendit desuper : horridusve ruris 
 
 Eversor, male perfido paratu 
 
 (Heu durus !) rapit, at que Io triumphans 
 
 Vadit ; protinus et sagace nisu 
 
 Evolvens digitos, opus tenelluin 
 
 Ducens pollice tenia erudito, 
 
 Virgarum implicat ordinem severum, 
 
 Ano-ustam meditans domum volucri. 
 
 Ilia autem, hospitium licet vestusturn 
 
 Mentein solicitet minis minisque, 
 
 Et suetum nemus, hinc opaca mitis 
 
 Umbrae frigora, et hinc aprica puri 
 
 Solis fulgura, patrisque sylvae 
 
 Xunquam niuta quies ; ubi ilia duduni 
 
 Totum per nemus, arborem per omnem, 
 
 Hospes libera liberis querelis 
 
 Cognatum bene provocabit agmen : 
 
 Quanquam ipsmn nemus, arboresque alumnam 
 
 Implorant profugam, at que amata multivm 
 
POEMATA LATINA. 231 
 
 Quserant murmura, lubricumque carmen 
 
 Blaudi gutturis et melos serenum. 
 
 Ilia autein, tamen, ilia jam relictse 
 
 (Simplex !) baud meminit domus, nee ultra. 
 
 S vivas cogitat ; at brevi sub antro, 
 
 Ab penna nimium brevis recisa, 
 
 All ritu vidua, sibique sola, 
 
 Privata beu fidicen ! canit, vagoque 
 
 Exercens querulam domum susurro 
 
 Fallit vincula, carceremque mulcet ; 
 
 Nee pugnans placidse procax quieti 
 
 Luctatur gravis, orbe sed reducto 
 
 Discursu vaga saltitans tenello, 
 
 Metitur spatia invidse cavernse. 
 
 Sic in se pia mens reposta, secum 
 
 Alte tuta sedet, nee ardet extra, 
 
 Aut ullo solet sestuare fato : 
 
 Quamvis cuncta tumultuentur, atrae 
 
 Sortis turbine non niovetur ilia. 
 
 Fortune furias onus que triste 
 
 Non tergo minus accipit quieto, 
 
 Quam vectrix Veneris columba blando 
 
 Admittat juga delicata collo. 
 
 Torvse si quid inborruit procellse, 
 
 Si quid sseviat et minetur, ilia 
 
 Spernit, nescit, et obviis furorem 
 
 Fallit blanditiis, amatque et ambit 
 
 Ipsum, quo male vulneratur, ictum. 
 
 Curas murmure non fatetur ullo ; 
 
 Non lambit lacrymas dolor, nee atrse 
 
 Mentis nubila frons iniqua prodit. 
 
232 POEMATA LATINA. 
 
 Quod si lacryma pervicax rebelli 
 Erumpit tamen evolatque gutta, 
 Invitis lacrymis, negante luctu, 
 Ludunt perspicui per ora risus. 
 
RICHAKDI CKASHAWI 
 POEMATA ET EPIGRAMMATA, 
 
 QILE SCEIPSIT LATI^A 
 ET GRECA, 
 
 DUM AUL^E PEMB. ALUMNUS FUIT, ET 
 COLLEGII PETRENSIS SOCIUS. 
 
 EDITIO SECUNDA, AUCTIOR ET EMENDATIOR. 
 
 E'iveksv ivjxa9h]Q 7nvor6(f)povoc f rjv 6 MeXtxpog 
 "E.<TKr]<Tev, MovaCjvdjXfjLiya Kai Xapirajv. 
 
 'AvOoX. 
 
 CANTABRIGLE, 
 
 Ex Officina Joan. Hayes, Celeberrimse Academise 
 
 Typography 1670. 
 
REVEREKDO ADMODUM VIRO 
 BENJAMINO LAXY 
 
 S S. THEOLOGUE PROFESSOM, AULiE PEMBROCKEANJE 
 
 CUSTOM DIGXISSIMO, EX SUORUM 
 
 MINIMIS MIXDIUS, 
 
 R. CRASHAW 
 
 CUSTODIAM CCELESTEM 
 P. 
 
 > UUS est et flormn fructus ; quibus frui- 
 mur, si non utilius, delicatius certe. Xeque 
 etiam raruni est quod ad spem veris, de 
 se per flores suos quasi poliicentis, adul- 
 tioris anni, ipsiusque adeo Autiimni exigamus fidem. 
 Ignoscas igitur (vir coleudissime) properanti sub ora 
 Apollinis sui, primseque adolescentise lascivia exultante 
 Musse. Tenerse setatis flores adfert, non fructus serse : 
 quos quidem exigere ad seram illam et sobriam maturi- 
 tatem, quam in fructibus expectamus merito, durum 
 iuerit ; forsan et ipsa hac prsecoci iniportunitate sua 
 placituros magis : Tibi prsesertim quern paternus animus 
 (quod fieri solet) intentum tenet omni suae spei diluculo, 
 quo tibi de tuorum indole promittas aliquid. Ex more 
 
236 POEMATA LATIN A. 
 
 etiani eoruni, qui in premium laboris sui pretiunique 
 patientiae festini, ex iis qua? severunt ipsi et excoluerunt, 
 quicquid est flosculi prominulum, prima quasi verecundia 
 auras et apertum Jovern experientis arripiunt avidi, 
 saporemque illi non tarn ex ipsius indole et ingenio 
 quam ex animi sui affectu, foventis in eo curas suas et 
 spes, affingunt. Patere igitur (reverende custos) lianc 
 tibi ex istiusmodi floribus corollam necti ; convivalem 
 vero : nee aliter passiiram sidus illud oris tui auspica- 
 tissimum, nisi (qua est etiam amoenitate) remissiore radio 
 cum se reclinat, et in tantum de se demit. Neque sane 
 hoc scriptionis genere (modo partes suas satis prsestiterit) 
 quid esse potuit otio Tlieologico aecommodatius, quo 
 nimirum res ipsa Theologica Poetica amcenitate delinita 
 majestatem suam venustate commendat. Hoc demum 
 quicquid est, amore tamen poteris, et voles, scio : non 
 ut magnum quid, non ut egregium, non ut te dignum 
 denique, sed ut tuum : tuum smnmo jure, utpote quo e 
 tua gleba, per tuum radium, in manum denique tuam 
 evocatumfuerit. Quod restat liujus libelli fatis,exorandus 
 es igitur (vir spectatissime) ut quern sinu turn facili pri- 
 vatum excepisti, eum jam ore magis publico alloquentem 
 te non asperneris. Stes illi in limine, non auspicium 
 modo suum, sed et argumentum. Enimvero Epigramma 
 sacrum tuus ille vultus vel est, vel quid sit docet ; ubi 
 nimirum amabili diluitur severum, et sanctum suavi 
 demulcetur. Pronum me vides in negatam milii pro- 
 vinciam; laudiun tuartun, intelligo : quas milri cum 
 modestia tua abstulerit, reliquum mihi est necessario ut 
 sim brevis : imo vero longus nimium ; utpote cui argu- 
 mentum istud abscission fuerit, in quo unice poteram, et 
 
POEMATA LATINA. 237 
 
 sine tsedio, prolixus esse. Vale, virorum ornatisshne, 
 neque dedigneris quod colere audeam Genii tui serenita- 
 tena supplex tarn tenuis, et (quoniam nunien quoque hoc 
 de se non negat) amare etiam. Interim vero da veniam 
 Musse in tantum sibi non temperanti; quin in lianc 
 saltern laudis tuse partem, qua? tibi ex rebus sacris apud 
 nos ornatis mentis sima est, istiusmodi carmine involare 
 ausa sit, qualicunque, 
 
 Salve, alme custos Pierii gregis ; 
 Per quern erudito exhalat in otio ; 
 Seu frigus udi captet antri, 
 Sive Jovem nitidosque soles. 
 
 Xon ipsi custos pulchrior invias 
 Egit sub umbras ^Emonios greges ; 
 Xon ipse Apollo notus illis 
 Lege suae meliore cannae. 
 
 Tu, si sereno des oculo frui, 
 Sunt rura nobis, sunt juga, sunt aquae, 
 Sunt plectra dulcium sorormn ; 
 (Xon alio mihi nota Phcebo) 
 
 Te dante, castos composuit sinus ; 
 Te dante, mores sumpsit ; et in suo 
 Yidenda vultu, pulveremque 
 Eeligio cineremque nescit. 
 
 Stat cincta digna fronde decens caput : 
 Suosque per te fassa palam Deos, 
 
238 POEMATA LATINA. 
 
 Comisque, Diva, vestibusque 
 Ingenium dedit ordinemque. 
 
 Jamque ecce nobis amplior es modo 
 Majorque cerni. Quale jubar tremit 
 Sub os ! verecimdusque quanta 
 Mole sui Genius laborat ! 
 
 Jam qui serenas it tibi per genas, 
 Majore ccelo sidus habet suum ; 
 Majorque circuni cuspidatae 
 Ora comis tua flos diei. 
 
 Stat causa. Nempe banc ipse Deus, Deus, 
 Hanc ara, per te pulcbra, cliein tibi 
 Tuam refundit, obvioque 
 It radio tibi se colenti. 
 
 Ecce, ecce ! sacro in limine, dum pio 
 Multumque prono poplite amas bumum, 
 Altaria annuunt ab alto ; 
 Et refluis tibi plaudit alis. 
 
 Pulcbro incalescens officio, puer 
 Quicunque crispo sidere crinium, 
 Vultuque non fatente terrain, 
 Currit ibi roseus satelles. 
 
 Et jure. Xani cum fana tot inviis 
 
 Mcerent minis, ipsaque (ceu preces, 
 
 Manusque, non decora supplex, 
 
 Tendat) opem rogat, heu negatam ! 
 
POEMATA LATIJSTA. 239 
 
 Tibi ipsa voti est ora sui rea. 
 Et solvet. O quani semper apud Deuni 
 Litabis ilium , cujus arse 
 Ipse preces prius audiisti ! 
 
 YENERABILI YIRO MAGISTRO TOURXAY, 
 TUTORI SUO SUMME OBSERYAXDO. 
 
 jESSIS inauravit Cereri jam quarta capillos, 
 Yitis habet Bacchimi quarta corona sua?, 
 Nostra ex quo, primis pluniae vix alba pminis, 
 
 Ausa tuo Musa est nidificare sinu. 
 Hie nemus, hie soles, et ccelum mitius illi : 
 
 Hie sua quod Musis urobra vel aura dedit. 
 Sedit ibi secura malus quid movent Auster, 
 
 Qua? gravis hjbernum vixerit ala Jo vena. 
 Xescio quo interea multiuu tibi lnurmure nota est : 
 
 Xenrpe sed hoc poteras nmrniur ainare tamen. 
 Tandem ecce (beu simili de prole puerpera) tandem 
 
 Hoc tenero tenera est pignore facta parens. 
 Jamque meam banc sobolem (rogo) quis sinus alter 
 haberet ? 
 
 Quis mihi tarn noti nempe teporis erat ? 
 Sed quoque et ipsa meus (de te) meus, improba, tutor 
 
 (Quam primum potuit dicere) dixit, erit. 
 Has ego legitiniae, nee laevo sidere natse 
 
 Xon puto degeneres indolis esse notas ; 
 Nempe quod ilia suo patri tarn semper apertos, 
 
240 POEMATA LATINA. 
 
 Tarn semper faciles norit adire sinus. 
 Ergo tuam tibi sume : tuos est ilia sub alas : 
 
 Hoc quoque de nostro, quod tuearis, habe. 
 Sic quae Suada tuo fontem sibi fecit in ore, 
 
 Sancto et securo melle perennis est. 
 Sic tua, sic nullas Siren non mulceat aures, 
 
 Aula cui plausus et sua serta dedit. 
 Sic tuus ille (precor) Tagus aut est obice nullo, 
 
 Aut omni (quod adhuc) obice major est. 
 
 ORNATISSIMO VIRO PR^CEPTORI SUO 
 COLENDISSIMO, MAGISTRO BROOK. 
 
 MIHI qui nunquam nomen non dulce fuisti 
 Tunc quoque cum domini fronte timendus 
 eras ! 
 Ille ego pars vestri quondam intactissima regno, 
 
 De nullo virgae nota labore tuaa, 
 Do tibi quod de te per secula longa queretur 
 
 Quod de me nimium non metuendas eras : 
 Quod tibi turpis ego torpentis inertia sceptri 
 
 Tarn ferulas tulerim mitia jura tua3. 
 Scilicet in foliis quicquid peccabitur istis, 
 
 Quod tua virga statim vapulet, illud erit. 
 Ergo tibi ha3C pcenas pro me mea pagina pendat. 
 
 Hie agitur virgse res tibi multa tuse. 
 In me igitiu quicquid nimis ilia pepercerit olim, 
 
 Id licet in fcetu vindicet omne meo. 
 Hie tuus inveniet satis in quo sasviat unguis, 
 
POEMATA LATINA. 241 
 
 Quodque veru docto trans obeliscus eat. 
 Scilicet hsBC mea sunt ; haec quae mala scilicet : 6 si 
 
 (Quae tua nempe forent) hie meliora forent ! 
 Qualiacunque, suuin norunt heec fluniina fontem 
 
 (Nilus ab ignoto fonte superbus est) 
 Nee certe nihil est qua quis sit origine. Fontes 
 
 Esse solent fluvii nonien honorque sui. 
 Hie quoque tam parvus (de me mea secula dicant) 
 
 Non parvi soboles hie quoque fontis erat. 
 Hoc modo et ipse velis de me dixisse, meorum 
 
 Hie fiiit minimus. Sed fuit ille meus.* 
 
 IN PICTURAM REVERENDISSIMI EPISCOPI, 
 D. ANDREWS. 
 
 LEC charta monstrat, fama quern monstrat 
 magis, 
 Sed et ipsa necdum fama quern monstrat 
 satis, 
 Ille. ille totam solus implevit tubani, 
 Tot or a solus domuit et famam quoque 
 Fecit modestam : mentis ignea3 pater 
 Agilique radio lucis setemse vigil, 
 Per alta reruni pondera indomito vagus 
 Cucurrit animo, quippe naturam ferox 
 Exhausit ipsam mille foetus artibus, 
 
 * Here follows, in the edition of 1634, the poem " Lectori" 
 which occurs at p, 259, postea; but the intervening poeins, 
 with the single exception marked, are all added, Id the order 
 in which they occur, in the edition of 1670. 
 
242 POEMATA LATINA. 
 
 Et mille Unguis ipse se in gentes procul 
 Variavit omnes, ftdtque toti simul 
 Cognatus orbi, sic sacrum et solidum jubar 
 Saturumque coelo pectus ad patrios libens 
 PoiTexit ignes : hac eum, Lector, vides 
 Haec, ecce, cbarta utinam et audires quoque. 
 
 YOTTYA DOMUS PETRENSIS PRO DOMO DEI. 
 
 *T magis in mundi votis, aviumque querelis 
 Jamveniens solet esse dies, ubi cuspide prima 
 Palpitat, et roseo lux prsevia ludit ab ortu ; 
 Cum nee abest Phoebus, nee Eois lsetus habenis 
 Totus adest, volucrumque procul vaga murmura mulcet : 
 
 Xos ita ; quos nuper radiis afflavit honestis 
 Religiosa dies ; nostrique per atria cceli 
 (Sacra domus nostrum est coelum) jam luce tenella 
 Libat adliuc trepida? fax nondum firma diei : 
 Nos ita jam exercet nimii impatientia voti, 
 Speque sui propiore premit. 
 
 Quis pectora tanti 
 Tendit amor coepti ! desiderio quam longo 
 Lenta3 spes inhiant ! domus o dulcissima rerum ! 
 Plena Deo domus ! Ab, quis erit, quis (dicimus) ille 
 (O bonus, 6 ingens meritis, 6 proximus ipsi, 
 Quern vocat in sua dona, Deo !) quo vindice totas 
 Excutiant tenebras haec sancta crepuscula ? 
 
POEMATA LATINA. 243 
 
 Quando 
 Quando erit, ut tenera3 flos lieu tener ille diei, 
 Qui velut ex oriente suo jam altaria circum 
 Lambit, et ambiguo nobis procul annuit astro, 
 Plenis se pandat foliis, et lampade tota 
 Lsetus (ut e medio cum sol micat aureus axe) 
 Attonitam penetrare domum jam possit adulto. 
 Sidere, nee dubio pia raoenia mulcent ore ? 
 
 Quando erit, ut convexa suo quo que pulchra sereno 
 Florescant, roseoque tremant laquearia risu ? 
 Quae minium informis tanquam sibi conscia frontis 
 Perpetuis jam se lustrant lachrymantia guttis. 
 
 Quando erit, ut claris meliori luce fenestris 
 Plurima per vitreos vivat pia pagina vultus ? 
 
 Quando erit, ut sacrum nobis celebrantibus hymnum 
 Organicos facili, et nunquam fallente susurro 
 Xobile miumur agat nervos ; pulmonis iniqui 
 Fistula nee monitus faciat male-fida sinistros ? 
 
 Denique, quicquid id est, quod res hie sacra requiiit, 
 Pausta ilia, et felix (sitque 6 tua) dextra, suam cui 
 Debeat ha3c Aurora diem. Tibi supplicat ipsa, 
 Ipsa tibi facit ora preces. Tu jam illius audi, 
 Audiet ilia tuas. Dubium est (modo porrige dextram,) 
 Deo magis, an capias : audi tantum esse beatus, 
 Et damnum hoc lucrare tibi. 
 
 Scis ipse volucres 
 Quae rota volvit opes ; has ergo, hie fige pereunis 
 
244 POEMATA LAT1NA. 
 
 Fundamenta domus Petrensi in rupe ; suamque 
 Fortunae sic deme rotam. Scis ipse procaces 
 Divitias quam prona vagos vehat ala per Euros ; 
 Divitiis illas, age, deme volucribus alas, 
 Facque suus nostras illis sit motus ad oras : 
 Eemigii ut tandem pennas melioris adaptae, 
 Se rapiant dominumque suum super aetkera secum. 
 
 Felix 6 qui sic potuit bene providus uti 
 Fortunse pennis et opum levitate suarum, 
 Divitiisque suis aquilae sic addidit alas. 
 
 IN C^TERORUM OPERUM DIFFICILI 
 PARTURITIONE GEMITUS. 
 
 FELIX nimis ilia, et nostras nobile nomen 
 Invidiae volucris ! facili quae funere surgens 
 Mater odora sui, nitidae nova fila juventae, 
 Et festinatos peragit sibi fata per ignes. 
 Ilia, haud natalis tot tardis mensibus boras 
 Tarn miseris tenuata moris, saltu velut uno 
 In nova secla rapit sese, et caput omne decoras 
 Explicat in frondes, roseoque repullulat ortu. 
 Cinnameos simul ilia rogos conscenderit, omnem 
 Laeta bibit Plioebum, et jam jam victricibus alis 
 Plaudit humuni, cineresque suos. 
 
 Heu ! dispare fato 
 Nob ferimur ; seniorque suo sub Apolline phcenix 
 Petrensis mater, dubias librata per auras 
 
POEMATA LATINA. 24,5 
 
 Pendet adhuc, quseritque sinum in qua ponat inertes 
 
 Exuvias, spoliisque suae reparata senectae 
 
 Ore pari surgat, similique per omnia vultu. 
 
 At nunc heu nixu secli melioris in ipso 
 
 Deliquium patitur ! — 
 
 At nunc lieu lentae longo in molimine vitae 
 
 Interea moritur ! Dubio stant moenia vultu 
 
 Parte sui pulchra, et fratres in foedera muros 
 
 Invitant frustra, nee respondentia saxis 
 
 Saxa suis. Moerent opera intermissa, manusque 
 
 Implorant. 
 
 Succurre pise, succurre parenti 
 O quisquis pius es. Illi succurre parenti, 
 Quam sibi tot sanctae matres habuere parentem. 
 Quisquis es, 6 tibi, crede, tibi tot hiantia ruptis 
 Moenibus ora loqui ! Matrem tibi, crede verendam 
 Muros tarn longe laceros senioque situque 
 Ceu canos monstrare suos. Succurre roganti. 
 Per tibi plena olim, per jam sibi sicca precatur. 
 Ubera, ne desis senio. Sic longa juventus 
 Te foveat, querulaB nunquam cessura senectae. 
 
 EPITAPHIUM IN GULIELMUM HERRISIUM. 
 
 ISTE te paulum, viator, ubi longum sisti 
 Necesse erit, hue nempe properare te scias 
 
 quocunque properas. 
 Mora3 pretium erit 
 Et lachrymal 
 
246 POEMATA LATINA. 
 
 Si jacere hie scias 
 
 Grulielmum 
 Splendidse Herrisiorum families 
 
 Splendorem maximum : 
 Quern cum talem vixisse intellexeris, 
 
 Et vixisse tantum ; 
 
 Discas licet 
 
 In quantas spes possit 
 
 Assurgere mortalitas, 
 
 De quantis cadere. 
 
 I" Infantem, Essexia \ 
 
 ( Juvenem, Cantabrigia j 
 
 Senem, ah infelix utraque 
 Quod non vidit. 
 
 Qui 
 Collegii Christi Alumnus 
 Aulae Pembrokiana? socius. 
 Utrique, ingens amoris certamen fuit^ 
 Donee 
 Duleiss. Htes elusit Deus, 
 Eumque ccelestis collegii, 
 Cujus semper alumnus fuit 
 socium fecit ; 
 Qui et ipse collegium fuit, 
 
 In quo 
 Musse omnes et gratia?, 
 Nullibi magis sorores, 
 Sub preside religione. 
 In tenacissimum sodalitium coaluere* 
 
POEMATA LATINA. 
 
 247 
 
 Quern 
 
 Oratoria 
 Poetica 
 Utraque 
 w Christianum 
 
 Oratorem 
 Poetam 
 Philosophum 
 Omnes 
 
 Qui 
 
 Fide Mundum 
 
 Spe Ccelum 
 
 Charitate Proximum 
 
 Humilitate Seipsuru 
 
 Agnovere. 
 
 Superavit. 
 
 Cujus 
 Sub verna fronte senilis animus, 
 Sub nioruni facilitate, severitas virtutis ; 
 Sub plurima indole, pauci anni ; 
 Sub majore modestia, maxima indoles 
 adeo se occuluerunt 
 ut vitam ejus 
 Pulchram dixeris et pudicam dissimulationem : 
 Imo vero et mortem, 
 Ecce enim in ipso funere 
 Dissimulare se passus est, 
 Sub tantillo marmore tantum hospitem, 
 Eo nimirum majore monumento 
 quo minore tumulo. 
 Eo ipso die occubuit quo Ecclesia 
 
 Anglicana ad vesperas legit, 
 Raptus est ne malitia mutaret intellectum ejus ; 
 Scilicet Id: Octobris, Anno S. 1631. 
 
248 POEMATA LATINA. 
 
 IN EUNDEM. 
 
 ^TE meed lacrymse (nee enim moror), ite. Sed 
 oro 
 Tantum ne misera? claudite vocis iter. 
 O liceat querulos verbis animare dolores ! 
 
 Et saltern ah periit, dicere, noster amor. 
 Eece negant tamen ; ecce negant, lacrymseque rebelles 
 
 Pergunt indomita pra?cipitantque via. 
 Visne (6 cliare !) igitur te nostra silentia dicant? 
 
 Vis fleat assiduo murmure mutus amor ? 
 Flebit. Et urna suos semper bibet humida rores, 
 
 Et fidas semper semper habebit aquas. 
 
 Interea, quicunque estis, ne credite mirum 
 
 Si verse lacrymae non didicere loqui.* 
 
 NATALIS PRHSTCIPIS MARI^. 
 
 ^RESCE, dulcibus imputanda divis, 
 O cresce, et propera, puella princeps, 
 In matris propera venire partes. 
 
 Et eum par breve fulminum minorum, 
 
 Illinc Carolus, et Jacobus inde, 
 
 In patris faciles subire famam, 
 
 Ducent fata furoribus decoris ; 
 
 * Not in the edition of 1670. 
 
POEMATA LATINA. 249 
 
 Cum terror sacer, Anglicique magnum 
 Murmur nominis increpabit omnem 
 Lato Bosporon, Ottonianicasque 
 Xon picto quatiet tremore Lunas ; 
 Te tunc altera nee timenda paci, 
 Poscent praBlia. Tu pot ens pudici 
 Vibratrix oculi, pios in hostes 
 Late dulcia fata dissipabis. 
 O cum flos tener ille, qui recenti 
 Pressus sidere jam sub ora ludit, 
 Olim fortior omne cuspidatos 
 Evolvet latus aureum per ignes ; 
 Quique imbellis adhuc, adultus olim ; 
 Puris expatiabitur genarum 
 Campis imperiosus Cupido ; 
 O quam certa superbiore penna 
 Ibunt spicula, mellea3que mortes, 
 Exultantibus hinc et inde turmis, 
 Quoque jusseris, impigre volabunt ! 
 O quot corda calentium deorum 
 De te vulnera delicata discent ! 
 O quot pectora principum magistris 
 Fient melle negotium sagittis ! 
 Nam quae non poteris per anna ferri, 
 Cui matris sinus atque utrumque sidus 
 Magnorum patet officina amorum ? 
 Hinc sumas licet, O puella princeps, 
 Quantacunque opus est tibi pliaretra. 
 Centum sume Cupidines ab uno 
 Matris lumine, Gratiasque centum, 
 
250 POEMATA LATINA. 
 
 Et centum Veneres : adhue manebunt 
 Centum mille Cupidines ; manebunt 
 Tercentum Veneresque Gratiseque 
 Puro fonte superstites per sevum. 
 
 IN SENERISSIMiE REGIN^ PARTUM 
 HIEMALEM. 
 
 P'EETA puer : quis nunc flores non prsebeat 
 hortus ? 
 Texe mihi facili pollice serta, puer. 
 Quid tu nescio quos narras mihi ; stulte, Decembres 
 
 Quid mihi cum nivibus ? da mihi serta, puer. s 
 Nix ? et hiems ? non est nostras quid tale per oras ; 
 
 Non est : vel si sit, non tamen esse potest. 
 Ver agitur : qusecunque trucem dat larva Decembrem, 
 
 Quid fera cunque fremant frigora, ver agitur. 
 Nonne vides quaU se palmite regia vitis 
 
 Prodit, et in sacris quae sedet uva jugis ? 
 Tarn lsetis quae bruma solet ridere racemis ? 
 
 Quas hiemis pingit purpura tanta genas ? 
 O Maria ! O divum soboles, genitrixque deorum ! 
 
 Siccine nostra tuos tempora ludus erunt ? 
 Siccine tu cum vere tuo nihil horrida brumse 
 
 Sidera, nil madidos sola morare notos ? 
 Siccine sub media poterunt tua surgere bruma, 
 
 Atque suas solum lilia nosse nives ? 
 Ergo vel invitis nivibus, frendentibus Austria, 
 
POEMATA LATINA. 251 
 
 Nostra novis poterunt regna tumere rosis ? 
 O bona turbatrix anni, quae limite noto 
 
 Tempora sub signis non sinis ire suis ! 
 O pia praedatrix biernis, quae tristia mundi 
 
 Murmura tarn dulci sub ditione tenes ! 
 Perge precor nostris vim pulchrani ferre Calendis : 
 
 Perge precor menses sic numerare tuos. 
 Perge intempestiva atque importuna videri ; 
 
 Inque uteri titulos sic rape cuncta tui. 
 Sit nobis sit saepe biemes sic cernere nostras 
 
 Exhaeredatas floribus ire tuis. 
 Sa3pe sit bas vernas biemes Maiosque Decembres, 
 
 Has per te roseas saepe videre nives. 
 Altera gens varium per sidera computet annum, 
 
 Atque suos ducant per vaga signa dies. 
 Xos deceat nimiis tantum permittere nimbis ? 
 Tempora tarn tetricas ferre Britanna vices ? 
 Quin nostrum tibi nos omnem donabimus annum: 
 
 In partus omnem expende, Maria, tuos. 
 Sit tuus ille uterus nostri bonus arbiter anni : 
 
 Tempus et in titulos transeat omne tuos. 
 Namque alia indueret tarn dulcia nomina mensis ? 
 
 Aut qua tarn posset candidus ire toga ? 
 Hanc laurum Junus sibi vertice vellet utroque ; 
 
 Hanc sibi vel tota Cbloride Maius emet. 
 Tota suam, vere expulso, respublica florimi 
 
 Keginam cuperent te, sobolemve tuam. 
 O bona sors anni, cum cuncti ex ordine menses 
 Hie mihi Carolides, bic Marianus erit ! 
 
252 POEMATA LATINA. 
 
 1STATALIS DUCIS EBORACENSIS. 
 
 |T vero jam tempus erat tibi, maxima Mater, 
 Dulcibus his oculis accelerare diem : 
 Tempus erat, ne qua tibi basia blanda 
 vacarent ; 
 
 Sarcina ne collo sit minus apt a tuo. 
 Scilicet ille tuus, timor et spes ille suorum, 
 
 Quo primum es felix pignore facta parens, 
 Ille ferox iras jam nunc meditatur et enses 
 
 Jam patris magis est, jam magis ille suus. 
 Indolis stimulos ! vix dum illi transiit infans ; 
 
 Jamque sibi impatiens arripit ille virum. 
 Improbus ille suis adeo negat ire sub annis : 
 
 Jam nondum puer est, major et est puero. 
 Si quis in aulseis pictas animatus in iras 
 
 Stat leo, quern docta cuspide lusit acus, 
 Hostis, io ! est ; neque enim ille alium dignabitur hostem ; 
 
 Nempe decet tantas non minor ira manus. 
 Tunc hasta gravis adversum furit ; hasta bacillum est ; 
 
 Mox falsum vero vulnere pectus hiat. 
 Stat leo, ceu stupeat tali bene fixus ab hoste ; 
 
 Ceu quid in his oculis vel timeat vel amet, 
 Tarn torvum, tarn dulce micant : nescire fatetur 
 
 Mars ne sub his oculis esset, an esset amor. 
 Quippe illic Mars est, sed qui bene possit amari ; 
 
 Est et amor certe, sed metuendus amor : 
 Talis amor, talis Mars est ibi cernere ; qualis 
 
 Seu puer hie esset, sive vir ille Deus. 
 
POEMATA LATINA. 253 
 
 Hie tibi jam scitus succedit in oscula fratris, 
 
 Res, ecce ! in lusus non operosa tuos. 
 Basia jam veniant tua quantacunque caterva ; 
 
 Jam quocimque tuus murmure ludat amor. 
 En ! Tibi materies tenera et tractabilis hie est : 
 
 Hie ad blanditias est tibi cera satis. 
 Salve infans, tot basiolis, molle argumentum, 
 
 Maternis labiis dulce negotiolum, 
 O salve ! ISam te nato, puer aui'e, natus 
 
 Et Carolo et Marias tertius est oculus. 
 
 IN FACIEM AUGUSTISSIMI EEGIS A 
 MORBILLIS INTEGRAM. 
 
 IlJSA redi : vocat alma parens Academia : 
 noster 
 En redit, ore suo noster Apollo redit. 
 Yultus adliuc suns, et vultu sua purpura tantum 
 
 Vivit, et admixtas pergit amare nives. 
 Tune illas violare genas ? tune ilia profanis, 
 
 Morbe ferox, tentas ire per ora notis ? 
 Tu Phcebi faciem tentas, vanissime ? Nostra 
 
 Nee Phoebe maculas novit habere suas. 
 Ipsa sui vindex facies morbum indignatur ; 
 
 Ipsa sedet radiis O bene tuta suis : 
 Quippe illic Deus est, coelumque et sanctius astrum ; 
 
 Quippe sub his totus ridet Apollo genis. 
 Quod facie Bex tutus erat, quod csetera tactus : 
 
 Hinc hominem Bex est fassus, et inde Deum. 
 
254 POEMATA LATINA. 
 
 AD CAEOLUM PKIMUM, REX REDUX. 
 
 ^LLE redit, redit. Hoc populi bona murmura 
 volvunt ; 
 Publicus hoc, audin' ? plausus ad astra refert: 
 Hoc omni sedet in vultu commune serenum ; 
 " Omnibus hinc una est lsetitise facies. 
 Rex noster, lux nostra redit ; redeuntis ad ora 
 
 Arridet totis Anglia lseta genis : 
 Quisque suos oculos oculis accendit ab istis ; 
 
 At que novum sacro sumit ab ore diem. 
 Forte roges tanto quse digna pericula plausu 
 
 Evadat Carolus, quae mala, quosve metus : 
 Anne perrerati male fida volumina ponti 
 
 Ausa ilium terris pene negare suis : 
 Hospitis an nimii rursus sibi conscia tellus 
 
 Yix bene speratum reddat Ibera caput. 
 Nil liorum ; nee enim male fida volumina ponti 
 
 Aut sacrum tellus vidit Ibera caput. 
 Verus amor tamen haec sibi falsa pericida fingit : 
 
 Falsa perie'la solet fingere verus amor, 
 At Carolo qui falsa timet, nee vera timeret : 
 
 Vera perie'la solet temnere verus amor, 
 Illi falsa timens, sibi vera pericula temnens, 
 
 Non solum est fidus, sed quoque fortis amor. 
 Interea nostri satis ille est causa triumphi : 
 
 Et satis, ah ! nostri causa doloris erat. 
 
POEMATA LATINA. 255 
 
 Causa doloris erat Carolus, sospes licet esset ; 
 
 Anglia quod salteru discere posset, abest. 
 Et satis est nostri Carolus nunc causa triumphi : 
 
 Dicere quod saltem possumus, Hie redit. 
 
 AD PEIXCIPEM XOXDUM KATUM, EEGIXA 
 GEAYIDA. 
 
 ] 1 ASCEKE nunc ; O nunc ! quid enim, puer 
 alme, moraris ? 
 Xulla tibi dederit dulcior hora diem. 
 Ergone tot tardos, O lente ! morabere menses ? 
 Eex redit, ipse veni, et die bone, gratus ades. 
 Xam quid ave nostrum ? quid nostri verba triumphi ? 
 
 Vagitu melius dixeris ista tuo. 
 At maneas tamen : et nobis nova causa triumphi : 
 
 Sic demuni fueris ; nee nova causa tamen : 
 Xam, quoties Carolo novus aut nova nascitur infans, 
 Eevera toties Carolus ipse redit. 
 
 Reliqua desiderantur. 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA, 
 
 QILE SCRIPSIT GE^ECA ET LATINA. 
 
LECTORI. 
 
 [ALVE. Jamque vale. Quid enim quis 
 pergeret ultra? 
 Qua- jocus et lusus non vocat, ire voles ? 
 Scilicet hie, Lector, cur noster habebere, 
 non est ; 
 Delitiis folio non faciente tuis. 
 Nam nee Acidalios halat mihi pagina rores ; 
 
 Nostra Cupidinese nee favet aura faci. 
 Frustra bine ille suis quicquam promiserit abi : 
 
 Frustra hinc ilia novo speret abire sinu. 
 Hie e materna melius sibi talia mjrto ; 
 
 Ilia jugis melius poscat ab Idaliis. 
 Quserat ibi suus in quo cespite surgat Adonis, 
 
 Quae melior teneris patria sit violis. 
 Illinc totius Florae, verisque, suique 
 
 Consilio, ille alas impleat, ilia sinus. 
 Me mea (casta tamen, si sit rudis) berba coronet : 
 
 Me mea (si rudis est, sit rudis) herba juvat. 
 Nulla meo Circsea tument tibi pocula versu : 
 
 Dulcia, et in furias officiosa tuas. 
 Nulla latet Letbe, quam fraus tibi florea libat, 
 
260 LECTORI. 
 
 Quam rosa sub falsis clat male-fida genis. 
 Nulla verecundum mentitur mella venenum : 
 
 Captat ab insicliis liuea nulla suis. 
 Et spleni, et jecori foliis bene parcitur istis. 
 
 Ah ! male cum rebus staret utrumque meis ! 
 Rara est quae ridet ; nulla est quae pagina prurit : 
 
 Nulla salax, si quid norit habere salis. 
 Non nuclse Veneres : nee, si jocus, udus habetur : 
 
 Non nimium Bacchus noster Apollo fuit. 
 Nil cui quis putre sit detorquendus ocello ; 
 
 Est nihil obliquo quod velit ore legi. 
 HaBC coram, at que oculis legeret Lucretia justis : 
 
 Iret et illsesis hinc pudor ipse genis. 
 Nam neque candidior voti venit aura pudici 
 
 De matutina virgine thura ferens : 
 Cum vestis nive vincta sinus, nive tempora fulgens, 
 
 Dans nive flammeolis frigida jura comis, 
 Religiosa pedum sensim vestigia librans, 
 
 Ante aras tandem constitit ; et tremuit. 
 Nee gravis ipsa suo sub numine castior halat 
 
 Quae pia non puras summovet ara manus. 
 Tarn Venus in nostro non est nimis aurea versu : 
 
 Tarn non sunt pueri tela timenda Dei. 
 Ssepe puer dubias circum me moverat alas ; 
 
 Jecit et incertus nostra sub ora faces. 
 Ssepe vel ipse sua calamum mihi blandus ab ala, 
 
 Vel matris cygno de meliore dedit. 
 Saepe Diona3ae pactus mihi serta coronae ; 
 Saepe, mens vates tu, mihi dixit, eris. 
 I procul, I cum matre tua, puer improbe, dixi : 
 
 Non tibi cum numeris res erit ulla meis. 
 
LECTORI. 261 
 
 Tu Veronensi cum passere pulchrior ibis : 
 
 Bilbilicisve queas comptius esse modis. 
 Ille tuos fingit quocunque sub agmine crines : 
 
 Undique nequitiis par erit ille tuis. 
 Ille nimis (dixi) patet in tua proelia campus : 
 
 Heu nimis est vates et nimis ille tuus. 
 Gleba ilia (ah ! tua quam tamen urit adultera messis) 
 
 Esset Idumseo germine quanta parens ! 
 Quantus ibi et quantse premeret puer ubera matris ! 
 
 JNec coslos vultu dissimulante suos. 
 Ejus in isto oculi satis essent sidera versu ; 
 
 Sidereo matris quam bene tuta sinu ! 
 Matris ut hie similes in collum mitteret ulnas, 
 
 Inque sinus niveos pergeret, ore pari ! 
 Utque genis pueri hasc sequis daret oscula labris ! 
 
 Et bene cognatis iret in ora rosis ! 
 Quae Marias tarn larga meat, quam disceret illic 
 
 Uvida sub pretio gemma tumere suo ! 
 Staret ibi ante suum lacrymatrix Diva Magistrum : 
 
 Seu levis aura volet, seu graves unda cadat ; 
 Luminis hsec soboles, et proles pyxidis ilia, 
 
 Pulchrius unda cadat, suavius aura volet. 
 Quicquid in his sordet demum, luceret in illis. 
 
 Improbe, nee satis est hunc tamen esse tuum ? 
 Improbe cede puer : quid enim mea carmina mulces ? 
 
 Carmina de jaculis muta futura tuis. 
 Cede puer, qua te petulantis frsena puella? ; 
 
 Turpia quae revocant pensa procacis hera3 ; 
 Qua miseri male pulchra nitent mendacia limi ; 
 
 Qua cerussatae, furta decora, gena3 ; 
 Qua mirere rosas, alieni sidera veris ; 
 
262 LECTORI. 
 
 Quas nivis haud proprise bruma redempta domat. 
 Cede puer (dixi et dico) cede improba mater : 
 
 Altera Cypris habet nos ; liabet alter Amor. 
 Scilicet hie Amor est. Hie est quoque mater Amoris. 
 
 Sed mater virgo. Sed neque csecus Amor. 
 O puer ! o Domine ! o magnse reverentia matris ! 
 
 Alme tui stupor et religio gremii ! 
 O Amor, innocuse cui sunt pia jura pharetrse ; 
 
 Nee nisi de casto corde sagitta calens ! 
 Me, puer, o certa, quern figis, fige sagitta. 
 
 O tua de me sit facta pliaretra levis ! 
 Quodque illinc sitit et bibit, et bibit et sitit usque ; 
 
 Usque meum sitiat pectus, et usque bibat. 
 Fige, puer, corda ha3C Seu spinis exiguus quis, 
 
 Seu clavi aut hastae cuspide magnus ades ; 
 Seu major cruce cum ; seu maximus ipso 
 
 Te corda haec figis denique. Fige puer. 
 O metam hanc tuus seternum inclamaverit arcus : 
 
 Stridat in hanc teli densior aura tui. 
 O tibi si jaculum ferat ala ferocior ullum, 
 
 Hanc habeat triti vulneris ire viam. 
 Quique tuse populus cunque est, quae turba, pharetrae ; 
 
 Hie bene vulnificas nidus habebit aves. 
 O mihi sis bello semper tarn ssevus in isto ! 
 
 Pectus in hoc nunquam mitior hostis eas. 
 Quippe ego quam jaceam pugna bene sparsus in ilia ! 
 
 Quam bene sic lacero pectore sanus ero ! 
 Ha3c mea vota. Mei sunt hsec quoque vota libelli. 
 
 Ha3C tua sint Lector ; si meus esse voles. 
 Si meus esse voles : meus ut sis, lumina (Lector) 
 
 Casta, sed o nimium non tibi sicca precor. 
 
LECTORI. 263 
 
 Nam tibi fac madidis meus ille occurrerit alis, 
 
 (Sanguine, seu lacryma diffluat ille sua :) 
 Stipite totus hians, clavisque reclusus, et hasta : 
 
 Fons tuus in fluvios desidiosus erit ? 
 Si tibi sanguineo meus hie tener iverit amne, 
 
 Tune tuas illi, dure, negabis aquas ? 
 Ah durus ! quicunque meos, nisi siccus, amores 
 
 ^Nolit ; et hie lacrymse rem negat esse suse. 
 Ssepe hie Magdalinas vel aquas vel amaverit undas ; 
 
 Credo nee Assyrias mens tua maht opes. 
 Scilicet ille tuos ignis recalescet ad ignes ; 
 
 Forsan et ilia tuis unda natabit aquis. 
 Hie eris ad cunas, et odoros funere manes : 
 
 Hinc ignes nasci testis, et inde meos. 
 Hie mecum, et cum matre sua, mea gaudia quaeres : 
 
 Maturus Procerum seu stupor esse velit ; 
 Sive per autra sui lateat (tunc templa) sepulchri : 
 
 Tertia lux reducem (lenta sed ilia) dabit. 
 Sint fidse precor ah (dices) facilesque tenebrse ; 
 
 Lux mea dum noctis (res nova !) poscit opem. 
 Denique charta meo quicquid mea dicat amori-, 
 
 Illi quo metuat cunque, fleatve, modo ? 
 Lseta parum (dices) haec, sed neque dulcia non sunt : 
 
 Certe et amor (dices) hujus amandus erat. 
 
 Si nimium hie promitti tibi videtur, Lector bone, pro 
 eo cui satisfaciendo Hbellus iste futurus fuerit ; scias me 
 in istis non ad hsec modo spectare qua3 hie habes, sed 
 ea etiam qua3 olim (hsec interim fovendo) habere poteris. 
 ^Nolui enim (si hactenus deesse amicis meis non potui ; 
 flagitantibus a me, etiam cum dispendii sui periculo 
 paterer eosexperiri te in tantum favoremque tuum) nolui, 
 
264 LECTORI. 
 
 inquam, fastidio tuo indulgere. Satis hie habes quod 
 vel releges ad ferulam suam (neque enim maturiores sibi 
 annos ex his aliqua vendicant) vel ut pignus plurium 
 adiiltioriunque in sinu tuo reponas. Elige tibi ex his 
 utrumvis. Me interim quod attinet, finis meus non 
 fefellit. Maximum meaB ambitionis scopum jamdudum 
 attigi : tunc nimirum cum qualecunque hoc meum pene 
 infantis Musse murmur ad aures istas non ingratum 
 sonuit, quibus neque doctiores mihi de publico timere 
 habeo, nee sperare clementiores ; adeo ut de tuo jam 
 plausu (dicam ingenue et breviter ) neque securus sim 
 ultra neque solicitus. Prius tui, quisquis es Lector, apud 
 me reverentia prohibet ; de cujus judicio omnia possum 
 magna sperare : posterius illorum reverentia non sinit, 
 de quorum perspicacitate maxima omnia non possum 
 mihi non persuadere. Quanquam 6 quam velim tanti 
 me esse in quo patria mea morem istum suum deponere 
 velit, genio suo tarn non dignum; istum scilicet quo, 
 suis omnibus fastiditis, ea exosculatur unice, quibus 
 trajecisse Alpes et de transmarino esse, in pretium cessit! 
 sed relictis hisce nimis improbaB spei votis, convertam 
 me ad magistros Acygmanos ; quos scio de novissimis 
 meis verbis (quanquam neminem nominarim) iratos me 
 reliquisse : bilem vero componant ; et mihi se hoc debere 
 (ambitioso juveni verbum tarn magnum ignoscant) debere , 
 inquam, fateantur : quod nimirum in tarn nobili argu- 
 mento, in quo neque ad foetida de suis Sanctis figmenta, 
 neque ad putidas de nostris calumnias opus habeant con- 
 fugere, de tenui hoc meo dederim illorum magnitudini 
 unde emineat. Emineat vero ; (serius dico). Sciant me 
 semper habituros esse sub ea, quam mihi eorum lux major 
 affuderit, umbra, placidissime acquiescentem. 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Lrc. xvm. 
 Pharisceus et Publicanus. 
 . X duo Ternplum adeunt (diversis mentibus 
 ambo :) 
 Ille procul trepido lumine signat liumum : 
 
 It gravis hie, et in alta ferox penetralia tendit. 
 Plus habet ille templi ; plus habet ille Dei. 
 
 "Avtysg, ifrou (zTEDOKTl V00L$) (J~UC0 IpOV EVYI'KQqV 
 TyjXqQeV OppCD^El kzivo; o (pziKCL'hio;, 
 
 Axk b fJLsv co; <jq$ols>q$ vy\ov //^%ov syyvg \kolvec 
 
 TlXilOV fJLBV VYIQU) TtXElOV $' SIX^ ®E0V'* 
 
 Matth. XXI. 7. 
 In Asinum Christi Victorem. 
 
 pLLEf suum didicit quondam objurgare magi- 
 struni : 
 Et quid ni discas tu celebrare tuuni ? 
 
 * This Greek version is not in the edition of 1634. 
 | Baiaami asinus. 
 
266 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Mirum non minus est, te jam potuisse tacere 
 Ilium quam fuerat turn potuisse loqui. 
 
 Luc. iv. 
 
 Dominus apud suos vilis. 
 
 N consanguinei ! patriis en exul in ori 
 
 Christus ! et haud alibi tarn peregrinus erat. 
 
 Qui socio demum pendebat sanguine latro, 
 O consanguineus quam fuit ille magis ! 
 
 Joan. v. 
 Ad Bethesdce piscinam positus. 
 UIS novus hie refugis incumbit Tantalus undis, 
 Quern fallit toties tarn fugitiva salus ? 
 
 Unde hoc naufragium felix ? medicseque procellse ? 
 Vitaque, tempestas quam pretiosa dedit? 
 
 Joan. xx. 
 Christus ad Thomam. 
 r iEVA fides ! voluisse meos tractare dolores ? 
 W%fei Crudeles digiti ! sic didicisse Deum ? 
 
 Vulnera, ne dubites, vis tangere nostra : sed eheu, 
 Vulnera, dum dubitas, tu graviora facis. 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 267 
 
 Matth. xvi. 25. 
 Quisquis per elide r it animam suarn meet causa, 
 
 inveniet earn* 
 P§ VITA ; I, perdani : milii mors tua, Cbriste, 
 
 reperta est : 
 ^ (]\Iors tua vita mea est ; mors tibi, vita niese) 
 
 Aut ego te abscondam Ckristi (mea vita) sepulcbro. 
 Non adeo procul est tertius ille dies. 
 
 Jo ax. xx. 1. 
 
 Primo mane venit ad sepvlclirum Magdalena. 
 
 U matutinos praevertis, sancta, rubores, 
 
 Magdala ; sed jam turn Sol tuus ortus erat. 
 
 Jamque vetus merito vanos Sol non agit ortus, 
 Et tanto radios non putat esse suos. 
 
 Qnippe aliquo (reor) ille, novus, jam nictat in astro, 
 Et se nocturna parvus babet facula. 
 
 Quam vent 6 tantse vel nuntius esse diei ! 
 Atque novus Soli Lucifer ire novo ! 
 
 Jo AX. VI. 
 
 Quinque panes ad quinque liominum millia. 
 
 ^\TO^f X niensse faeiles, redivivaque vulnere coBnse, 
 Quaeque indefessa provocat ora dape ! 
 
268 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Aucta Ceres stupet arcana se crescere messe. 
 Denique quid restat? Pascitur ipse cibus. 
 
 Act. vrn. 
 JEthiops lotus. 
 SppLLE niger sacris exit (quarn kutus !) ab undis : 
 Kec frustra iEthiopem nempe lavare fu.it. 
 
 Mentem quam niveam picese cutis umbra fovebit ! 
 Tarn volet et nigros sancta Columba lares. 
 
 Luc. xviii. 13. 
 Publicanus procul stans percutiebat pectus suum. 
 
 CCEhic peccator tumidus petit ad vena templum: 
 r J$ Quodque audet solum, pectora moesta ferit. 
 IP 
 Fide miser ; pulsaque fores has fortiter : illo 
 
 Invenies templo tu propiore Deum. 
 
 Maiic. xn. 44. 
 
 Obolum viduce. 
 ?8||E§ypTJTTA brevis nummi (vita3 patrona senilis) 
 llpnf Et digitis stillat non dubitantis anus ; 
 
 Istis multa vagi spumant de gurgite census. 
 Isti abjecerunt scilicet ; ilia dedit. 
 
EPIGBAMMATA SACRA. 269 
 
 Ke^/xariolo Q^axua. pavig, @i6toio r <x<pavpyjg 
 "Egtcog aTrocna&i x^og oltto TgopEgag* 
 
 Toig 3je avatTKipTot, 7roXug atppog avai^sog 6k@qii, 
 
 O/ fXiV OLTTOgglTTTOV. XElViZ OB^UHS {AOVQV.* 
 
 Luc. x. 30. 
 Maria vero assidens ad pedes ejus, audiebat earn. 
 I SPICE (namque novum est) ut ab hospite 
 pendeat hospes ! 
 Hine ori parat, hoc sumit ab ore cibos. 
 
 Tune epulis adeo es (soror) ofiiciosa juvandis, 
 Et sinis lias (inquit) Martha, perire dapes ? 
 
 Act. n. 
 Li Spiritus Sancti descensum. 
 
 jg ERTE sinus, o ferte : cadit vindemia coeli ; 
 Sanctaque ab aethereis volvitur uya jugis. 
 
 Felices nimium, queis tam bona must a bibuntur ; 
 In quorum gremium lucida pergit hiems ! 
 
 En caput ! en ut nectareo micat et micat astro ! 
 Gaudet et in roseis viva corona comis ! 
 
 Ulis (o Superi ! quis sic neget ebrius esse ?) 
 Ulis, ne titubent, dant sua vina faces. 
 
 * Not in the edition of 1634. 
 
270 EPIGBAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Luc. xv. 13 
 Congestis omnibus peregre jprofectus est. 
 IC mihi ? quo tantos properas, puer auree, num- 
 mos ? 
 Quorsum festinse conglomerantur opes ? 
 
 Cur tibi tota vagos ructant patrimonia census ? 
 Non poterunt siliquse nempe minoris emi ? 
 
 Act. xxi. 13. 
 Non solum vinciri sed et mori paratus sum. 
 ;^jft ON modo vinc'la, sed et mortem tibi, Ckriste, 
 subibo, 
 Paulus ait, docti callidus arte doli. 
 
 r 
 
 Diceret hoc aliter : Tibi non modo velle ligari, 
 Christe, sed et solvi* nempe paratus ero. 
 
 Act. xn. 23. 
 In Herodem XncohwofycoTov. 
 LLE Deus, Deus ; hsec populi vox unica : 
 tantum 
 (Yile genus) vermes credere velle negant. 
 
 At cito se miseri, cito nunc errasse fatentur ; 
 Carnes degustant, Ambrosiamque putant. 
 
 * Phil. i. 23. rrjv k7ri6vfiiav l\u)v eig to avakvaai. 
 
EPIGBAMMATA SACRA. 271 
 
 Matth. xit. 
 Videns ventum magnum, timuit, et cum ccepisset 
 demergi, clamavit, Sfc. 
 ETRE, cades, o, si dubitas : o fide : nee ipsum 
 (Petre) negat fidis sequor habere fidem. 
 
 Pondere pressa suo subsidunt csetera : solum 
 (Petre) tuse mergit te levitatis onus. 
 
 Act. vm. 18. 
 Obtidit eis joecunias. 
 UORSUM hos hie nummos profers ? quorsum 
 impie Simon ? 
 Kon ille hie Judas, sed tibi Petrus adest. 
 
 Vis emisse Deum ? potius (precor) hoc age, Simon, 
 Si potes, ipse prius dsemona vende tuum. 
 
 Act. v. 15. 
 
 Umbra S. Petri medetur cegrotis. 
 SONYEOTUNT alacres (sic, sic juvat ire sub 
 umbras) 
 Atque umbras fieri (creditis ?) umbra vetat. 
 
 O Petri umbra potens ! quae non miracula prsestat ? 
 Nunc quoque, Papa, tuum sustinet ilia decas. 
 
272 EPIGRAMMATA SACBA. 
 
 Marc, vn. 33. 36. 
 
 Tetigit linguam ejus, Sfc, . . . et loquebatur. . . . et 
 
 prcecepit illis ne cui dicerent : Mi vero eo 
 
 magis prcedicabant. 
 I^HKISTE, jubes muta ora loqui ; muta ora 
 loquuntur : 
 Sana tacere jubes ora ; nee ilia tacent. 
 
 Si digito tunc usus eras, muta ora resolvens ; 
 Nonne opus est tota nunc tibi, Christe, manu ? 
 
 Luc. x. 32. 
 
 Sacerdos qxddam descendens eadem via, vidit et 
 
 prceteriit. 
 
 PECTASNE (ah !) placidisque oculis mea 
 vulnera tractas ? 
 O dolor ! 6 nostris vulnera vulneribus ! 
 
 Pax oris quam torva tui est ! quam triste serenum ! 
 Tranquillus miserum qui videt, ipse facit. 
 
 Luc. xvn. 
 Leprosi ingrati. 
 B UM linquunt Christum (ah morbus !) sanantur 
 euntes : 
 Ipse etiam morbus sic medicina fuit. 
 
 At sani Christum (mens ah male-sana !) relinquunt : 
 Ipsa etiam morbus sic medicina fuit. 
 
EPIGEAMMATA SACRA. 273 
 
 jMatth. vi. 34. 
 Ne soliciti estote in crastinum. 
 MISEK, inque tuas rape non tua tempora cu- 
 ras : 
 Et nondum natis perge perire malis. 
 
 Mi querulis satis una dies, satis angitur horis : 
 Una dies lacryniis mi satis uda suis. 
 
 £son mihi venturos vacat expectare dolores : 
 Nolo ego. nolo hodie crastinus esse miser. 
 
 Matth. ix. 9. 
 A telonio Matthceus. 
 H satis, ah nimis est: noli ultra ferre magistrum, 
 Et lucro domino turpia colla dare. 
 
 Jam fuge ; jam (Matthsee) feri fuge regna tyranni : 
 Inque bonam felix i fugitive* crucem. 
 
 Luc. vii. 
 Yiduce films e feretro matri redditur. 
 ~N redeunt, lacrymasque breves nova gaudia 
 pensant : 
 Bisque ilia est, uno in pignore, facta parens. 
 
 Felix, quae magis es nati per funera mater ! 
 Amisisse, iterum cui peperisse fuit. 
 
 * Christi scilicet. 
 
 T 
 
274 EPIGBAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Matth. xyih. 
 
 Bonum intrare in coelos cum uno oculo, Sfc. 
 
 NO oculo? all centum potius nrihi, millia cen- 
 tum : 
 Nam quis ibi, in coelo, quis satis Argus erit? 
 
 Aut si oculus milii tantum unus conceditur, unus 
 Iste oculus fiam totus et omnis ego. 
 
 Luc. xiv. 
 
 Hydropicus sanatur. 
 
 ; PSE suum pelagus, tnorboque immensus aquoso 
 Qui fuit, ut lsetus nunc micat atque levis ! 
 ^> 6 
 
 Quippe in vina iterum Christus (puto) transtulit undas ; 
 Et nunc iste suis ebrius est ab aquis. 
 
 Luc. ii. 7. 
 
 Non erat iis in diversorio locus. 
 
 Eg LLI non locus est ? Ilium ergo pellitis ? Ilium? 
 Ille Deus, quern sic pellitis ; ille Deus. 
 
 furor ! bumani miracula saeva furoris ! 
 Illi non locus est, quo sine nee \ocus est. 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 275 
 
 Luc. xvi. 
 In lacryrnas Lazari spretas a Divite, 
 P ELIX o ! lacrymis (6 Lazare) ditior istis, 
 Quam qui purpureas it gravis inter opes ! 
 
 Ilium cum rutin" nova purpura vestiet ignis, 
 Ille tuas lacrymas quam volet esse suas ! 
 
 Matth. xxvi. 65, 
 Indignatur C alphas Ohristo se conjitenti. 
 -*^U Christum, Christum quod non negat esse, 
 lacessis : 
 Ipsius hoc crimen, quod fuit ipse, fait. 
 
 Te ne Sacerdotem credam ? Noyus ille Sacerdos, 
 Per quern impune Deo non licet esse Deum. 
 
 Joan. xii. 37, 
 Cum tot signa edidisset, non credebunt in eum. 
 S^SP^RON tibi, Christe, fidem tua tot miracula 
 3 fls^l R prsestant ; 
 ^W£^S (0 verbi, 6 dextrse dulcia regna tuae !) 
 
 Non prsestant ? neque te post tot miracula credunt ' 
 Mirac'lum, qui non credidit, ipse fuit. 
 
276 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Marc. i. 16. 
 Ad S. Andream piscatorern. 
 \ UIPPE potes pulcbre captare et fallere pisces ! 
 Centum illic discis lubricus ire dolis. 
 
 Heus bone piscator ! tendit sua retia Christus : 
 Artem inverte, et jam tu quoque disce capi. 
 
 Joan. i. 23. 
 Ego sum Vox, Sfc. 
 
 OX ego sum, dicis : tu vox es, sancte Joannes ? 
 Si vox es, genitor cm* tibi mutus erat? 
 
 Ista tui fuerant quam mira silentia patris ! 
 Vocem non liabuit tunc quoque ciun genuit. 
 
 Act. xii. 
 Vincula sponte decidunt. 
 UI ferro Petrum ciunulas, durissime custos, 
 A ferro disces mollior esse tuo. 
 
 Ecce fluit, nodisque suis evolvitur ultro : 
 I fatue. et vinc'lis vincula pone tuis. 
 
EPIGEAMMATA SACRA. 277 
 
 In diem omnium Sanctorum. 
 
 Key. vii. 3. 
 
 Ne Icedite terram, neque mare, neque arbores, quousque 
 obsignaverimus servos Dei nostri in frontibus suis. 
 
 ijUSQUAM immitis agat ventus sua murmur a : 
 nusquani 
 ^S Sylva treinat, crispis sollicitata comis. 
 
 iEqua Thetis placide allabens ferat oscula Terrse ; 
 Terra suos Thetidi pandat arnica sinus : 
 
 Undique pax effusa piis volet aurea pennis, 
 Frons bona dum signo est quae que notata suo. 
 
 Ah quid in hoc opus est signis aliunde petendis ? 
 Frons bona sat lacrymis quseque notata suis. 
 
 In die Conjurationis svljphureoe. 
 UAM bene dispositis annus dat currere festis ! 
 Post omnes Sanctos, omne scelus sequitur. 
 
 Deus sub utero Virginis. 
 CCE tuus, datura, pater ! pater hie tuus, hie 
 est : 
 ^ Hie, uterus matris quern tenet, ille pater. 
 
 Pellibus exiguis arctatur Filius ingens, 
 
 Quern tu non totum (crede) nee ipsa capis. 
 
 U 
 
278 EPIGBAMMATA SACBA. 
 
 Quanta uteri, Regina, tui reverentia tecum est, 
 Dum jacet hie, ccelo sub breviore, Deus ! 
 
 Conscia divino gliscunt prsecordia motu 
 (Nee vehit sethereos sanctior aura polos) 
 
 Quam bene sub tecto tibi concipiuntur eodem 
 Vota, et (vota cui concipienda) Deus ! 
 
 Quod nubes alia, et tanti super atria coeli 
 Quserunt, invenient hoc tua vota domi. 
 
 O felix anima haec, qua? tarn sua gaudia tangit ! 
 Sub conclave suo cui suus ignis adest. 
 
 Corpus arnet (licet) ilia suum, neque sidera malit : 
 Quod vine'lum est aliis, hoc habet ilia domum. 
 
 Sola jaces, neque sola ; toro quocunque recumbis, 
 Illo estis positi tuque tuusque toro. 
 
 Immo ubi casta tuo posita es cum conjuge conjunx, 
 (Quod mirum magis est) es tuus ipsa torus. 
 
 Act. vii. 16. 
 
 Ad Judceos mactatores Stephani. 
 
 i& RUSTRA ilium increpitant, frustra vaga saxa : 
 nee illi 
 Grandinis (heu ssevae !) dura procella nocet. 
 
 Ista potest tolerare ; potest nescire : sed illi. 
 Qua? sunt in vestro pectore, saxa nocent. 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 279 
 
 Key. i. 9. 
 
 B. Joannes in exilio. 
 
 XUL, amor Christi est : Christum tamen in- 
 venit exul : 
 Et solitos illic invenit ille sinus. 
 
 Ah Ion go, seterno ah terras indieite nohis 
 Exilio, Christi si sinus exiliuni est. 
 
 Matth. n. 
 
 Ad Infantes Marty res. 
 
 UXDITE ridentes animas ; efFundite coelo : 
 Discet ibi vestra (6 quam bene !) lingua loqui. 
 
 Nee yos lac Yestrum et maternos quserite fontes : 
 Quee vos expectat lactea tota Yia est. 
 
 Luc. n. 
 
 Quosrit Jesum suum beata Virgo. 
 
 H, redeas misers, redeas (puer alme) parenti ; 
 Ah, neque te coelis tarn cito redde tuis. 
 
 Coeluni nostra tuum fuerint 6 brachia, si te 
 Nostra suum poterunt brachia feiTe Deurn, 
 
280 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Matte:. VIII. 
 Non sum dignus ut sub tecta mea venias. 
 | N tua tecta Deus veniet : tuus haud sinit illud 
 Et pudor, at que humili in pectore celsa fides. 
 
 Ilium ergo accipies quoniam non accipis : ergo 
 In te jam veniet, non tua tecta, Deus. 
 
 Matth. xxyii. 12. 
 Christus accusatus nihil respondet. 
 I IL ait : o sanctae pretiosa silentia linguae ! 
 Ponderis 6 quanti res nihil illud erat ! 
 
 Hie olhn, verbum qui dixit, et omnia fecit, 
 Yerbum non dicens omnia nunc reficit. 
 
 Luc. ii. 
 Nunc dimittis. 
 
 RPESXE meas tandem ergo mei tumere lacerti ? 
 A Ergo bibunt ocidos lumina nostra tuos ? 
 
 Ergo bibant : possintque novam sperare juventam : 
 O possint senii non meminisse sui ! 
 
 Immo mihi potius mitem mors induat umbram 
 (Esse sub his ocidis si tamen umbra potest) 
 
 Ah satis est. Ego te vidi (puer auree) vidi : 
 Nil post te, nisi te ( Chris te) videre volo. 
 
EPIGBAMMATA SACBA. 281 
 
 Lrc. vih. 
 Verbum inter spinas. 
 g J£PE Dei verbum sentes cadit inter; et atrum 
 Miscet spina procax (ah mala juncta !) latus. 
 
 Credo quidein : nam sic spinas ah scilicet inter 
 Ipse Dens verbnm tu quoque (Christe) cadis. 
 
 Lrc. xiy. 5. 
 Sabbatum Judaicum et Christianum. 
 :4ES eadem vario qnantiun distingnitur nsu ! 
 Nostra hominem servant sabbata ; vestra 
 bo vera. 
 
 Observent igitur (pacto quid justius isto ?) 
 
 Sabbata nostra homines, sabbata vestra boves. 
 
 Matth. x. 52. 
 Ad verbum Dei sanatur ccecus. 
 jfeHRISTE, locutus eras (o sacra hcentia verbi !) 
 Jamqne novus caeci fluxit in ora dies. 
 
 Jam credo, Xeino* est, sicut Tu, Christe, loquutus : 
 Auribus ? immo oculis, Christe, loquutus eras. 
 
 * Joan. vii. 46. 
 
282 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Matth. xn. 
 
 Onus meum leve est. 
 
 SSE levis quicunque voles, onus accipe Christe : 
 Ala tuis humeris, non onus, illud erit. 
 
 Christi onus an quaeris quam sit grave ? scilicet audi, 
 Tarn grave, ut ad summos te premat usque polos. 
 
 Joan. vt. 
 
 Miraculum quinque panum. 
 
 CCE vagi venit unda cibi ; venit indole sacra 
 Fortis, et in dentes fertilis innumeros. 
 
 Quando erat invictae tarn sancta licentia ccenae ? 
 Ilia famem populi poscit, et ilia fidem. 
 
 Joan. vrn. 52. 
 
 Nunc scimus te habere dcernonium. 
 
 UT Deus, aut saltern daemon tibi notior esset, 
 (Gens mala) quae dicis daemona habere Deum. 
 
 Ignorasse Deum poteras, 6 caeca ; sed oro, 
 Et patrem poteras tarn male nosse tuum ? 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 283 
 
 In beatce Virginis verecundiam. 
 N greniio, quseris, cur sic sua lumina Virgo 
 Ponat ? ubi melius poneret ilia, precor ? 
 
 O ubi, quam coelo, melius sua lumina ponat 
 Despicit, at coelum sic tamen ilia videt. 
 
 In vulnera Dei ' joendentis. 
 
 FKONTIS, lateris, manuumque pedumque 
 cruores ! 
 O qua3 purpureo flumina fonte patent ! 
 
 In nostram (ut quondam) pes non valet ire salutem 
 Sed natat; in fluviis (ah !) natat ille suis. 
 
 Fixa manus ; dat, fixa : pios bona dextera rores 
 Donat, et in donum solvitur ipsa suum. 
 
 O latus, 6 torrens ! quis enim torrentior exit 
 Nilus, ubi pronis prsecipitatur aquis ? 
 
 Mille et mille simul cadit et cadit undique guttis 
 Frons : viden' ut saBvus purpuret ora pudor ? 
 
 Spinse lioc irriguae florent crudeliter imbre, 
 Inque novas sperant protinus ire rosas. 
 
 Quisque capillus it exiguo tener alveus amne, 
 Hoc quasi de rubro rivulus oceano. 
 
 O nimium vivse pretiosis amnibus undse ! 
 Fons vitse nunquam verior ille fuit. 
 
284 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA, 
 
 Matth. ix. 11. 
 
 Quare cum Publicanis manducat Magister vester 1 
 
 jlEGO istis socium se peccatoribus addit ? 
 
 |g5 Ergo istis sacrum non negat ille latus ? 
 
 Tu, Pharissee, rogas Jesus cur fecerit istud ? 
 Nae dicam : Jesus, non Pharisseus, erat. 
 
 Matth. xxviii. 
 
 Ecce locus ubijacuit Dominus. 
 
 i PSUM, ipsum (precor) o potius mihi (candide) 
 
 monstra : 
 ^ Ipsi, ipsi, o lacrymis oro sit ire meis. 
 
 Si monstrare locum satis est, et dicere nobis, 
 En, Maria, hie tuus en, hie jacuit Dominus ; 
 
 Ipsa ulnas, monstrare meas, et dicere possum, 
 En, Maria, hie tuus en, hie jacuit Dominus. 
 
 <&a3LyE, yo) aurov yaXhov yoi dsuiwOi avrov. 
 Autos you, o^Eoyai, auTog £%>? danpua. 
 
 El 5k tottov yoi oeihvuvou txhig ear i, nai eltteiv 
 'XI Se TEog Nlagiay (J]vi^e) keito <zvcc%. 
 
 'Ayxoivxg you o^eikvuvcu o^uvayoi ys, kcci el7TEiv 
 'XI Se TEog Magiay (vvioe) keito aval;. 
 
EPIGBAMMATA SACRA. 285 
 
 Luc. XYII. 
 Leprosi ingrati. 
 
 EX jubet ex hominum coetu procul ire leprosos : 
 At mundi a Christo cur abiere procul ? 
 
 Non abit, at sedes tantum mutavit in illis ; 
 Et lepra, quae fuerat corpore, mente sedet. 
 
 Sic igitur digna vice res variatur ; et a se 
 
 Quam procul ante homines, nunc habuere Deum. 
 
 Joan. xx. 
 In cicatrices quas Christus habet in se adhuc superstates. 
 
 jSUICQUID spina procax, vel stylo clavus acuto, 
 Quicquid purpurea scripserat hasta nota, 
 
 Vivit adhuc tecum : sed jam tua vulnera non sunt : 
 Non, sed vulneribus sunt medicina meis. 
 
 Act. y. 
 JEger implorat umbrarn D. Petri. 
 
 ETRE, tua lateam paulisper (Petre) sub 
 umbra : 
 Sic mea me quserent fata, nee invenient. 
 
 Umbra dabit tua posse meum me cernere solem ; 
 Et mea lux umbrae sic erit umbra tua?. 
 
286 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Luc. xxrv. 39. 
 
 Quid turbati estis ? Videte manus meets et pedes, 
 
 quia ego ipse sum. 
 
 N me, et signa mei, quondam mea vulnera ! 
 certe, 
 Vos nisi credetis, vulnera sunt et adhuc. 
 
 O nunc ergo fidem sanent mea vulnera vestram : 
 O mea nunc sanet vulnera vestra fides. 
 
 1 
 
 Act. xn. 
 In vinculo, Petro sponte delapsa, et apertas fores. 
 
 \ ERRI non meminit ferrum : se vincula Petro 
 Dissimulant : nescit career habere fores. 
 
 Quam bene liber erit, career quern liberat ! ipsa 
 Vincula quern solvunt, quam bene tutus erit ! 
 
 Act. xix. 12. 
 Deferebantur a corpore ejus sudaria, Sfc. 
 
 f MPERIOSA premunt morbos, et ferrea fati 
 Jura ligant, Pauli lintea tacta nianu. 
 
 Unde hsec felicis laus est et gloria lini ? 
 Hsec (reor) e Lachesis pensa fecere colo. 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 287 
 
 Joan. xv. 
 Christus Vitis ad Vinitorem Patrem. 
 X serpit tua, purpureo tua palmite vitis 
 Serpit, et (ah !) spretis it per humum foliis. 
 
 Tu viti succurre tuae, mi Vinitor ingens : 
 
 Da fulcrum ; fulcrum da mihi : quale ? crucem. 
 
 Act. xxvi. 28. 
 Pene persuades mihi utfiam Christianus. 
 
 'ENE ? quid hoc pene est ? Yicinia saeva salutis ! 
 O quam tu malus es proximitate boni ! 
 
 Ah ! portu qui teste perit, bis naufragus ille est ; 
 Huuc non tarn pelagus, quam sua terra premit. 
 
 Quae nobis spes vix absunt, crudelius absunt : 
 Pene sui felix, emphasis est miseri. 
 
 Joan. in. 19. * 
 
 Lux venit in mundum, sed dileocerunt homines magis 
 tenebras quam lucem. 
 I UCE sua venit ecce Deus, mundoque refulget ; 
 Pergit adhuc tenebras mundus amare suas. 
 
 At Stygiis igitur mundus damnabitur umbris : 
 Pergit adhuc tenebras mundus amare suas ? 
 
288 EPIGBAMMATA SACBA. 
 
 Luc. XVI. 
 
 Dives implorat guttam. 
 
 MIHI si digito tremat et treniat unica summo 
 Gutta ! o si flammas mulceat una meas ! 
 
 Currat opum quocunque volet levis unda mearum ; 
 Una mihi hasc detur gemmula, Dives ero. 
 
 Joan. hi. 4. 
 
 Quomodo potest homo gigni qui est senexl 
 
 WjIC, Phoenix unde in nitidos novus emicat annos ; 
 [ Plaudit et elusos aurea penna rogos ? 
 
 Quis colubrem dolus insinuat per secula retro, 
 Et jubet emeritum luxuriare latus ? 
 
 Cur rostro pereunte suam prsedata senectam 
 Torva ales, rapido plus legit ore diem ? 
 
 Immo, sed adnixus pra3stat Lucina secundos ? 
 Natales seros unde senex habeat. 
 
 Ignoras, Pharissee ? sat est : jam credere disees : 
 Dimidium fidei, qui bene nescit, habet. 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA, 289 
 
 Marc. xi. 13. 
 Arbor Christ i ' jussu arescens. 
 &>LLE jubet : procul ite niei, mea gloria, rami : 
 Nulla vocet nostras amplius aura comas. 
 
 Ite ; nee 6 pigeat : nam tos neque fulminis ira, 
 Xec trucis ala Xoti yerberat : ille jubet. 
 
 O vox ! 6 Zepbjro yel sic quo que dulcior omni ! 
 Non possum Autumno nobiliore frui. 
 
 Luc. i. 12. 
 
 Zacharias minus credens. 
 NFAXTES fore te patrem, res mira yidetur ; 
 Infans interea factus es ipse pater. 
 
 Et dum promissi signum (nimis anxie) quseris, 
 Jam nisi per signmn quserere nulla potes. 
 
 Joan. in. 
 In aquam baptismi Dominici. 
 ELIX 6, sacros cui sic licet ire per artus ! 
 Felix ! diun la vat hunc, ipsa lavatur aqua. 
 
 Gutta quidem sacros qusecunque perambulat artus. 
 Dum manet hie, gemma est ; dum cadit hinc, lacryma. 
 u 
 
290 EPIGBAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Luc. xiii. 11. 
 
 Mulieri incurvatce meditur Dominus, indignante 
 
 Archisynagogo. 
 
 ^fM^&$t N proprios replicata sinus qua3 repserat, et jam 
 
 jfcS W?§? DaBmonis (infelix !) nil nisi nodus erat, 
 
 Solvitur ad digitum Domini : sed strictior illo 
 Unicus est nodus ; cor, Pharissee, tuum. 
 
 Matth. xxii. 46. 
 Neque ausus fuit quisquam ex illo die eum aryiplius 
 interrogare. 
 IHEISTE, malas fraudes, Pharisaica retia, 
 fallis : 
 Et miseros sacro discutis ore dolos. 
 
 Ergo tacent tandem, at que invita silentia servant : 
 Tarn bene non aliter te potuere loqui. 
 
 Matth. xx. 20. 
 S, Joannes matri suae. 
 MIHI cur dextram, mater, cur, oro, sinistram 
 Poscis, ab officio mater iniqua tuo ? 
 
 Nolo manum Christi dextram mihi, nolo sinistram : 
 Tarn procul a sacro non libet esse sinu. 
 
EPIGEAMMATA SACEA. 291 
 
 Matth. IV. 
 
 Si films Dei es, dejice te. 
 
 Si se dejiciat Ckristus de vertice Templi, 
 Xon credes quod sit Filius ille Dei. 
 
 At mox te kumano de pectore dejicit : heus tu, 
 Xon credes quod sit Filius ille Dei ? 
 
 Luc. xrs. 41. 
 
 Dominus fleas ad Judceos. 
 
 ISCITE vos rniseri, venientes discite flam- 
 mas; 
 Xec facite 6 lacrymas sic periisse meas. 
 
 Nee periisse tamen poterunt : mihi credite, vestras 
 Vel reprimet flammas hsec aqua, vel faciet. 
 
 Luc. xvni. 11. 
 
 Nee velut Tiic Publicanus. 
 
 STUM ? vile caput ! quantum mibi gratulor, 
 inquis, 
 Istum quod novi tarn mihi dissimilem ! 
 
 Vilis at iste abiit sacris acceptior aris : 
 I nunc, et jactes hunc tibi dissimilem. 
 
292 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Act. ix. 3. 
 
 In Scmlum fulgore nimio exccecatum. 
 
 TXZE lucis tenebrse ? quae nox est ista diei ? 
 Xox nova, quam nimii luminis umbra facit ! 
 
 An Saulus fuerit caucus, vix dicere possum ; 
 Hoc scio, quod captus lumine Saulus erat. 
 
 Luc. x. 23. 
 Beati oculi qui viclent. 
 
 I^U^NI Cbristus nostris ibat mitissimus oris, 
 S§ At que novum crecos jussit habere diem, 
 
 Felices, oculos qui tunc habuere, vocantur? 
 Felices, et qui non babuere, voco. 
 
 Luc. vn. 15. 
 
 Films e feretro matri redditur. 
 
 KGONE tarn subita potuit vice flebilis horror 
 In natalitia candidus ire toga ? 
 
 Quos vidi, matri s gemitus hos esse dolentis 
 Credideram ; gemitus partiirientis erant. 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 293 
 
 Matth. xi. 25. 
 In seculi sapientes. 
 ^5 EGOXE delitias facit, et sibi plaudit ab alto 
 Stultitia, ut velit liac ambitione pati ? 
 
 Difficilisne acleo facta est, et seria tandem ? 
 Ergo et in hanc etiam quis sapuisse potest ? 
 
 Tantum erat, ut possit tibi doctior esse ruina ? 
 Tanti igitur cerebri res, periisse, fuit ? 
 
 Nil opus ingenio ; nihil hac opus arte furoris : 
 Simplicius poteris scilicet esse miser. 
 
 Luc. rv. 29. 
 In Judceos Christum jprcecipitare conantes. 
 
 SICITE, quae tanta est sceleris fiducia vestri? 
 Quod nequiit daemon, id voluisse scelus ? 
 
 Quod nequiit daemon scelus, id voluisse patrare ! 
 Hoc tentare ipsum daemona (crede) fuit. 
 
 Eev. vii. 9. 
 In Draconem jprcecipitem. 
 FEUSTEA truculente ; tuas procul aurea 
 rident 
 $%£MT& Astra minas, coelo jam bene tuta suo. 
 
 Tune igitur ccelum super ire atque astra parabas ? 
 Ascensu tanto non opus ad barathrum. 
 
294 EPIGBAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Luc. H. 
 Beatce Virgini credenti. 
 |IKAKIS (quid enim faceres?) sed et haec 
 ^ §w%i R\ quoque credis : 
 
 j» 
 
 Haec uteri credis dulcia monstra tui. 
 
 En fidei, Kegina, tuae dignisshna merces ! 
 Fida Dei fueras filia ; mater eris. 
 
 Marc, xii. 
 Licetne Ccesari censum dare? 
 
 ST tot Scribarum (Christe) in te proelia, tandem 
 Ipse venit Caesar : Caesar in arma venit. 
 
 Pugnant terribiles non Caesaris ense, sed ense 
 Caesare : quin Caesar vinceris ipse tamen. 
 
 Hoe quoque tu conscribe tuis, Auguste, triumphis. 
 Sic vinci dignus quis nisi Caesar erat ? 
 
 Matth. IX. 
 
 In tibicines et turbam tumultuantem circa defunctam. 
 
 £ ANT, quid strepitis ? nam, quamvis dormiat* 
 ilia, 
 Non tamen e somno est sic revocanda suo. 
 
 Expectat solos Christi sopor iste susurros : 
 
 Dormit enim ; sed non omnibus ilia tamen. 
 Vers. 24. Non enim mortua est puella, sed dormit. 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 295 
 
 Matte:, yi. 19. 
 
 Piscatores vocati. 
 
 UDITE jam pisces secura per aequora : pisces 
 Nos quoque (sed varia sub ratione) sumus. 
 
 Non potuisse capi, vobis spes una salutis : 
 Una salus nobis est, potuisse eapi. 
 
 Marc, xn. 
 
 Date Ccesari. 
 
 ^inSTCTA Deo debentur : babet tamen et sua 
 Caesar ; 
 Xec minus inde Deo est, si sua Caesar babet. 
 
 Non minus inde Deo est, solio si caetera dantur 
 Caesareo, Caesar cum datur ipse Deo. 
 
 Matth. xxi. 7. 
 
 Dominus asino veMtur, 
 
 ^ LLE igitur vilem te, te dignatur asellum, 
 O non vectura non bene digne tua ? 
 
 Heu quibus baud pugnat Cbristi patientia monstris ? 
 Hoc, quod sic fertur, boc quoque ferre fuit. 
 
296 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Luc. xxi. 27. 
 
 Videbunt Filium hominis venientem in nube. 
 
 <&g£%p*MMO veni: aerios (6 Christe) accingere cur- 
 
 $^?cSb & Inque triumphali nube coruscus ades. 
 
 Nubem queeris ? erunt nostra (ah !) suspiria nubes : 
 Aut sol in nubem se dabit ipse tuam. 
 
 Joan. xx. 
 
 Nisi digitum immisero, Sfc. 
 
 MPIUS ergo iteriun clavos ? iterum impius 
 rJk hastam ? 
 
 Et totum digitus triste revolvet opus ? 
 
 Tune igitur Christum (Thoma) quo vivere credas, 
 In Christum faceres (ah truculente !) mori ? 
 
 Act. viii. 
 
 Ad Judceos mactatores S. Stephani. 
 
 UID datis (ah miseri !) saxis nolentibus iras ? 
 u Quid nimis in tragicum prsecipitatis opus ? 
 
 In mortem Stephani se dant in vita : sed illi 
 Occiso faciunt sponte sua tumulum. 
 
EPIGEAMMATA SACRA. 297 
 
 Sancto Joanni, dilecto discipulo. 
 
 . £* pff -IT fruere ; augustoque sinu caput abde (quod 
 )M S 6 turn 
 ^A Nollet in seterna se posuisse rosa) 
 
 Tu fruere : et sacro dum te sic pectore portat, 
 O sat erit tergo me potuisse vehi. 
 
 aLatth. n. 
 In lactentes Marty res. 
 ULNERA natorum qui yidit, et libera matrum, 
 J^ Per pueros flnviis (ah !) simul ire suis ; 
 
 HI 
 
 Sic pueros quisquis vidit, dubitavit, an illos 
 Lilia ccelorum diceret, anne rosas. 
 
 Matth. i. 23. 
 
 Deus nobiscum. 
 
 % t OBISCUM Deus est ? vestrum hoc est (hei 
 rnihi !) vestrum : 
 Yobiscum Deus est, 6 asini atque boves. 
 
 Nobiscum non est : nam nos domus aurea sumit : 
 Nobiscum Deus est, et jacet in stabulo ? 
 
 Hoc igitur nostrum ut fiat (dulcissime Jesu) 
 Nos dandi stabulis, vel tibi danda domus. 
 
298 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Christus circumcisus ad Patrem. 
 
 AS en primitias nostra? (Pater) accipe mortis; 
 (Yitam ex quo sumpsi, vivere dedidici) 
 
 Ira (Pater) tua de pluvia gustaverit ista : 
 Olirn ibit fluviis hoc latus omne suis. 
 
 Tunc sitiat licet et sitiat, bibet et bibet usque : 
 Tunc poterit toto fonte superba frui. 
 
 Nunc hastae interea possit prseludere culter : 
 Indolis in poenas spes erit ista mese. 
 
 In Epiphaniam Domini. 
 
 ON solita contenta dies face lucis Eoae, 
 Ecce micat* radiis csesariata no vis. 
 
 Persa sagax, propera : discurre per ardua reguru 
 Tecta, per auratas marmoreasque domus : 
 
 Quaere 6, qua? intepuit Keginse purpura partu ; 
 Principe vagitu qua? domus insonuit. 
 
 Audin' Persa sagax ? Qui tanta negotia coelo. 
 Fecit, Bethleniiis vagiit in stabulis. 
 
EPIGBAMMATA SACRA. 299 
 
 Lrc. n. 49. 
 
 Ecce qacerebamus te, Sfc. 
 
 *^ ? jS?E qusero misera, et qusero : tu nunc quoque 
 & tractas 
 
 Res Patris : Pater est nnica cura tibi : 
 
 Quippe quod ad poenas tantum et tot nomina mortis, 
 Ad luctum et lacrjmas (hei milii !) mater ego. 
 
 Jo ax. n. 
 
 Aquce in vinum versa. 
 
 XDE rubor vestris, et non sua purpura lym- 
 phis? 
 Quse rosa mirantes tarn nova mutat aquas ? 
 
 Numen (convivse) praesens agnoscite Xumen : 
 Nympna pudica Deum vidit, et erubuit. 
 
 Matth. Yin. 13. 
 
 Absenti Centurionis filio Dominas absens medetur. 
 
 M UAM tacitis inopina salus illabitur alis ! 
 Alis, quas illi vox tua, Christe, dedit, 
 
 Quam longas vox ista manus babet ! haec medicina 
 Absens, et prsesens haec medicina fuit. 
 
300 EPIOBAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Marc. iv. 40. 
 Quid timidi esiis. 
 AXQUAM illi insanus faceret sua fulniina 
 ventus ! 
 ^irrJt^ Tanquain illi scopulos norit habere fretum ! 
 
 Vos vestri scopuli, yos estis ventus et unda : 
 Naufragium cum illo qui metuit, meruit. 
 
 Luc. n. 
 Nunc dimittis. 
 
 TE mei(quid enim ulterius, quid vultis ?) ocelli : 
 Leniter obductis ite superciliis. 
 
 Immo et adbuc et adhuc, iterumque iterumque videte ; 
 Accipite ha?c totis lumina luminibus. 
 
 Jamque ite ; et tutis 6 vos bene claudite vallis : 
 Servate haec totis lumina luminibus. 
 
 Primum est, quodpotui te (Christe) videre : secundum, 
 Te viso, recta jam potuisse mori. 
 
 Matte:, xin. 24. 
 In segetem sacram. 
 CCE suam implorat, demisso verfice, falcem : 
 Tu segeti falcem da (Pater aline) suam. 
 
 Tu falcem non das ? messem tu (Christe) moraris ? 
 Hoc ipsum falx est : haec mora messis erit. 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACBA. 301 
 
 Luc. vii. 37. 
 Ccepit lacrymis rigare pedes ejus, et capillis 
 extergebat. 
 NDA sacras sordes lambit placidissima : flavse 
 Larobit et banc undara lucida flanima coma?. 
 
 Ela per bas sordes it purior unda ; simuique 
 Die per bas lucet purior ignis aqua. 
 
 Luc. xvrri. 41. 
 
 Quid vis tibi faciam? 
 
 | TIED volo (Cbriste) rogas? quippe ah volo, 
 Christe, videre : 
 Quippe ad te (dulcis Christe) videre volo. 
 
 At video ; fideique oculis te nunc quoque figo : 
 Est mihi, qua3 nunquam est non oculata, fides. 
 
 Sed quamvis videam, tamen ah volo (Christe) videre : 
 Sed quoniam video (Christe) videre volo. 
 
 Matth. xv. 21. 
 
 Christus mulieri Canaanece dvfftcilior. 
 
 ? T pretium facias dono, donare recusas : 
 
 L T sque rogat supplex, tutamen usque negas. 
 
 Hoc etiam donare fuit, donare negare. 
 Ssepe dedit, quisquis ssepe negata dedit. 
 
302 EPIGBAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Luc. ii. 
 Beatus venter et ubera, <$fc. 
 
 | T quid si biberet Jesus vel ab ubere vestro ? 
 % W$Sil Q* 11 ^ ^ ac ^ a ^ vestram, quod bibit ille, sitim ? 
 
 libera mox sua et hie (6 quam nou lactea !) pandet : 
 E nato mater turn bibet ipsa suo. 
 
 Joan. xv. 1. 
 
 In Christum vitem. 
 
 LMUM vitis amat (quippe est et in arbore 
 flamma, 
 Quam fovet in viridi pectore blandus amor :) 
 
 Illam ex arboribus cunctis tu (vitis) amasti, 
 Illani, qusecunque est, qua3 crucis arbor erat. 
 
 Joan. xvi. 20. 
 
 Vos flebitis et lament abimini. 
 
 EGO mihi salvete mei, mea gaudia, luctus : 
 Quam cbarum (6 Deus) est hoc mihi flere 
 meum ! 
 
 Flerem, ni flerem : solus tu (dulcis Jesu) 
 Lsetitiam donas tunc quoque quando negas. 
 
A 
 
 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 303 
 
 Joan. x. 
 
 In gregem Uhristi Pastoris. 
 
 GEEX, o nimium tanto Pastore beatus ! 
 O ubi sunt tanto pascua digna grege ? 
 
 ~Ne non digna forent tanto grege pascua, Christus 
 Ipse suo est Pastor, pascuum et ipse gregi. 
 
 In vulnera pendentis Domini. 
 
 \p. LYE oculos, sire ora vocem tua yulnera ; certe 
 ^^j>l Undique sunt ora (lieu !) undique sunt oculi. 
 
 Ecce ora ! 6 nimium roseis florentia labris ! 
 Ecce oculi ! saevis ah madidi lacrymis ! 
 
 Magdala, quse lacrjmas solita es, quae basia sacro 
 Ferre pedi, sacro de pede sume vices. 
 
 Ora pedi sua sunt, tua quo tibi basia reddat : 
 Quo reddat laciynias scilicet est oculos. 
 
 Marc. ii. 
 
 Paralyticus convaJescens. 
 
 ^HEISTUM, quod misero facilispeccata remittit, 
 IJjMjl Scribse blaspbemum dicere non dubitant 
 
 ^7* 
 
 Hoc scelus ut primum Paralyticus audiit : ira 
 Impatiens, lectum sustulit at que abiit, 
 
304 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Joan. vin. 59. 
 Tunc sustulerunt lapides. 
 AXA ? illi ? quid tarn foedi voluere furores ? 
 Quid sibi de saxis hi voluere suis ? 
 
 1 
 
 Indolem, et antiqui agnosco vestigia patris : 
 Pauem de saxis hi voluere suis. 
 
 In resurrectionem Domini. 
 
 i^ASCEKIS, en ! tecurnque tuus (Kex auree) 
 & mundus, 
 
 Tecum* Yirgineo nascitur e tumulo. 
 
 Tecum in natalis properat natura secundos, 
 Atque novam vitam te novus orbis habet. 
 
 Ex vita (Sol alme) tua vitam omnia sumunt ; 
 Nil certe, nisi mors, cogitur inde mori. 
 
 At certe neque mors : nempe ut queat ilia sepulchro 
 (Christe) tuo condi, mors volet ipsa mori. 
 
 Matth. xxvrn. 17. 
 Aliqiii vero dubitabant. 
 CILICET et tellus dubitat,f tremebunda : sed 
 ipsum hoc, 
 Quod tellus dubitat, vos dubitare vetat. 
 
 * Joan. 19. 41/Ev^I ovdeTrcj ovdeig erkOt]. 
 ] Vers. 2. 2ei<j}xbg iyevsro fisyag. 
 
EPIGRAIBIATA SACRA. 305 
 
 Ipsi custodes vobis, si quseritis, illud 
 
 Hoc ipso dicunt,* dicere quod nequeunt. 
 
 Joax. xx. 20. 
 
 In vulnerum vestigia quce ostendit Dominus, ad 
 
 firmandam suorumfidem. 
 
 IS oculis (nee adhuc clausis coiere fenestris) 
 Invioilans nobis est tuus usus amor. 
 
 His oculis nos cernit amor tuus : his et amorem 
 (Christe) tuum gaudet cernere nostra fides. 
 
 Luc. vn. 19. 
 Mittit Joannes qui quwrant a Christo, an is sit. 
 U qui adeo impatiens properasti agnoscere 
 Christum, 
 Tunc cum claustra utere te tenuere tui, 
 
 Tu, quis sit Christus, rogitas ? et quaeris ab ipso ? 
 Hoc tibi vel mutus dicere quisque potest. 
 
 Joax. xvni. 10. 
 In Petrum auricidam. 
 f UAXTOICUXQUE ferox tuus hie (Petre) 
 fulminat ensis, 
 Tu tibi jam pugnas (o bone) non Domino. 
 
 Scilicet in miseram furis implacidissimus aurem, 
 Perfidiae testis ne queas esse tuaa. 
 
 * Vers. 4. 'EaeiGOricav 01 ttjpovvtec, icai sykvovro cjaei vsKpoi 
 x 
 
306 EPIGEAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Marc. iii. 
 
 Mantis arefacta sanatur. 
 
 I ELIX ! ergo tuse spectas natalia dextra?, 
 Qua3 modo spectanti flebile funus erat. 
 
 Quae nee in externos modo dextera profuit usus, 
 Certe erit ilia tuse jam manus et fidei. 
 
 Matth. xxvii. 24. 
 
 In Pont mm male laiitum. 
 
 1?S§ LLA manus lavat unda tuas, vanissime judex : 
 Ah tamen ilia scelus non lavat unda tuum. 
 
 Nulla scelus lavet unda tuum : vel si lavet ulla, 
 O volet ex oculis ilia venire tuis. 
 
 Matth. xyii. 27* 
 
 In piscem dotatum, 
 
 IT piscem si, Christe, velis, venit eece, suumque 
 Fert pretium : tanti est vel periisse tibi. 
 
 Christe, foro tibi non opus est ; addieere nummos 
 Non opus est : ipsum se tibi piscis emet. 
 
EP1GBAMMATA SACRA. 307 
 
 Joan. xyi. 33. 
 Ego vici mundum. 
 ftSU contra mundum dux es meus, op time Jesu? 
 At tu (me miserum !) dux meus ipse jaces. 
 
 Si tu, dux meus, ipse jaces, spes ulla salutis ? 
 Immo, ni jaceas tu, mihi nulla salus. 
 
 In ascensionem Domini. 
 ADIT (Io !) per aperta sui penetralia cceli : 
 It ccelo, et ccelum fundit ab ore novum. 
 
 Spargitur ante pedes, et toto sidere pronus 
 Jam propius Solis Sol bibit ora sui. 
 
 At fratri debere negans sua lumina Phoabe, 
 Aurea de Pbcebe jam meliore redit. 
 
 Hos, de te victo, tu das (Pater) ipse triumpnos : 
 Unde triumphares, quis satis alter erat ? 
 
 In descensum Spiritus sanctl. 
 
 AM cceli circum tonuit fragor : arma, minasque 
 Turbida cum flammis mista ferebat biems. 
 
 Exclamat Judeeus atrox ; Tenit ecce nefandis, 
 Ecce venit meriti fulniinis ira memor. 
 
308 EPIGBAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Verum ubi composito sedit fax blandior astro, 
 Flammaque non laesas lambit arnica comas ; 
 
 Judaeis, fulmen quia falsum apparuit esse, 
 Hoc ipso verum nomine fulmen erat. 
 
 ObpaVOV SK TO 7TY\0~£ @$0(JL0g* 7T07\E(Jl,0U tea) <X7T£lXa$ 
 
 'Hys Tf Bx m avEftog o~uv <p\oy) <r(juftateYi. 
 
 Ausv 'loudaio? (mo. pa, arvyspcov ra na^va 
 > 'E<p9a<rs T7]g opyY\g to tt^sttov ov^avirj;. 
 
 "Ahha yaXwaico or 2 nzivai y\o~vxov acr^co 
 
 Qteyfjia, nat afiXyroug *£J%£ (piXov TrXovajAQug, 
 
 "ExQaf/.@Ei. bri yap, nsivoig ovk rjsv aXYidhs, 
 Nuv sreov hori rcoh^e ns^avvo; eijv.* 
 
 Joan. m. 16. 
 Sic dileccit mundum Deus, lit Filium morti traduit. 
 
 ^A^^H nimis est, ilium nostras vel tradere vitae : 
 jg|tr\w Guttula quod faceret, cur facit oceanus ? 
 
 Unde et luxuriare potest, habet bine mea vita : 
 Ample et magnifice mors 'habet unde mori. 
 * Not in the edition of 1634. 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 309 
 
 Luc. xiv. 19. 
 Juga bourn emi. 
 D ccenam voco te (domini quod jussa volebant) 
 Tu mihi, nescis quos, dicis (inepte) boves. 
 
 Inio vale, nobis nee digne nee utilis hospes ! 
 Coena tuos (credo) malit habere boves. 
 
 Act. xiv. 
 D. Paulum, verbo sanantem claudum, pro Mercurio 
 Lystres adorant. 
 \ UIS Tagus hie, quae Pactoli nova volvitur unda ? 
 ISTon hominis vox est hsec : Deus ille, Deus. 
 
 Salve, raortales nimium dignate penates ! 
 Digna Deo soboles, digna tonante Deo ! 
 
 O salve ! quid enim (alme) tuos latuisse volebas ? 
 Te dicit certe vel tua lingua Deum. 
 
 Laudem hanc haud miror : meruit facundus haberi, 
 Qui claudo promptos suasit habere pedes. 
 
 In S. Columbam ad Christi caput sedentern. 
 UI sacra siderea volueris suspenditur ala ? 
 Hunc nive plus niveum cui dabit ilia pedem ? 
 
 Christe, tuo capiti totis se destinat auris, 
 Qua ludit densa? blandior umbra comae . 
 
310 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Illic arcano quid non tibi murmure narrat ? 
 (Murmure mortales non imitante sonos) 
 
 Sola avis hsec nido hoc non est indigna cubare : 
 Solus nidus hie est hac bene dignus ave. 
 
 TLn Ta^vE^yog aysi Trrsguy ao-TEpOECCocv eoet/jloc, : 
 "H Tivi keivo, (pegEi ty\v 7ro$a %iov£v?v ; 
 
 XgUTTE TE7] KE(pa\y\ TTOLdOLig TTTEpVyE<T<nV E7TEiyEl' 
 Uri <JKi(X TOL ^a(TL0lg TTai^E jULCtXa TThOKOCfAQlC. 
 
 Ylolcx col a^Yirco ^upia^aTi keiv ocyopEVEi ; 
 'A^nr, ouk r\%^ i[(Ja M EV avfyoftsvig. 
 
 Mouva fXEV y¥ o^vig xahiag kg a^ia rocvTYig" 
 
 Act. xii. 
 In fores Divi Petro sponte apertas. 
 
 UID juvit clausisse fores (bone janitor) istas ? 
 Et Petro claves jam liquet esse suas. 
 
 Dices, sponte patent : Petri ergo hoc scilicet ipsuin 
 Est clavis, Petro clave quod baud opus est. 
 
 * Not in the edition of 1634. 
 
EPIGBAMMATA SACRA. 311 
 
 Luc. xv. 12. 
 Murmurahant Phariscei, dicentes,' Reeipit peccatores 
 et comedit cum illis. 
 \H male, quisquis is est, pereat ! qui scilicet istis 
 Convivam (ssevus !) non sinit esse suum. 
 
 Istis cum Christus conviva adjungitur, istis 
 non conviva est Christus, at ipse cibus. 
 
 Matth. xv. 
 In trabem Pharisaicam. 
 |EDANT, quae, rerum si quid tenue atque 
 minutum est, 
 Posse acie certa figere, vitra dabunt. 
 
 Artis opus mirae ! Pharisseo en optica trabs est, 
 Ipsum (vera loquor) qua videt ille nihil. 
 
 Joax. ix. 22. 
 Constituerunt ut si quis confiteretur eum esse 
 
 Christum, synagoga moveretur. 
 pNTELIX, Christum reus es quicunque colendi ! 
 O reus infelix ! quam tua culpa gravis ! 
 
 Tu summis igitur, summis damnabere ccelis : 
 O reus infelix ! quam tua poena gravis ! 
 
312 EPIGBAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Matth. xx. 20. 
 Be voto filiorum Zebedcei. 
 
 IT tibi (Joannes) tibi sit ( Jacobe) quod optas : 
 Sit tibi dextra manus ; sit tibi lseva manus. 
 
 Spero, alia in coelo est, et non incommoda, sedes : 
 Si neque laeva mantis ; si neque dextra manus. 
 
 Cceli lianc aut illam nolo mihi quserere partem ; 
 0, coalum, coelum da (Pater alme) mihi. 
 
 Joan. yi. 
 
 Ad hospites coence miracidosce quinque panum. 
 
 ESCERE pane tuo : sed et (hospes) vescere 
 Christo : 
 Et panis pani scilicet ille tuo. 
 
 Tunc pane hoc Christi recte satur (hospes) abibis, . 
 Panem ipsum Christum si magis esurias. 
 
 Joan. xvi. 33. 
 
 De Christo contra mundum piigna. 
 
 TINE, miser ? tu (mundus ait) mea fulmina 
 contra 
 Ferre manus, armis cum tibi nuda manus ? 
 
 I lictor : manibusque audacibus injice vinc'la : 
 Injecit lictor vincula, et arma dedit. 
 
EPIGRA11MATA SACRA. 313 
 
 Act. ix. 29. 
 
 Greed disjnUatores Divo Paulo mortem machinantur. 
 
 I UGE argunientum ! sic disputat : euge sophista ! 
 Sic pugnum Logices stringere, sic decuit. 
 
 Hoc argumentuin in causani quid (Grseeule) dicit ? 
 Dicit, te in causam dicere posse nihil. 
 
 Luc. xxtt. 26. 
 
 Qui maximus est inter vos, esto sicut qui minimus. 
 
 BONE, discipulus Christe vis maximus esse ? 
 At vero fies hac ratione minor. 
 
 Hoc sanctse ambitionis iter (mini crede) tenendum est, 
 Hsec ratio ; Tu, ne sis minor, esse velis. 
 
 Lrc. xix. 41. 
 
 | OBIS (Judsei) vobis haec vohitur unda ; 
 Qua3 vobis, quoniam spemitis, ignis erit. 
 
 Eia faces (Eomane) faces ! seges ilia furoris, 
 Non nisi ab his undis, ignea messis erit. 
 
314 EPIGRAMMATA SACBA. 
 
 Matth. rr. 
 
 Christies in JEgypto. 
 
 ^^TjTrLWC tu (Nile) tuis majori flumine monstra: 
 | pra If Hunc (nimis ignotum) die caput esse tibi. 
 
 Jam tibi (Nile) tumes : jam te quoque multus inunda : 
 Ipse tuae jam sis laetitiaB fluvius. 
 
 Matth. ix. 
 
 In ccecos Christum confitentes, Pharisczos abnegantes. 
 
 iiGty^SfcE mihi, tu (Pharissee ferox) tua lumina jactes : 
 1 1 En crocus ! Christum caucus at ille videt. 
 
 Tu (Pharissee) nequis in Christo cernere Christum : 
 Ille videt crocus ; crocus es ipse videns. 
 
 Matth. xvt. 24. 
 Si quis pone me veniet, tollat crucem et sequatur me. 
 
 pi EGO sequor, sequor, en ! quippe et mihi crux 
 ffjliilf niea, Christe, est: 
 
 k 
 
 Parva quidem; sed quam non satis, ecce, rego. 
 
 Non rego ? non parvam hanc ? ideo neque parva putanda 
 est. 
 Crux magna est, parvam non bene ferre crucem. 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 315 
 
 Luc. v. 28. 
 Relictis omnibus sequutus est mm. 
 
 UAS ^latthseus opes, ad Cliristi jussa, reliquit, 
 Turn primum vere ccepit habere suas. 
 
 Iste raalarum est usus opum bonus, unicus iste ; 
 Esse malas honiini, quas bene perdat, opes. 
 
 ]\Iatth. xxv. 29. 
 
 JEdificatis sepulchra Prophetarwm. 
 
 Wf^W AXCTOEOI in turaulis quid volt labor ille 
 
 |ffi colendis ? 
 
 ^^^ Sanctorum mortem non sinit ilia rnori. 
 
 Vane, Prophetarum quot ponis saxa sepulchris, 
 Tot testes lapidum, queis periere, facis. 
 
 Mabc. m. 
 
 In manum aridam qua Christo motet est miserettio. 
 
 'EEXDE (miser) Christum ; et cum Christo 
 ^ prende salutem : 
 
 At manca est (dices) dextera : prende tamen. 
 
 Ipsum hoc, in Christum, manus est : hoc prendere 
 Christum est, 
 Qua Christum prendas, non habuisse manum, 
 
316 EPIORAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Ad D. Lucam medicam. 
 ULLA mihi (Luca) de te medicamina posco, 
 Ipse licet medicus sis, licet seger ego : 
 
 Quippe ego in exemplum fidei dum te mihi pono, 
 Tu, niedice, ipse mihi es tu medicina mea. 
 
 Oudev, eyco, Aovtca, Trapa aov [aoi (papfMocnov alrco, 
 JLav av y largo; f)j£j kocv [aev eyco voae^og. 
 
 'A*A EV 0(7(0 TTCCfC&ZiyiAOt, TTE^Eig [MOL TTKTTIOS, aUT0$, 
 
 Ai/to; largos, s/aoi y kari eutEJTogiYi* 
 
 Luc. xiv. 4. 
 Hydropicus sanatus, Christum jam sitiens. 
 
 ELLITUR inde sitis ; sed et hinc sitis altera 
 surgit : 
 Hinc sitit ille magis, quo sitit inde minus. 
 
 Felix o, et mortem poterit qui temnere morbus ! 
 Cui vitae ex ipso fonte sititur aqua ! 
 
 In coetum ccelestem omnium Sanctorum. 
 
 pELICES animse ! quas coelo debita virtus 
 
 Jam potuit vestris inseruisse polis. 
 
 Hoc dedit egregii non parcus sanguinis usus, 
 Spesque per obstantes expatiata vias. 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 3M 
 
 O ver ! o longae semper seges aurea lucis ! 
 Nocte nee alterna dimidiata dies ! 
 
 O quae pal ma nianu ridet ! quae front e corona ! 
 O nix virgineae non temeranda togae ! 
 
 Pacis inocciduae vos illic ora videtis : 
 
 Yos Agni dulcis lumina : vos — Quid ago ? 
 
 Matte:, vrn. 13. 
 
 Christus absenti medetur. 
 
 'OX jam missa suas potuit jam tangere metas ? 
 O superi ! non hoc ire sed isse fuit. 
 
 Mirac'lum fait ipsa salus (bene credere possis) 
 Ipsum, mirac'lum est, quando salutis iter. 
 
 Joax. IX. 
 
 Ccecus natus. 
 
 ELIX, qui potuit tantae post nubila noctis 
 (0 dignum tanta nocte !) videre diem : 
 
 Felix ille oculus, felix utrinque putandus ; 
 Quod videt, et primum quod videt ille Deum. 
 
318 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Matth. IX. 
 Et ridebant ilium. 
 UCTIBUS in tantis, Christum ridere vacabat ? 
 Vanior iste fait risus, an iste dolor ? 
 
 Luctibus in tantis hie vester risus inepti, 
 (Credite mi) meruit maximus esse dolor. 
 
 Matth. xi. 25. 
 In sapientiam seculi. 
 OLI altum sapere (hoc veteres voluere magistri) 
 N~e retrahat lassos alta ruina gradus. 
 
 Immo mihi dico, Noli sapuisse profundum : 
 Non ego ad infernum me sapuisse velim. 
 
 In stabulum ubi natus est Dominus. 
 s§&Pt§P§ LLA domus stabulum ? non est (Puer auree) 
 
 ''cm Inf * 
 
 non est : 
 
 Ilia domus, qua3 tu nasceris, est stabulum ? 
 
 Ilia domus toto domus est pulcherrima mundo ; 
 Vix coelo dici vidt minor ilia tuo. 
 
 Cernis ut ilia suo passim domus arcleat auro ? 
 Cernis ut effusis rideat ilia rosis ? 
 
 Sive aurum non est, nee quae rosa rideat illic ; 
 Ex oculis facile est esse probare tuis, 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 319 
 
 Ol'xog o$s kg ccvKn. ov /uvi. asog olttog, 'lycou, 
 Ey § co rv TiHTY\ ai/hiov ov tteXetou, 
 
 GI'jcuv [aev ttolvtcov [jLix'ha S>j KaXXiQ-rog ekeivos' 
 
 OugaVOV OVO^E TEOV {AlXpOTEgQg 7rEKETGU. 
 "HvjSs KEIVO VECO $CQfA Ef^TTVpl^ETO XpV(ICCy 
 
 *Hw5e heivq vEoig dcofta godour) yEhcz. 
 
 ''Hv poh^cv oux 1 yshx, mv ovo^e te x^vgqv exeiQev* 
 'Ek q~gv ¥ o$Qa,hj/.cQV eq~tiv eXejxeiaevouJ* 
 
 Act. vni. 
 S. Stejphanus amicis suis, farms sibi curantibus. 
 
 ULLA (precor) busto surgant mihi marmora : 
 
 bustum 
 Haec mihi sint mortis conscia saxa inese. 
 
 Sic nee opus merit, notet ut quis carmine bustum, 
 Pro Domino (dicens) occiclit ille suo. 
 
 Hie mihi sit tumulus, quern mors dedit ipsa ; meique 
 Ipse hie martyrii sit mihi martyrium. 
 
 In D. Joannem, quern Domitianus ferventi oleo 
 (illcesuni) indidit. 
 
 ;§LLUM (qui,toto currens vaga flanimula mundo, 
 2son quidem Joannes, ipse sed audit amor) 
 
 Ilium ignem extingui, bone Domitiane, laboras ? 
 Hoc non est oleum, Domitiane, dare. 
 * Hot in the edition of 1634. 
 
320 * EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 In tenellos Martyres. 
 
 H qui tarn propero cecidit sic funere, vita? 
 Hoc liabuit tantum, possit ut ille mori. 
 
 At cujus Deus est sic usus funere, mortis 
 Hoc tantum, ut possit vivere semper, habet. 
 
 Matth. iv. 24. 
 
 Attiderunt ei omnes male effectos, dcemoniacos, 
 
 lunaticos — et sanavit eos. 
 
 & OLLIGE te tibi (torve Draco) furiasque 
 faces que, 
 Quasque vocant pestes nox Erebusque suas : 
 
 Fac colubres jam tota suos tua vibret Erinnys ; 
 Collige, collige te fortiter, ut — pereas. 
 
 Luc. ii. 
 Tuam ipsius animam pertransibit gladius. 
 UANDO habeat gladium tua, Christe,tragcedia 
 nullum, 
 Quis fuerit gladius, virgo beata, tuus ? 
 
 Namque nee ulla alias tibi sunt data vulnera, Virgo, 
 Quani quae a vulneribus sunt data, Christe, tuis. 
 
EPIGRAJIMATA SACRA. 321 
 
 Forsan quando senex jam caligantior esset, 
 Quod Simeon giadiiim credidit, hasta fuit. 
 
 Immo neque hasta fuit, neque clavus, sed neque spina : 
 Hei niihi, spina tamen, clavus, et hasta fuit. 
 
 Nam queiscimque malis tua, Christe, tragcedia crevit, 
 Omnia sunt gladius, virgo beat a, tuus. 
 
 In sanguinem circumcisionis Domini. Ad convivas, 
 quos hcec dies ajoud nos solennes habet. 
 
 £EUS conviva ! bibin' ? Maria haec, Mariaeque 
 puellus, 
 Mittunt de prelo must a bibenda suo. 
 
 Una quidem est (toti quae par tamen imiea mundo) 
 Unica gutta, suo quse tremit orbiculo. 
 
 bibite hinc ; quale ant quantum vos cunque bibistis, 
 (Credite mi) nil tarn suave bibistis adhuc. 
 
 O bibite et bibite, et restat tamen usque bibendum : 
 Restat, quod poterit nulla domare sitis. 
 
 Scilicet hie, mensura sitis, mensura bibendi est : 
 Ha?c quantum cupias vina bibisse, bibis. 
 
 i\m i 
 
322 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Luc. n. 
 Puer Jesus inter Doctores. 
 ALLITUR, ad mention qui pendit quemque 
 profundum, 
 Ceu possint lseves nil sapuisse genae. 
 
 Scilicet e barba male mensuratur Apollo ; 
 Et bene cum capitis stat nive, mentis hiems. 
 
 Discat, et a tenero disci quoque posse magistro : 
 Canitiem capitis nee putet esse caput. 
 
 Joan. n. 
 Ad Christum, de aqua in vinum versa. 
 IGXA tuis tuus hostis habet contraria signis : 
 In vinum tristes tu mihi vertis aquas. 
 
 Ille autem e vino lacrymas et jurgia ducens, 
 Vina iterum in tristes (hei mihi !) mutat aquas. 
 
 Luc. n. 
 Christits infans Patri sistitur in temjplo. 
 GNUS eat, ludatque (licet) sub patre petulco ; 
 Cumque sua longum conjuge turtur agat. 
 
 Conciliatorem nihil hie opus ire par agnum : 
 Nee tener ut volucris non sua fata ferat. 
 
EPIGBAMMATA SACBA. 323 
 
 Hactenus exigua hsec, quasi munera, lusimus ; haec qua? 
 Multum excusanti sunt capienda manu. 
 
 Hoc donum est ; de quo, toto tibi dicimus ore, 
 Sume Pater : meritis hoc tibi sume suis. 
 
 Donum hoc est, hoc est ; quod scilicet audeat ipso 
 Esse Deo dignuru : scilicet ipse Deus. 
 
 Matte:, vm. 
 
 Leprosus Dominum implorans. 
 
 EEDO quod ista potes, velles modo : sed quia 
 credo, 
 Christe, quod ista potes, credo quod ista voles. 
 
 Tu modo, tu faciles mihi, sol meus, exere vultus ; 
 Xon poterit radios nix mea ferre tuos. 
 
 Matth. vm, 
 Christus in tetnpestate. 
 
 UOD fervet tanto circum te, Christe, tumultu, 
 !N"on hoc ira maris, Christe, sed ambitio est. 
 
 Hsec ilia ambitio est, hoc tanto te rogat ore, 
 Possit ut ad monitus, Christe, tacere tuos. 
 
324 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Act. xyi. 21. 
 Annunciant ritus, quos non licet nobis snscipere, cum 
 simas Romani. 
 | OC Caesar tibi (Roma) tuus dedit, armaque ? 
 solis 
 Eomanis igitur non licet esse piis ? 
 
 Ah ! melius, tragicis nullus tibi Caesar in armis 
 Altus anhelanti detonuisset equo ; 
 
 Nee domini volucris facies horrenda per orbem 
 Sueta tibi in signis torva venire tuis : 
 
 Quani miser ut staret de te tibi (Roma) triuniphus, 
 Ut tanta fieris ambitione nihil. 
 
 Non tibi, sed sceleri vincis : proh laurea tristis ! 
 Laurea, Cerbereis aptior umbra comis ! 
 
 Tarn turpi vix ipse pater diademate Pluto, 
 Yix sedet ipse suo tarn niger in solis. 
 
 De tot Csesareis redit hoc tibi (Roma) triumphis : 
 Csesaree, aut (quod idem est) egregie misera es. 
 
 Matte, iv. 
 Hie lapis fiat pan is. 
 T fuit : ille lapis (quidni sit dicere?) panis, 
 Christe, fuit : panis sed tuus ille fuit. 
 
 Quippe, Patris cum sic tulerit suprema voluntas, 
 Est panis, panem non habuisse, tuus. 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA, 325 
 
 *AfTO$ B71V TOl folT (eitteiv 9s/ju$ scttiv) SXSlVOg' 
 X^icte tci ccztz; ey.v uai Xi9o;' afoa teo;. 
 
 3 Hy GuTug tow TTOLTgig Sfw f/,eyaXou to GeXyiux 
 
 AoTOg GT OVK YjV TOl, 'X.OIO'TE, TOl OLDTQc, EIJV.* 
 
 aEatth. XV. 
 Mulier Ca naan itis . 
 
 DICQUID Amazoniis dedit olim fama puellis, 
 Credite : Ainazoniam cernimus ecce fidein. 
 
 Fcernina, tarn fortis fidei ? jam credo fidein esse 
 Plus quani grammatice fceminei generis. 
 
 Lrc. xi. 
 
 Deus, post cccpuhum Dcemonem milium, maledicis 
 Judceis os obturat. 
 
 NA pene opera duplicem tibi Daemone frangis : 
 Iste quideni Daemon mutus ; at ille loquax. 
 
 Scilicet in laudes (quae non tibi laurea surgit ?) 
 Xon magis hie loquitur, quam tacet ille tuas. 
 
 * Not in the edition of 1634. 
 
326 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Joan. vi. 
 Dicebant, Vere hie est propheta. 
 
 OST tot quae videant, tot quae miracula tangant, 
 Usee et quae gustent (Christe) dabas populo. 
 
 Jam Yates, Kex, et quicquid pia nomina possunt, 
 Christus erat : vellem dicere, venter erat. 
 
 Namque his, quicquid erat Christus, de ventre repleto 
 Omne illud vero nomine venter erat. 
 
 Joan. x. 22. 
 
 Christus ambulabat in portieu Salomonis, et Mems erat. 
 JRUMA fuit ? non, non ; ah non fuit, ore sub 
 isto : 
 Si fuit ; hand anni, nee sua bruma fuit. 
 
 Bruma tibi vernis velit ire decentior horis, 
 Per sibi non natas expatiata rosas. 
 
 At, tibi ne possit se tarn bene bruma negare, 
 Sola hsec, quam vibrat gens tua, grando* vetat. 
 
 Matth. xxviii. 
 Dederunt nummos militibus. 
 E miles velit ista loqui, tu munera donas ? 
 Donas, quod possit, cum tacet ipse, loqui. 
 
 Quse facis a quoquam, pretio suadente, taceri ; 
 Clarius, et dici turpius ista facis. 
 
 * Ver. 31. Sustulerunt lapides. 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 327 
 
 Beatce Virgini 
 Be salntatione Angelica. 
 AIPE suum neque Caesareus jam nuntiet ales ; 
 Xai^s tuum peiina candidiore venit. 
 
 Sed taceat, qui XaTgs tuum quoque nuntiat, ales ; 
 XaTg £ meum penna candidiore venit. 
 
 Quis dicat mihi XaTgE meum mage candidus autor, 
 Quam tibi quae dicat candidus ille tuum ? 
 
 Virgo, rogas, quid candidius quam candidus ille 
 Esse potest ? Virgo, quae rogat, esse potest. 
 
 XoupE tuum (Virgo) donet tibi candidus ille ; 
 Donas candidior tu mihi Xougs meum. 
 
 Xcupe meum de Xcuqe tuo quid differ at, audi : 
 Hie tuum dicit, tu paris (ecce) meum. 
 
 Pontio lav ante. 
 ON satis est caedes, nisi stuprum hoc insuper 
 addas, 
 Et tarn virginea sis violator aquas ? 
 
 Xvmpha quidem pura haec et honesti filia fontis 
 Luget, adulterio jam temerata tuo. 
 
 Casta verecundo properat cum murmure gutta, 
 Xec satis in lacrymam se putat esse suam. 
 
 Desine tarn nitidos stuprare (ah, desine) rores : 
 Aut die, quae miseras unda lavabit aquas. 
 
* r d 
 
 328 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA, 
 
 In die passionis Dominicce. 
 
 | AMNE ego sim tetricus ? valeant jejunia : 
 vinum 
 Est mihi dulce meo (nee pudet esse) cado. 
 
 Est rnihi quod castis, neque prelum passa, racemis 
 Palmite virgineo protulit uva parens. 
 
 Hoc mihi (ter decies sat enim maturuit annis) 
 Tandem ecce e dolio pra?bibit hasta suo. 
 
 Jamque it ; et o quanto calet actus aromate torrens ! 
 Acer ut hinc aura divite currit odor ! 
 
 Quae rosa per cyathos volitat tarn vina Falernos ? 
 Massica quae tanto sidere vina tremunt ? 
 
 O ego nescibam ; atque ecce est Vinum illud amoris : 
 Unde ego sim tantis, unde ego par cyathis. 
 
 Vincor : et o istis totus prope misceor auris : 
 Non ego sum tantis, non ego par cyathis. 
 
 Sed quid ego invicti metuo bona robora vini ? 
 Ecce est, quae validum diluit,* unda, merum. 
 
 In die Resurrectionis Dominicce. 
 
 Venit ad sepidchrum Magdalena ferens aromata. 
 
 I UIX et tu quoque busta tui Phoanicis adora ; 
 Tu quoque fer tristes (mens mea) delitias. 
 
 * Joan. xix. 34. Et continuo exivit sanguis et aqua. 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 329 
 
 Si nee arornata sunt, nee quod tibi fragrat amomum ; 
 (Qualis Magdalina est messis odora nianu) 
 
 Est quod aromatibus prsestat, quod prsestat amomo : 
 Haec tibi mollicula, hsec gemmea lacrymula. 
 
 Et lacryma est aliquid : neque frustra Magdala flevit : 
 Sentiit hsec, lacrymas non nihil esse suas. 
 
 His ilia (et tunc cum Domini caput iret amomo) 
 Invidiam capitis fecerat esse pedes. 
 
 Nunc quoque cum sinus huic tanto sub aromate sudet, 
 Plus capit ex oculis, quo litet, ilia suis. 
 
 Christe, decent lacrymse : decet isto rore riga-ri 
 Vita3 hoc seternum mane, tuumque diem. 
 
 Luc. xxiv. 
 
 In cicatrices Domini adhuc swperstites. 
 
 KMA vidis ; arcus, pharetramque, levesque 
 sagittas, 
 Et quocunque fuit nomine miles Amor. 
 
 His fuit usus Amor : sed et hsec fait ipse ; suumque 
 Et jaculum, et jaculis ipse pharetra suis. 
 
 Nunc splendent tantum, et deterso pulvere belli 
 E memori pendent nomina magna tholo. 
 
 Tempus erittamen, hsec irasquando arma, pharetramque, 
 Et sobolem pharetrsg spicula tradet Amor. 
 
330 EPIGBAMMATA SACEA. 
 
 Heu ! qua tunc anima, quo stabit conscia vultu, 
 Quum scelus agnoscet dextera quaeque suum ? 
 
 Improbe, qua? dederis, cernes ibi vulnera, miles, 
 Qua tibicunque tuus luserit arte furor. 
 
 Seu digito suadente tuo mala Laurus inibat 
 Temporibus ; sacrum seu bibit hasta latus : 
 
 Sive tuo clavi ssevum rubuere sub ictu ; 
 Seu puduit jussis ire flagella tuis. 
 
 Improbe, qua? dederis, cernes ibi vulnera, miles : 
 Quod dederis vulnus, cernere, vulnus erit. 
 
 Plaga sui vindex clavosque rependet et hastam : 
 Quoque rependet, erit clavus et hasta sibi. 
 
 Quis tarn terribiles, tarn justas movent iras ? 
 Vulnera pugnabunt (Christe) vel ipsa tibi. 
 
 Joan. xiv. 
 Paeon meam do vobis. 
 ELLA vocant : arma (o socii) nostra arma 
 paremus 
 Atque enses : nostros scilicet (ah !) jugulos. 
 
 Cur ego bella paro, cum Christus det mihi pacem ? 
 Quod Christus pacem dat mihi, bella paro. 
 
 Hie dedit (nam quis potuit dare certior autor ?) 
 Ille dedit pacem : sed dedit ille suam. 
 
EPIGBAJIMATA SACRA. 331 
 
 Act. rx. 
 In D. Paulum illuminatum simul et excceoatum. 
 I ILE, Christ e, arabigua haec bifidi tibi gloria teli 
 est, 
 Quod simul hiiic oculos abstulit, atque dedit ? 
 
 Sancta dies animi, hac oculorum in noete, latebat ; 
 Te ut possit Paulus cernere, caucus erat. 
 
 Jo AX. xv. 
 Ego sum Via. Ad Judceos spretores Christ i. 
 
 | SE{) nee calcanda tanien : pes improbe pergis ? 
 By* Improbe pes, ergo hoc coeh erat ire viam ? 
 
 Ah p ere at (Judeee ferox) pes improbus ille, 
 Qui cceli tritam sic facit esse viani. 
 
 aIatth. n. 
 Li nocturia' m et hiemale iter infantis Domini. 
 
 EGO viatores teneros. cum Prole Parentem. 
 J Xox habet hos, queis est digna nee ulla dies ? 
 
 Nam quid ad Esbc Pueri vel labra. genasve Parentis ? 
 Heu quid ad haec facient oscula. nox et hiems ? 
 
 Lilia ad ha?c facerent, faceret rosa ; quicquid et halat 
 ^Eterna Zephvrus qui tepet in viola. 
 
332 EPIGBAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Hi meruere, quibus vel nox sit nulla ; vel ulla 
 Si sit, eat nostra purius ilia die. 
 
 Ecce sed hos quoque nox et liiems clausere tenellos : 
 Et quis scit, quid nox, quid meditetur hiems ? 
 
 Ah ne quid meditetur liiems saevire per Austros ! 
 Quseque solet nigros nox mala ferre metus ! 
 
 Ah ne noctis eat currus non mollibus Euris ! 
 Aspera ne tetricos nuntiet aura Notos ! 
 
 Heu quot habent tenebrae, quot vera pericula secum ! 
 Quot noctem dominum, quantaque monstra colunt ! 
 
 Quot vaga quae falsis veniunt ludibria formis ! 
 Trux oculus ! Stygio concolor ala Deo^ 
 
 Seu veris ea, sive vagis stant monstra figuris ; 
 Virginei satis est hinc, satis inde metus. 
 
 Ergo veni ; totoque veni resonantior arcu, 
 
 (Cynthia) praegnantem clange procul pharetram. 
 
 Monstra vel ista, vel ilia, tuis sint meta sagittis : 
 Nee fratris jaculum certior aura vehat. 
 
 Ergo veni totoque* veni, flagrantior ore, 
 Dignaque Apollineas sustinuisse vices. 
 
 Scis bene quid deceat Phcebi lucere sororem : 
 Ex his, si nescis, (Cynthia) disce genis. 
 
 O tua, in his, quanto lampas formosior iret ! 
 Nox suam, ab his, quanto malit habere diem ! 
 
EPIGEAMMATA SACRA. 333 
 
 Quantum ageret tacitos haec luna modestior ignes ! 
 Atque verecundis sobria staret equis ! 
 
 Luna, tuae non est rosa tam pudibunda diei : 
 Nee tam Virgineo fax tua flore tremit. 
 
 Ergo veni ; sed et astra, tuas age (Cynthia) turmas : 
 Ilia oculos pueri, quos imitentur, habent. 
 
 Hinc oculo, hinc astro : at parili face nictat utrumque ; 
 iEtheris os, atque os aether euni Pueri. 
 
 Aspice, quam bene res utriusque deceret utrumque ! 
 Quam bene in alternas mutua regna manus ! 
 
 Ille oculus eceli hoc si staret in aethere frontis ; 
 Sive astrum hoc pueri ; fronte sub aetherea. 
 
 Si Pueri hoc astrum aetherea sub fronte micaret, 
 Credat et hunc oculum non minus esse suum. 
 
 Ille oculus cceli, hoc si staret in aethere frontis, 
 Non minus in ccelis se putet esse suis. 
 
 Tam pulchras variare vices cum fronte Puelli, 
 Cum que Puelli oculis, aether et astra queant. 
 
 Astra quidem yellent ; vellent aeterna pacisci 
 Pcedera mutatae sedis inire vicem. 
 
 J£ther et ipse (licet numero tam dispare) vellet 
 Mutatis ocuhs tam bona pacta dari. 
 
 Quippe iret ccelum quanto mehoribus astris, 
 Astra sua hos oculos si modo habere queat ! 
 
334 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Quippe astra in ccelo quantum meliore micarent, 
 Si frontem hanc possint coelum habuisse suum. 
 
 iEther et astra velint : frustra velit sether, et astra : 
 Ecce negat Pueri frons, oculique negant. 
 
 Ah neget ilia, negent illi : nam quern sethera mallent 
 Isti oculi ? aut frons hsec qua3 magis astra velit ? 
 
 Quid si all quod blanda face lene renideat astrum ? 
 Lactea si cceli terque quaterque via est ? 
 
 Blandior hie oculus, roseo hoc qui ridet in ore ; 
 Lactea frons hsec est terque quaterque magis. 
 
 Ergo negent, ccelumque suum sua sidera servent : 
 Sidera de ccelis non bene danda suis. 
 
 Ergo negant : seque ecce sua sub nube recondunt, 
 Sub tenera occidui nube supercilii : 
 
 Nee claudi contenta sui munimine cceli, 
 Quaerunt in gremio Matris ubi lateant. 
 
 Non nisi sic tactis ubi nix tepet ilia pruinis, 
 Castaque non gelido frigore vernat hiems. 
 
 Scilicet ista dies tarn pulchro vespere tingi 
 Dignus ; et hos soles sic decet occidere. 
 
 Claudat purpureus qui claudit vesper Olympum ; 
 Puniceo placeas tu tibi (Phoebe) toro ; 
 
 Dum tibi lascivam Thetis auget adultera noctem, 
 Pone per Hesperias strata pudenda rosas. 
 
SPIGBAMMATA SACRA. 335 
 
 Ulas nempe rosas, quas conscia purpura pinxit ; 
 Culpa pudorque suus queis dedit esse rosas. 
 
 Hos soles, nivese noctes, castumque cubile, 
 Quod purum sternet per mare virgo Thetis ; 
 
 Hos, sancti flores ; hos, tam siucera decebant 
 Lilia ; quaeque sibi non rubuere rosse. 
 
 Hos, decuit sinus hie ; ubi toto sidere proni 
 Ecce lavant sese lacteo in oceano. 
 
 Atque lavent : tandemque suo se mane resolvant, 
 Ipsa dies ex hoc ut bibat ore diem. 
 
 Joan. xti. 26. 
 Non dico, me rogaturum Patremjpro vobis. 
 
 H tamen Ipse roga : tibi scilicet ille roganti 
 Esse nequit durus, nee solet esse, Pater. 
 
 Ille suos omni facie te figit amores ; 
 Inque tuos toto efiunditur ore sinus. 
 
 Quippe, tuos spectans oculos, se spectat in illis ; 
 Inque tuo ( Jesu) se foret ipse sinu. 
 
 Ex te metitur sese, et sua numina discit : 
 Inde repercussus redditur ipse sibi. 
 
 Hie tibi se, te ille sibi par nectit utrinque : 
 Tam tuus est, ut nee sit magis ille suus. 
 
 Ergo roga : Ipse roga : tibi scilicet ille roganti 
 Esse nequit durus, nee solet esse, Pater. 
 
336 EPIGRAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Blum ut ego rogitem ? Hoc (eheu) non ore rogandum : 
 Ore satis puras non faciente preces. 
 
 Ilium ego si rogitem, quis scit quibus ille procellis 
 Surgat, et in miserum hoc quae tonet ira caput ? 
 
 Isto etiam forsan veniet mihi fulmen ab ore : 
 (Saspe isto certe fulmen ab ore venit.) 
 
 Ille una irati forsan me cuspide verbi, 
 Una me metu figet, et interii : 
 
 Non ego, non rogitem : mihi scilicet ille roganti 
 Durior esse potest, et solet esse, Pater. 
 
 Immo rogabo : nee ore meo tamen : immo rogabo 
 Ore meo (Jesu) scilicet ore* tuo. 
 
 In die Ascensionis Dominicce. 
 
 ^SQUE etiam nostros Te (Christe) tenemus 
 amores ? 
 Heu cceli quantam hinc invidiam patimur ! 
 
 Invidiam patiamur : habent sua sidera cceli ; 
 Quaeque comunt tremulas crispa tot ora faces ; 
 
 Phcebenque et Phoebum, et tot pictso vellera nubis : 
 Yellera, quae rosea Sol variavit acu. 
 
 Quantum erat, ut sinerent hac una nos face ferri ? 
 Una sit hie : sunt (et sint) ibi mille faces. 
 
EPIGRAMMATA SACBA. 337 
 
 Xil agimus : nam tu quia non ascendis ad ilium. 
 iEther* descendit (Christe) vel ipse tibi.f 
 
 N'JV en YlfAETEgOV (7£, XpKTTE) £%0/*£V T £f WT« ; 
 OugaVQV QUV QCOV T£ <p9oVQV W$ EXOfAEV' 
 
 "Atf-Tfarf, zai (poificv, kcu kol'Kol tuv veQeXcov. 
 
 "0(7(701/ ETIJV, fl//UV O^f' Elij £v TO0£ «C7TfOl/; 
 
 "Apt gov ev fifjuv h m eWl tgl aWp' iraTar. 
 
 Ylavra (xarnv, oil X^ktte <jv ovk ava&ouvEg, e; aurcv, 
 Auto; iaev xolte@yi oupavog el; (TE TEOg. 
 
 LUC. XYIH. 
 
 Ccecus implorat Christum. 
 ll^fS MPEOB A turba tace. Mihi tarn mea vota 
 ^N ivM* propinquant, 
 
 $%&&§> 5 Et linguam de me vis taeuisse meam ? 
 
 Tunc ego tunc taceani, mihi cum meus ille loquetur : 
 Si nescis, oculos vox habet ista meos. 
 
 O noctis miserere meae, miserere ; per illam 
 In te quae primo riserit ore, diem. 
 
 O noctis miserere ineae, miserere ; per illam 
 Quae, nisi te videat, nox velit esse, diem. 
 
 O noctis miserere raeae, miserere ; per illam 
 In te quam fidei nox habet ipsa, diem. 
 
 * Act. i. Nubes susceptum eum abstulit. 
 
 t Here the edition of 1634 ends. The Greek Version of this 
 Epigram and all that follow are printed for the first time in 
 that of 1670. 
 
338 EPIGEAMMATA SACBA. 
 
 Ha?c animi tarn clara dies rogat illam oculorum : 
 Mam, oro, dederis ; hanc niihi ne rapias. 
 
 N^T E"h£Y\<J0V SfJLYiV. kXEYKTOV. VOCl TOl EKEiVO 
 
 Xylene lyiov Y](JLocp, vu<; bo' e/uleio !%£*. 
 
 O(p8<X\pt,00V (JLEV EKEIVO, ®£0g, O^EETOU TOO^E yVOOfjiT);, 
 
 My fjLOi tout <xl$Y\g y dog poi ekeivo Qotog. 
 
 Luc. xv. 4. 
 
 Quis eocvobis si habeat centum oves 9 et perdklerit unam 
 
 ex illis, Qc. 
 
 UT ego angelicis fiam bona gaudia turmis ! 
 3 s ) JS Me quoque solicito qusere per arva gradu. 
 
 Mille tibi tutis ludunt in montibus agni, 
 Quos potes baud dubia dicere voce tuos. 
 
 Unus ego erravi quo me meus error agebat, 
 Unus ego fuerim gaudia plura tibi. 
 
 Gaudia non faciunt, quae nee fecere timorem ; 
 Et plus quae donant ipsa perie'la, placent. 
 
 Horum, quos retines, fuerit tibi latior usus. 
 De me, quern recipis, dulcior usus erit. 
 
 JLlg (jlev lyw, h fJLOV ttXolvyi TragiYiysv, cc\y\[JU* 
 TLlg OS roi acog ko-o/xa) y^oaEVOLi TTteovsg. 
 
 W/JLVOg fXY\ 7T01C0V (pQ@QV, OU 7T01EL & TE %<X%lXa. 
 ■ MsiZoQV TCOV fJLEV, E[A0V X(? £ia ^ S yhVHV TE%Y\. 
 

 EPIGEAMMATA SACRA, 339 
 
 Herodi D. Jacobum obtruncanti. 
 
 ESCIS Jacobus quantum hunc tibidebeat ictum, 
 Quseque tua in sacrum saeviit ira caput. 
 
 Scilicet ipso illi donasti hoc ense coronam, 
 Quo sacrum abscideras scilicet ense caput. 
 
 Abscissum pensare caput quse possit abunde, 
 Sola haec tarn sseva et sacra corona fuit. 
 
 "Ev ixtVy IaK0Q@E, Kztpa'kw roi %i<pog oc7TYipEV^ 
 
 "Ev T0$£ KOU (TTSpaVOV ^l^Q; £$0QXE TEQV. 
 
 Mouvov afjLEifieo-Qa! HEtpaMV) IcMCofie, 5j/Wto 
 
 KeIV0$ 0$' &>$ KOLhQSy jJ,agTUglQV XTTEtyOWOg. 
 
 Matth. xx. 34. 
 Cceci receptis oculis Christum sequuntur. 
 fuSK CCE manu imposita Christus novasidera ponit. 
 SEfpI Sectantur patriam sidera fide manum. 
 
 Ha3c manus his, credo, coelum est. Haec scilicet astra 
 Suspicor esse olim quae geret ille manu.* 
 
 X«f E7TL^aXhO[JLEVY] XglCTTOU E7Tl0<XhX£V OTTCOTTaV 
 
 'Aarpa, ottyi^euei keivo, je x £i ? 1 ®zov. 
 
 Xei$ clvty] TOVToig tteXev ougavog. acTgcc yag oi'/uzi, 
 *Ev x £ f l toiut oi<rsi XgitTTog e7Teii(x in. 
 
 * Rev. i. 16. . 
 
340 EPIGBAMMATA SACRA. 
 
 Luc. xix. 4. 
 
 Zachceus in sy Comoro. 
 
 UID te ? quid jactas alienis fructibus, arbor? 
 Quid tibi cum foliis non (sycomore) tuis ? 
 
 Quippe istic ramo qui jam tibi nutat ab alto, 
 Mox e divina vite racemus erit. 
 
 Ti ttt' E7riH0fX7rcx^£ig KtvEov ; Zeivqo 3f TE xag7roo, 
 
 Kat yag o$' ehk^y\(jlvy\<; <tou vvv (jLETEoopoc; oltt tpvoug, 
 'AjUL7rEhou o Khaduv e<t<7etccl ougaviov. 
 
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