the university of illinois . '"library 821 til Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2010 witin funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign http://www.archive.org/details/emblemsdivinemorOOqu Emblems, Divine and Moral: The School of the Heart; AND Liii-Vl^^^^/ Hieroglyphics of the Life of Maix, - By FRANCIS QUARLES, IBLift anXi Eimt^ of tf)e aut|)or. LONDON: WILLIAM TEGG. 1866. Printed bv r,EO. \Vats()v, Kirtiy St . llntton Garden. CONTENTS. PAGE Advertisement to the School of the Heart ----- y Memoir of Francis Quarks ------- n EMBLEMS, DIVINE AND MORAL. Book the First __. i Book the Second -------- ^g Book the Third -_-- ^^ Book the Fourth --------- 142 Book the Fifth - - 187 THE SCHOOL OF THE HEART. Introduction 235 The Infection of the Heart - - 239 The Taking away of the Heart - _ - - - 243 The Darkness of the Heart __--.-- 246 The Absence of the Heart ------- 249 The Vanity of the Heart -- 252 The Oppression of the Heart - - - - - - - 255 The Covetousness of the Heart ------- 258 The Hardness of the Heart - - - - -,- - 261 The Division of the Heart -------- 264 The Insatiability of the Heart ------ 267 The Returning of the Heart ------- 270 The Pouring out of the Heart ______ 273 The Circumcision of the Heart ----_-- 276 The Contrition of the Heart ------- 279 The Humiliation of the Heart - 282 The Softening of the Heart - - 285 The Cleansing of the Heart 288 The Giving of the Heart 291 The Sacrifice of the Heart -------- 294 The Weighing of the Heart - 297 CONTENTS OF " THE SCHOOL OF THE HEART. PAGE The Trying of the Heart 3°° The Sounding of the Heart 303 The Levelling of the Heart ------ - 306 The Renewing of the Heart ------- 309 The Enlightening of the Heart - - 312 The Law-Table of the Heart ,- 315 The Tilling of the Heart - 318 The Seeding of the Heart 321 The Watering of the Heart ------- 324 The Flowers of the Heart - - 327 The Keeping of the Heart - - - - - - - - 33° The Watching of the Heart 333 The Wounding of the Heart - 3 36 The Inhabiting of the Heart ------- 339 The Enlarging of the Heart ------- 342 The Inflaming of the Heart ------- 345 The Ladder of the Heart - 348 The Flying of the Heart - - - - - - - 351 The Union of the Heart - - - - - - - - 354 The Rest of the Heart 357 The Bathing of the Heart with the Bloody Sweat - - - - 360 The Binding of the Heart with the Cords of Christ - - - 363 Christ's Pillar the Prop of the Heart - - - - - - 366 The Scourging of the Heart ------- 369 The Hedging of the Heart with a Crown of Thorns - - - 372 The Fastening of the Heart ------- 375 The New Wine of the Heart out of the Press of the Cross - - 378 The Conclusion - - - 381 The Learning of the Heart ------- 383 The Grammar of the Heart -- 384 The Rhetoric of the Heart - ------- 385 The Logic of the Heart .-.--.. 387 Hieroglyphics OF THE Life OF Man ------ 389 TO MY MUCH HONOURED, AND NO LESS TRULY BELOVED FRIEM1. EDWARD BENLOWES, Esq. My dear Friend, VT'OU have put the Theorbo into my hand, and I have played : you gave the musician the first encourage- ment ; the music returneth to you for patronage. Had it been a light air, no doubt but it had taken the most, and among them the worst; but being a grave strain, my hopes are, that it will please the best, and among them you. Toyish airs please trivial ears ; they kiss the fancy, and betray it. They cry. Hail, first ; and after. Crucify: Let daws delight to immerd themselves in dung, whilst eagles scorn so poor a game as flies. Sir, you have art and candour ; let the one judge, let the other excuse. Your most affectionate Friend, FRA. QUARLES. TO THE READER, A N Emblem is but a silent parable : Let not the ten- der eye check, to see the allusion to our blessed Saviour figured in these types. In Holy Scripture he is sometimes called a Sower ; sometimes a Fisher ; some- times a Physician : And why not presented so as well to the eye as to the ear ? Before the knowledge of letters, God was known by hieroglyphics. And indeed, what are the Heavens, the earth, nay, every creature, but Hieroglyphics and Emblems of his glory ? I have no more to say ; I wish thee as much pleasure in the reading, as I had in writing. Farewell, Reader. FRANCIS QUARLES. T) Y fathers back'd, by Holy Writ led on : Thou show'st the way to Heav'n by Helicon : The Muses' font is consecrate by thee, And Poesy baptized Divinity : Bless'd soul, that here embark'st : thou sail'st apace, 'Tis hard to say, mov'd more by wit or grace. Each muse so plies her oar : But O the sail Is fill'd from Heav'n with a diviner gale : When poets prove divines, why should not I Approve in verse this divine poetry? Let this suffice to license thee the press : I must no more ; nor could the truth say less Sic approbavit RIC. LOVE, Proccm. Cant. Tot Fhres QUARLES, quot Paradisus habet Lectori bene male-wo\o, ^i legit ex Horto hoc Flares^ qui carpit, uterque Jure potest Violas dicere, jure Rosas : Non e Parnasso VIOL AM, festive ROSE TO Carpit Apollo, magis quae sit amoena, ROSAM. Ouot Versus VIOLAS^ legis ; & quern verba locutum Credis, verba dedit : Nam dedit ille ROSAS. Utque Ego non dicam base VIOLAS suavissima ; Tutc Ipse facis VIOLAS, Livide, si violas. Nam velut e VIOL IS sibi fugit Aranea virus : I Vertis at in succos Hasque ROSAS que tuos. Quas violas Musas, VIOLAS puto, quasque recusas Dentc tuo rosas, has, reor, esse ROSAS. j Sic rosas, facis esse ROSAS, dum Zoile, rodis : ' Sic facics has VIOLAS, Livide, dum violas. \ I EDW. BENLOWES. I BRENT-IlAI.r, 1634. { ADVERTISEMENT TO ''THE SCHOOL Ol THE HEART." 'TpHE pretensions of the work, intrinsically estimated, need not be enumerated now. Pope has declared, and justly too, that " The proper study of mankind, is — man." Preparatory to any due or salutary proficiency in this study, however, the inquirer must direct his serious attention to that celebrated precept of the Pythian Apollo — '' Nosce teipsum ; " a precept so happily expanded by another of our national poets, Young, where he exclaims, *' Man, know thyself! all wisdom centres there." To know what man is, then, we must know his hear.t. But this lesson man cannot teach man. He must teach this, who only can ; yet who still " saves ail beings but himself, That hideous si-ht — a naked human heart! '* The School of the Hearty therefore, is the Word of God ! They can never attain to right views of mankind, w^ho have not studied the heart of man ; nor can they ever form just conceptions of the nature of the human heart, who have not consulted the inspired description of it. Our Author thus : — Great Searcher of The Heart ! whose boundless sight Discovers secrets, and doth bring to light viii ADVERTISEMENT « TO SCHOOL OF THE HEART.' The hidden things of darkness ; who alone Perfectly know'st all things that can be known j Thou know'st 1 do not, cannot, have no mind To know mine heart j I am not only blind, But lame, and listless : thou alone canst make Me able, willing j and the pains I take. As well as the success, must come fi-om thee, Who workest both to will and do in me. Lord ! if thou wilt, thou canst impart this skill ^ And as for other learning, take 't who will. Introductljr , " The pride and ignorance of mankind," says the Rev. C. E. De Coetlogon, in a Preface to one edition of this work, *"' may lead them to reason against this humbhng, and, what they are pleased to term, gloomy representation of things ! But," he asks, " how absurd to reason against stubborn fact ? We appeal to that," he adds ; " and to experience. We appeal to reason^ as well as to revelation : and both, we are persuaded, will tell us — that those who prate about the dignity of human nature^ and its moral excellence, until it be renewed after the image of God, which sin has obliterated, are only indulg- ing the pleasures of imagination ; " and that, accordingly, such characters still " need much instruction in " — the SCHOOL OF THE HEART. The Hieroglyphics of the Life of Man are so complete a picture of human nature, that we need only recommend them to the serious perusal of persons in cvcjy situation in life j and emphatically add, MAN ! learn to know THYSELF. ^ MEMOIR. pEW men have written so much, enjoyed greater ^ popularity in their time, and yet been more undeservedly neglected by contemporary and succeed- ing writers, than the pious-minded author of " Emblems, Divine and Moral." With the exception of a few biographical data, embalmed by his affectionate and " sorrowful widow '' Ursula, and which she prefixed to one of his posthumous works,* little additional informa- tion respecting him has reached us. His numerous publications — consisting principally of poetical paraphrases of the Scriptures — enable us to form a just estimate of his religious .character and tenets ;. but otherwise they afford us no insight what- ever, either into his own personal history, or that of the stirring period in which it was his lot to be cast. He appears to have taken no decided part in that great political struggle, which divided this kingdom in the seventeenth century, and which completed his own ruin, as well as that of his sovereign, until a few months only preceding his death. His naturally studious and peaceful temper of mind was ill calculated to sympathize, much less to cope, with the daring and fanatical spirits of his age. His loyalty, however, in * " A Short Relation of the Life and Death of Mr. Francis Quarles, by- Ursula Quarles, his sorrowful Widow," prefixed to his " Solomon'b Recanta- tion," entitled, " Ecclesiastes Paraphrased." 410., Lond., 1645. b MEMOIR. the end, proved stronger than all the temptations of domestic security and wealth. It was not until the arms of the rebellious Parlia- ment had signally triumphed, first in the North, and subsequently in the West of England, and the cause of the unfortunate Charles 'had become* in consequence, almost utterly hopeless, that our poet abandoned his peaceful seclusion, and declared for the tottering monarchy. But if he perceived the impending danger at all, he saw it too late. His loyal declaration and efforts were alike unavailing ; and although about the last individual of note who threw his talents into the scale of the king, he was among the first of those whose fortunes were completely inun- dated by the revolutionary tide. His adhesion to Charles, and the humble services which he rendered with his pen to the cause of that ill- fated monarch, not only brought down upon himself the extremest hatred and vengeance of the dominant power, but likewise cost him all that popularity which he had long previously enjoyed as an author. At the same time that his property was confiscated, his name was proscribed by the Parliament, and almost imme- diately afterwards he ceased to be, as Phillips expresses it, "the darling of our plebeian judgments.^' To this circumstance in particular (namely, his pro- scription by the victorious party, in consequence of a publication to which we shall presently refer) may be attributed the ungenerous contempt with which he was treated by his literary contemporaries. Most probably they feared giving umbrage to their new republican masters by honouring his memory or noticing his works ; both, therefore, were abandoned to a precarious exist- ence — or rather, undeserved fate. Upon the restoration of the monarchy in England, it might have been expected that the memory, at least, MEMOIR. of so notable and zealous a royalist as Quarles, would not only be rescued from unmerited oblivion, but, also, be reverenced by the party with whom he had acted. The unscrupulous generation, however, that immediately succeeded the Commonwealth, being naturally unable to sympathize with one, whose whole life and writings constituted a standing rebuke to their practical infidelity, unhesitatingly transferred his name to the black catalogue of their common ene- mies, from whom he had already sufi^ered much more than themselves. Thus, by a singular mutation of fortune, he who before the Revolution had been held " in wonderful veneration among the vulgar,'^ came to be considered after it, as " an old Puritanical poet." The exact date of Francis Quarles' birth is unknown ; but, according to the p.irish register of Romford, in Essex, which contains several entries relating to his family, he was baptized on the 8th day of May, 1592. His widow, Ursula, informs us that her husband '^' was descended from an ancient family, and yet (which is rare in these last times) he was an orna- ment to his ancestors." The poet, too, in his quaint Memorials^ composed upon the death of Sir Robert Quarles, in 1642, avails himself of the opportunity of expatiating as well upon the antiquity of his family as upon the virtues of his kinsman. His father was James Quarles, of Stewards (where the future poet was born), a gentleman who was possessed of considerable landed estates in the county of Essex, and discharged for some time the combined offices of Clerk of the Green Cloth and Purveyor of the Navy to the last sovereign of the Tudor dynasty. His liberal fortune and close connection with the government of Oueen Elizabeth must have made him a person of no mean note in his time. The poet's widow, indeed, intimates that her husband (had he MEMOIR. been so inclined) might have obtained, and doubtless through his father's influence, considerable preferment at Court, but his tastes carried him in an opposite direction. We are told that the young Ouarles' education was suitable to his birth, and that he gave early promise of distinguishing himself in the various branches of polite knowledge cultivated in his age. From "a school in the country," where it was frankly admitted "he surpassed all his equals" {i.e. competitors), he was transferred in due time to Christ's College, Cambridge. It is not known, however, how long he continued with his jf/ma Mater^ nor what literary honours (if any) she conferred upon him. In reference to his academical course, his widow merely observes : " How he profited there (Cambridge) I am not able to judge ; but am fully assured, by men of much learning and judgment, that his works in very many places do sufficiently testify more that ordinary fruits of his university studies." It was during his residence at Cambridge that he first became acquainted (and the acquaintance soon ripened into a friendship, which was only determined by his death) with Phineas Fletcher, the author of that singular poem, " The Purple Island." To this early friendship with the poetical anatomist, may possibly be attributed much of the eccentricity of thought and ex- pression which characterizes the majority of his works. It is worthy of record, also — and the simple fact bespeaks the genuine amiability of his nature, better than the most laboured panegyric — that all his earliest-formed attach- ments proved as durable as they were sound. Upon the completion of his college career, he removed to London, and entered himself of Lincoln's Inn, having determined to prosecute the study of the law, " not so much out of desire to benefit himself thereby as his MEMOIR. friends and neighbours (showing therein his continued inclination to peace), by composing suits and differences amongst them." His widow states that he prosecuted his legal studies " for some years ; " but no record exists of his professional success, unless his appointment to the office of Chronologer to the City of London may be taken as an indication of it. The duties of this office were probably similar to those which are now performed by the City Remembrancer ; the position, therefore, was both honourable and lucrative. That he gave the fullest satisfaction to the Corporation employing him, may be inferred from the fact that his enemies, powerful and unscrupulous as they were, failed to lessen their respect for him ; and he continued, in consequence, to hold that piece of preferment up to the last hour of his life. Previously to his connexion with the City of London, he had been preferred to the office of cupbearer to the unfortunate Electress Palatine, Queen of Bohemia (Elizabeth, daughter of King James the First of Eng- land). From this it has been inferred by many that his destination, like that of his father, was originally to public life. His widow, however, as we have before partially intimated, states that, " after he came to matu- rity, he was not desirous to put himself into the world, otherwise he might have had greater preferments than he had ; " and, she continues, " he was neither so unlit for Court preferment, nor so ill-behaved there, but that he might have raised his fortune thereby, if he had had any inclination that way. But his mind was chiefly set upon his devotion and study." It was the last-mentioned pleasing features of his character that attracted the attention, and secured for him the distinguished patronage and friendship, of the learned Ussher, Archbishop of Armagh, who invited him over to Ireland, and kept him immediately about MEMOIR. his person in the capacity of his private secretary. It is not known when he was first induced to visit that unquiet country : he was forced, however, to hasten from it upon the breaking out of the terrible rebeUion there in , the year 1641. He was fortunate in being one of the ! very few English who escaped on that occasion the gen- I era! massacre perpetrated by the Romanists. I In attempting to avoid, however, the troubles and I dangers in Ireland, he was destined to experience much ! greater, in his own country. As before observed, he appears to have taken no overt part in the contest waged between Charles and his Parliament, until the cause of the former had become almost utterly hope- less. Upon the king's last retirement to Oxford, in the spring of the year 1644, Quarles hastened to join and sympathize with him ; and there he met also his old friend and fellow-loyalist Dr. Hammond, Archdeacon of Chichester ; who, like himself, was seeking a tempo- rary refuge from the rising storm, and harassing the oppo- sition meanwhile with tracts adapted to the popular judgment. Upon reaching Oxford he threw off all his former r reserve, and fearlessly committed himself to the ebbing tide of royalty, by publicly challenging the victorious party with their own weapons, and upon their own favourite ground — the Scriptures 5 as well as vindicating (in a pamphlet entitled " The Loyal Convert ") the con- duct of Charles, in summoning his Roman Catholic sub- jects to take up arms in his cause. He was prompted, no doubt, to this bold course by his desire to emulate the conduct of some of his clerical friends then assembled in Oxford, and more particularly that of Hammond. The author of so remarkable a production as " The Loyal Convert '^ was not likely to elude for any length I of time the vigilance of the now dominant fanatics, much I less escape paying the utmost penalty for his temerity. MEMOIR. His ingenuous apolog}^ for the king's alliance with Papists afforded them a sufficiently plausible excuse for not only- classing him with the most despised party in the kingdom, but also for depriving him of the last shreds of his pro- perty. Therefore, says his widov/, " a petition was pre- ferred against him by eight men (whereof he knew not any two, nor they him, save only by sight) : the first news of it struck him so to the heart, that he never recovered it, but said plainly it would be his death." It was not the loss of his property (including all his private papers, and several rare manuscripts) that affected him so much as the cruel charge of apostacy from the Protestant religion. This filled to overflowing, the cup of his sorrows. His many private connexions, his nu- merous literary labours, his whole life, in short, afforded the most mcontestable evidence of his consistent attach- ment to the reformed faith. The latest effort of his un- tiring muse was a composition " to the pretious memory of Doctor Martin Luther,'"' which he prefixed to the life of that reformer, by his friend Thomas Haynes. His prognostications respecting his untimely end, were verified on the 8th of September, 1644. He spent his last hours " in contemplation of God and meditatins; upon his word." In desiring to be vindicated from the unjust aspersions of his enemies, whom he freely forgave, his dying injunctions were : " He wished all his friends to take notice and make it known, that as he was trained up in the true Protestant religion, so in that religion he died.'^ His remains were interred in the parish church of St. Vedast, in Foster Lane, London. The personal character of Quarles, has been delineated by one who enjoyed the best opportunity of observing it. "^ In all his duties to God and man,'^ writes his affection- ate widow, " he was consciable and orderly : he pre- ferred God and religion to the first place in his thoughts ; his king and country to the second j his family and studies MEMOIR. he reserved to the last. As for God, he was frequent in his devotion and prayers to Him, and almost constant in reading or meditating on His holy word, as his ' Divine Fancies,' and other parts of his works, will sufficiently testify. For his religion, he was a true son of the Church of England j an even Protestant, not in the least degree biassed to this hand c.f superstition, or that of schism, though both those factions were ready to cry him down for his inclination to the contrary. His love to his king and country, in these late unhappy times of distraction, was manifest in that he used his pen, and poured out his continual prayers and tears, to quench this- miserable fire of dissension, while too many others added daily fuel unto it. And for his family, his care was very great over that, even then, when his occasions caused his absence from it. And when he was at home, his exhortations to us to continue in virtue and godly life, were so pious and fre- quent ; his admonitions so grave and piercing ; his repre- hensions so mild and gentle ; and (above all) his own ex- ample in every religious and moral duty, so constant and manifest, that his equal may be desired, but can hardly be met withal." Quarles was undoubtedly the most voluminous, as well as the most popular, writer of his day. A mere enumer- ation of his various compositions, in verse and prose, setting forth their extraordinary titles at large, would occupy no inconsiderable space. Besides his poetical versions of the entire books of Jonah, Esther, Job, the Lamentations of Jeremiah, and the Ecclesiastes and Song of Solomon, he paraphrased several other portions of Scripture. His original poems are almost equally numerous, and, like the preceding, almost exclusively of a sacred character. He was the author of seven other religious works in prose, as well as five political tracts and a comedy. Whatever diversity of opinion may exist with respect l^IEMOIR. to his particular merits as a writer, there is no room for questioning his diligence. How, amidst his professional and other avocations, he found time to compose so much, is best explained by his widow, who, in her very brief account of his life and writings, so often before referred to, incidently observes : — " And though it be too fre- quent a fault (as we see by experience) in gentlemen whose dispositions incline them to the study of poetry, to be loose and debauched in their lives, yet it was very far from him. Their delight could not be greater in the tavern, than his was in his study ; to which he devoted himself late and early, usually by three o'clock in the morning/' Bearing in mind the troublous period in which it was his lot to be cast, as well as the doubtful character of too many composing that political party with whom he was forced to associate, the justice of the above encomium is fully borne out by the existing fruits of his studies. Unlike the generality of authors, Quarles did not pub- lish his works in the same order as he composed them. His rule of publication, indeed, was no less irregular than the style of his compositions. His earliest attempt at authorship was " The Virgin Widow," a comedy, which was written, and privately acted with success, about the year 1620, or shortly after his removal from Cambridge to Lincoln's Inn ; but not published till five years after his decease. Seven other pieces likewise (in- cluding the best specimens of his prose efforts) were posthumously printed, but whose order of composition is doubtful. Probably the ascendancy of his religious convictions, early resolved him to abandon not only the dramatic, but also every other style of secular composition : for, with the exception of his " Argalus and Parthenia," which was written immediately after his comedy, and published in the year 162 1, all his subsequent works (those at least MEMOIR. committed by himself to the press) were either para- phrases of the Scriptures, or sacred meditations and epigrams. / / Of his various poetical compositions, his Paraphrases ^ of the Holy Scriptures are decidedly entitled to the first rank. In following the authorized version of them, he has not sacrificed a whit either of their simplicity or sense whilst exhibiting his art as a poet. His numbers, if not at all times melodious, never excite our ridicule by their unnatural contortions, as is too frequently the case in some of his other poems ; on the contrary, their measure, which is usually heroic, preserves throughout an even and graceful flow. He loses no opportunity of improving upon the poetical idea suggested either directly by his original, or indirectly by the occasion. As an ex- ample of the latter, we may refer to the magnificent description of the Almighty's a ppearance to, and con- troversy with, Job, as given in his version of that patri- arch's book ; the language of which rises proportionably with the interest of the scene, until it reom crimes to sin, and uncontroll'd removes From lust to lust, when wanton flesh invites From old worn pleasures to new choice delights ; At length corrected by the filial rod Of his offended, but his gracious God, And lashM from sins to sighs ; and by degrees, From sighs to vows, from vows to bended knees ; From oended knees to a true pensive breast ; From thence to torments not by tongue exprest ; Returns ; and (from his sinful self exil'd) Finds a glad father, he a welcome child : O then it lives ; O then it lives involv'd In secret raptures ; pants to be dissolvM : The royal offspring of a second birth. Sets ope', to Heaven, and shuts the door to earth : If love-sick Jove commanded clouds should hap To rain such show'rs as quickened Danae's lap: Or dogs (far kinder than their purple master,) Should lick his sores, he laughs, nor weeps the faster. If earth (Heav'n^s rival) dart her idle ray ; To Heav'n, ^tis wax, and to the world, "'tis clay : If earth present delights, it scorns to draw. But, like the jet unrubb^d, disdains that straw. No hope deceives it, and no doubt divides it; No grief disturbs it, and no error guides it ; No good contemns it, and no virtue blames it : No cuilt condemns it, and no folly shames it ; EMBLEMS. 93 No sloth besots it, and no lust inthrals it; No scorn afflicts it, and no passion galls it : It is a casket of immortal life ; An ark of peace ; the lists of sacred strife A purer piece of endless transitory ; A shrine of grace, a little theme of glory : A heav'n-born offspring of a new-born birth ; An earthly heav'n ; an. ounce of heav'nly earth. S. August, de Spir. et Anima. O happy heart, where piety affecteth, where humility subjecteth, where repentance correcteth, where obe- dience directeth, where perseverance perfecteth, where power protecteth, where devotion projecteth, wheie charity connecteth. S. Greg. Which way soever the heart turneth itself (if care- fully), it shall commonly observe, that in those very things we lose God, in those v&vy things we shall find God : it shall find the heat of his power in considera- tion of those things, in the love of which things he was most cold ; and by what things it fell perverted, by those things it is raised converted. Epig. 15. My heart ! but wherefore do I call thee so ? I have renouncM my interest long ago : When thou wert false and fleshly, 1 was thine ; Mine wert thou never, till thou wert not mine. 94 EMBLEMS. BOOK THE THIRD. PSALM XXXVIII. Q. Lcrd^ all ?ny desire is before thee : and my groaning is not hid from thee. A LL you whose better thoughts are newly born, -^^ And (rebaptiz'd with holy fire) can scorn The world's base trash, whose necks disdain to bear Th' imperious yoke of Satan ; whose chaste ear No wanton songs of Sirens can surprise With false delight ; whose more than eagle-eyes EMBLEMS. 95 Can view the glorious flames of gold, and gaze On glitt'ring beams of honour, and not daze ; Whose souls can spurn at pleasure, and deny The loose suggestions of the flesh, draw nigh : And you, whose am'rous, whose select desires Would feel the warmth of those transcendent fires, Wl)ich (like the rising sun) put out the light Of Venus' star, and turn her d.iy to night ; You that would love, and have your passions crown'd With greater happiness than can be found In your own wishes ; you that would affect Where neither scorn, nor guile, nor disrespect Shall wound your tortur'd souls ; that would enjoy. Where neither want can pinch, nor fulness cloy. Nor double doubt afllicts, nor baser fear Unflames your courage in pursuit, draw near. Shake hands with earth, and let your soul respect Her joys no farther, than her joys reflect Upon her Maker's glory ; if thou swim In wealth, see him in all ; see all in him : Sink'st thou in want, and is thy small cruse spent ? See him in want : enjoy him in content : Conceiv'st him lodg'd in cross, or lost in pain ? In pray'r and patience find him out again : Make Heav'n thy mistress, let no change remove Thy royal heart, be fond, be sick of love : What, if he stop his ear, or knit his brow ? At length he'll be as fond, as sick as thou : Dart up thy soul in groans : thy secret groan Shall pierce his ear, shall pierce his ear alone : Dart up thy soul in vows : thy sacred vow Shall find him out, where Heav'n alone shall know : Dart up thy soul in sighs : thy whispering sigh Shall rouse his ears, and fear no list'ner nigh : Send up thy groans, thy sighs, thy closet-vow ; There's none, there's none shall know but Heav'n and thou. 96 EMBLEMS. Groans fresh'd with vows, and vows made salt with tears ; Unscale his eyes, and scale his conquer'd ears : Shoot up the bosom shafts of thy desire, Feather'd with faith, and double-fork'd with fire ; And they will hit : fear not, where Heaven bids come, Heav'n's never deaf, but when man's heart is dumb. . EMBLEMS. 97 Emblem i ISAIAH XXV . 9. My soul hath desired thee in the night. /^OOD God ! what horrid darkness doth surround ^-^ My groping soul ! how are my senses bound In utter shades, and muffled from the light, Lurk in the bosom of eternal night ! The bold-fac'd lamp of Heav'n can set and rise ; And with his morning glory fill the eyes Of gazing mortals ; his victorious ray Can chase the shadows, and restore the day : Night's bashful empress, though she often wane. As oft repeats her darkness, primes again ; And, with her circling horns, doth re-embrace Her brother's wealth, and orbs her silver face. H 9S EMBLESIS. i:ook hi. But ah ! my sun, deep swallow'd in his fall, Is set, and cannot shine, nor rise at all : My bankrupt wain can beg nor borrow light ; Alas ! my darkness is perpetual night. Falls have their risings, wanings have their primes. And desp'rate sorrows wait their better times : Ebbs have their floods, and autumns have their springs : All states have changes hurried with the swings Of chance and time, still riding to and fro : Terrestrial bodies, and celestial too. How often have I vainly grop'd about, With lengthen^ arms to find a passage out. That I might catch those beams mine eye desires, And bathe my soul in those celestial fires ! Like as the haggard, cloister'd in her mew, To scour her downy robes, and to renew Her broken flags, preparing t' overlook The tim'rous mallard at the sliding brook. Jets oft from perch to perch ; from stock to ground ; From ground to window ; thus surveying round Her dove-befeather'd prison, till at length (Calling her noble birth to mind, and strength Whereto her wing was born) her ragged beak Nips off her jangling jesses, strives to break Her jingling fetters, and begins to bate At ev'ry glimpse, and darts at ev'ry grate : E'en so, my weary soul, that long has been An inmate in this tenement of sin, Lock'd up by cloud-brow'd error, which invites My cloister'd thoughts to feed on black delights, Now scorns her shadows, and begins to dart Her wing'd desires at thee, that only art The sun she seeks^ whose rising beams can fright These dusky clouds that make so dark a night : Shine forth, great glory, shine ; that I may see Both how to loathe myself, and honour thee j EMBLEMS. 99 But if my weakness force thee to deny Thy flames, yet lend the twilight of thine eye : If I must want those beams I wish, yet grant That I, at least, may wish those beams I want. S. August. Soliloq. Cap. xxxiii. There was a great dark cloud of vanity before mine eyes, so that I could not see the sun of justice and the light of truth : I being the sun of darkness, was involved in darkness : I loved my darkness, because I knew not thy light : I was blind, and loved my blindness, and did walk from darkness to darkness: but. Lord, thou art my God, who hast led me from darkness and the shadow of death ; hast called me into this glorious light, and behold, I see. Epig. I. My soul, cheer up ; what if the night be long ? Heav'n finds an ear when sinners find a tongue ; Thy tears are morning showers : Heav'n bids me say. When Peter's cock begins to crow, 'tis day. loo EMBLEMS. Emblem 2 PSALM LXIX. 5. Lord^ thou kjiowest my foolishness^ and my sins are not hid from thee. S EE'ST thou this fulsome idiot : in what measure He seems transported with the antic pleasure Of childish baubles ? Canst thou but admire The empty fulness of his vain desire ? Canst thou conceive such poor delights as these Can fill th' insatiate soul of man, or please The fond aspect of his deluded eye ? Reader, such very fools art thou and I : False pufts of honour \ the deceitful streams Of wealth ; the idle, vain, and empty dreams EifBLEMS. Of pleasure, are our traffic, and ensnare Our souls, the threefold subject of our care; We toil for trash, we barter solid joys For airy trifles, sell our Heav'n for toys : We catch at barley-grains, whilst pearls stand by Despis'd ; such very fools art thou and I. Aim'st thou at honour ? does not the idiot shake it In his left hand ? fond man, step forth and take it : Or would'st thou wealth r see now the fool presents the( With a full basket, if such wealth contents thee : Would'st thou take pleasure ? if the fool unstride His prancing stallion, thou may'st up, and ride : Fond man, such is the pleasure, wealth, and honour, The earth affords such fools as doat upon her ; Such is the game whereat earth's idiots fly ; Such idiots, ah ! such fools art thou and I : Had rebel man's fool-hardiness extended No farther than himself, and there had ended, It had been just ; but thus enrag'd to fly Upon th^ eternal eyes of Majesty, And drag the Son of Glorv from the breast Of his indulgent Father ; to arrest His great and sacred person ; in disgrace To spit and spawl upon his sun-bright face ; To taunt him with base terms, and, being bound, To scourge his soft, his trembling sides ; to wound His head with thorns, his heart with human fears ; His hands with nails, and his pale flank with spears ; And then to paddle in the purer stream Of his spilt blood, is more than most extreme : Great Builder of Mankind, canst thou propound All this to thy bright eyes, and not confound Thy handy work ? Oh ! canst thou choose but see, That mad'st the eye ? can aught be hid from thee ? Thou see'st our persons. Lord, and not our guilt; Thou seest not what thou may'st, but what thou wilt : EMBLEMS. The hand that form'd us is enforc'd to be A screen set up betwixt thy work and thee : Look, look upon that hand, and thou shalt spy An open wound, a thoroughfare for thine eye ; Or if that wound be clos'd, that passage be Deny'd between thy gracious eye and me, Yet view the scar; that scar will countermand Thy wrath : O read my fortune in thy hand. S. Chrys. Hom. iv. in Joan. Fools seem to abound in wealth, when they want all things ; they seem to enjoy happiness, when indeed they are only most miserable ; neither do they under- stand that they are deluded by their fancy, till they be delivered from their folly. S. Greg, in Mor. By so much the more are we inwardly foolish, by how much we strive to seem outwardly wise. Epig. 2. Rebellious fool, what has thy folly done .? Controll'd thy God, and crucifyM his Son .'' How sweetly has the Lord of life deceivM thee! Thou shedd'st his blood, and that shed blood has sav'd thee. EMBLEMS. 103 Emblem PSALM VI. 2. Have mercy ^ Lor d^ upon me^for 1 am zveak ; O Lord^ heal me^ for my bones are vexed. Soul. A H ! Son of David, help. Jes. What sinful -^^ cry Implores the Son of David ? Soul. It is I. . yes. Who art thou ? Soul. Oh ! a deeply vv^oundcd breast That's heavy laden, and would fain have rest. "Jes. I have no scraps, and dogs must not be fed, Like household children, vi^ith the children's bread. to4 EMBLEMS. Soul. True, Lord ; yet tolerate a hungry whelp To lick their crumbs : O Son of David, help. Jes. Poor soul, what ail'st thou ? Soul. O, I burn, I fry, I cannot rest, I know not where to fly. To find >onie ease ; I turn my blubberM face From man to man j I roll from place to place T^ avoid my tortures, to obtain relief. But still am doggM and haunted with my grief: My midnight torments call the sluggish light, And when the morning's come, they woo the night. yes. Surcease thy tears, and speak thy free desires. Soul. Quench, quench my flames, and ''suage those scorching fires. Jes. Canst thou believe my hand can cure thy grief Soul. Lord, I believe ; Lord, help my unbelief. yes. Hold forth thine arm, and let my fingers try Thy pulse ; where, chiefly, doth thy torment lie ? Soul. From head to foot ; it reigns in ev^ry part, But plays the self-lawM tryant in my heart. yes. Canst thou digest, canst relish wholesome food ? How stands thy taste ? Soul. To nothing that is good : All sinful trash, and earth^s unsavory stuff I can digest, and relish well enough. yes. Is not thy blood as cold as hot, by turns ? Soul. Cold to what^'s good ; to what is bad it burns. yes. How old's thy grief? Soul. I took it at the fall With eating fruit, yes. ""Tis epidemical : Thy blood's infected, and the infection sprung From a bad liver : 'tis a fever strong And full of death, unless with present speed A vein be open'd : thou must die, or bleed. Soul. O, I am faint and spent : that lance that shall I Let forth my blood, lets forth my life withal ; My soul wants cordials, and has greater need Of blood, than (being spent so far) to bleed : I faint already : if 1 bleed, I die. emble:ms. 105 "Jes. "'TIS either you must bleed, sick soul, or I : My blood''s a cordial. He that sucks my veins, Shall cleanse his own, and conquer greater pains Than these : cheer up ; this precious blood of mine Shall cure thy grief; my heart shall bleed for thine. Believe, and view me with a faithful eye, Thy soul shall neither languish, bleed, nor die. S. August. Lib. x. Confess. Lord, be merciful unto me ! ah me I behold, I hide not my wounds : thou art a physician, and I am sick ; thou art merciful, and I am miserable. S. Greg, in Pastoral. O wisdom, with how sweet an art doth thy wine and oil restore health to my healthless soul ! How powerfully merciful, how mercifully powerful art thou ! powerful for me, merciful to me ! Epig. 3. Canst thou be sick, and such a doctor by r Thou canst not live unless thy doctor die : Strange kind of grief, that finds no medicine good To ^suage her pains, but the physician^s blood ! io6 EMBLEMS. Emblem 4. PSALM XXV. 18. Look upon my affliction and ??iy pain^ and forgive all my sins. OOTH work and strokes ? both lash and labour too ? ^ What more could Edom, or proud Ashur do ? Stripes after stripes ; and blows succeeding blows ! Lord, has thy scourge no mercy, and my woes No end ? my pains no ease ? no intermission ? Is this the state, is this the sad condition Of those that trust thee ? will thy goodness please T' allow no other favours ? none but these ? Will not the rhct'ric of my torments move ? Are these the symptoms, these the signs of love ? BOOK III. EMBLEMS. 107 Is ■'t not enough, enough that I fulfil The toilsome task of thy laborious will ? May not this labour expiate and purge My sin, without th' addition of a scourge ? Look on my cloudy brow, how fast it rains Sad show'rs of sweat, the fruits of fruitless pains : Behold these ridges, see what purple furrows Thy plough has* made ; O think upon those sorrows That once were thine ; O wilt thou not be woo'd To mercy, by the charms of sweat and blood ? Canst thou forget that drowsy mount, wherein Thy dull disciples slept ? was not my sin There punish'd in thy soul r did not this brow Then sweat in thine ? were not these drops enow ? Remember Golgotha, where that spring-tide O^erflow^d thy sovereign, sacramental side : There was no sin, there was no guilt in thee, [me. That caus'd those pains \ thou sweat'st, thou bledd'st for Was there not blood enough, when one small drop Had pow'r to ransom thousand worlds, and stop The mouth of justice ? Lord, I bled before In thy deep wounds j can justice challenge more ? Or dost thou vainly labour to hedge in Thy losses from my sides ? my blood is thin And thy free bounty scorns such easy thrift ; No, no, thy blood came not as loan, but gift. But must I ever grind, and must I earn Nothing but stripes ? O wilt thou disaltern The rest thou gav'st ? hast thou perus'd the curse Thou laid''st on Adam's fall, and made it worse ? Canst thou repent of mercy ? Heaven thought good Lost man should feed in sweat ; not work in blood : Why dost thou wound th' already wounded breast } Ah me ! my life is but a pain at best : I am but dying dust : my day 's a span ; What pleasure tak'th thou in the blood of man ? io8 EMBLEMS. book hi. Spare, spare thy scourge, and be not so austere : Send fewer strokes, or lend more strength to bear. S. Bern. Horn. Ixxxi. in Cant. Miserable man ! who shall deliver me from the re- proach of this shameful bondage ? I am a miserable man, but a free man j free, because a man \ miserable, because a servant : in regard of my bondage, miserable j in regard of my will, inexcusable : for my will, that was free, beslaved itself to sin, by assenting to sin ; for he that committeth sin, is the servant to sin. Epig. 4. Tax not thy God : thine own defaults did urge This twofold punishment : the mill, the scourge. Thy sin ^s the author of thy self-tormenting : Thou grind'st for sinning j scourgM for not repenting. EMBLEMS. 109 JOB X. 9. Remember^ I beseech thee^ that thou hast made me as the clay ; and wilt thou bring me into dust again ? npHUS from the bosom of the new-made earth ''- Poor man was delvM, and had his unborn birth ; The same the stuff, the self-same hand doth trim The plant that fades, the beast that dies, and him. One was their fire, one was their common mother, Plants are his sisters, and the beast his brother, The elder too \ beasts drew the self-same breath, Wax old alike, and die the self-same death : Plants grow as he, with fairer robes arrayM \ Alike they flourish, and alike they fade : EMBLEMS. The beast in sense exceeds him, and, in growth, The three-agM oak doth thrice exceed them both. Why look^st thou then so big, thou Httle span Of earth ; what art thou more in being man ? I, but my great Creator did inspire My chosen earth, with the diviner fire Of reason ; gave me judgment and a will ; That, to know good ; this, to choose good from ill He puts the reins of powV in my free hand, A jurisdiction over sea and land ; He gave me art to lengthen out my span Of life, and made me all, in being man : I, but thy passion has committed treason Against the sacred person of thy reason : Thy judgment is corrupt, perverse thy will ; That knows no good, and this makes choice of ill : The greater height sends down the deeper fall ; And good declin'd, turns bad, turns worst of all. Say, then, proud inch of living earth, what can Thy greatness claim the more in being man ? O ! but my soul transcends the pitch of nature, Borne up by th' image of her high Creator ; Outbraves the life of reason, and bears down Her waxen wings, kicks ofF her brazen crown. My heart's a living temple t^ entertain The King of Glory and his glorious train : How can I mend my title then ? where can Ambition find a higher style than man ? Ah ! but that image is defacM and soilM ; Her temples razM, her altars all defil'd ; Her vessels are polluted and distain'd With loathed lust, her ornaments profanM ; Her oil-forsaken lamps and hoUow'd tapers Put out ; her incense breathes unsavory vapours : Why swell'st thou then so big, thou little span Of earth ? what art thou more in being man ? BOOK III. EMBLEMS. Eternal Potter, whose blest hands did lay My coarse foundation from a sod of clay, Thou know^st my slender vessel ^s apt to leak ; Thou know'st my brittle temper 's prone to break : Are my bones brazil, or my flesh of oak .? O, mend what thou hast made, what I have broke : Look, look with gentle eyes, and in thy day Of vengeance. Lord, remember I am clay. S. August. Soliloq. xxxii. Shall I ask, who made me ^ It was thou that madest me, without whom nothing was made : thou art my Maker, and I thy work. I thank thee, my Lord God, by v/hom I live, and by whom all things subsist, because thou madest me : I thank thee, O my Potter, because thy hands have made me, because thy hands have formed me. Epig. 5. Why swell'st thou, man, pufFd up with fame and purse ? Th' art better earth, but born to dig the worse : Thou cam'st from earth, to earth thou must return ; And art but earth, cast from the womb to th^ urn. EMBLEMS. BOOK III. Embl em 'Sf'iifL I have sinned : JVhat shall I do unto thee^ O thou Preserver of men ? why dost thou set 7ne as a mark against thee^ T ORD, I have done ; and, Lord I have misdone ; *^ 'Tis folly to contest, to strive with one That is too strong ; 'tis folly to assail Or prove an arm, that w^ill, that must prevail. [thrown I've done, Pve done ; these trembling hands have Their daring weapons down : the day's thine own : Forbear to strike where thou hast won the field. The palm, the palm is thine : I yield, I yield. These treach'rous hands, that were so vainly bold To try a thriveless combat, and to hold BOOK III. EMBLEMS. 113 Self-wounded weapons up, are now extended For mercy from thy hand ; that knee that bended Upon her guardless guard, doth now repent Upon this naked floor ; see both are bent, And sue for pity : O my ragged wound Is deep and desp'rate, it is drenched and drown'd In blood and briny tears : it doth begin To stink without, and putrefy within. Let that victorious hand that now appears Just in my blood, prove gracious to my tears : Thou great Preserver of presumptuous man. What shall I do r what satisfaction can Poor dust and ashes make r O if that blood. That yet remains unshed, were half as good As blood of oxen, if my death might be An ofPring to atone my God and me, I would disdain injurious life, and stand A suitor to be wounded from thy hand. But may thy wrongs be measur'd by the span Of life, or balanc'd with the blood of man r No, no, eternal sin expects, for guerdon. Eternal penance, or eternal pardon : Lay down thy weapons, turn thy wrath away. And pardon him that hath no price to pay ; Enlarge that soul, which base presumption binds ; Thy justice cannot loose what mercy finds ; O thou that wilt not bruise the broken reed. Rub not my sores, nor prick the wounds that bleed. Lord, if the peevish infant fights and flies. With unpar'd weapons, at his mother's eyes. Her frowns (half-mix'd with smiles), may chance to show An angry love-tick on his arm, or so ; Where, if the babe but make a lip and cry. Her heart begins to melt, and by and by She coaxes his dewy cheeks ; her babe she blesses, And chokes her language with a thousand kisses ; 114 EMBLEMS. I am that child : lo, here I prostrate lie, Pleading for mercy, I repent, and cry For gracious pardon ; let thy gentle ears Hear that in words, what mothers judge in tears : See not my frailties, Lord, but through my fear, And look on every trespass through a tear : Then calm thine anger, and appear more mild ; Remember, th^ art a father, I a child. S. Bern. Ser. xxi. in Cant. Miserable man ! who shall deliver me from the re- proach of this shameful bondage ? I am a miserable man, but a free man : free, because like to God ; mise- rable, because against God : O keeper of mankind, why hast thou set me as a mark against thee ? thou hast set me, because thou has not hindered me : It is just that thy enemy should be my enemy, and that he who repugneth thee, should repugn me : I, who am against thee, am against myself. Epig. 6. But form'd, and fight ! but born, and then rebel ! How small a blast will make a bubble swell ? Cut dares the floor affront the hand that laid it ? So apt is dust to fly in 's face that made it. e:\iblems. "5 Embl em 7, JOB XIII. 24. Wherefore hidest thou thy face ^ and holdest me for thine enemy ? TTTHY dost thou shade thy lovely face ; O why ^^ Does that eclipsing hand so long deny The sunshine of thy soul-enlivening eye ; Without that light, what light remains in me ? Thou art my life, my way, my light ; in thee I live, I move, and by thy beams I see. Thou art my life ; if thou but turn away. My life 's a thousand deaths : thou art my way; Without thee, Lop.d, I travel not, but stray. EMBLEMS. BOOK in. 1 I My light thou art ; without thy glorious sight, My eyes are darkened with perpetual night. My God, thou art my way, my life, my light. Thou art my way ; I wander, if thou fly : Thou art my light ; if hid, how blind am I ? Thou art my life ; if thou withdraw, I die. Mine eyes are blind and dark, I cannot see ; To whom, or whither should my darkness flee, But to the light ? and who's that light but thee ? My path is lost, my wandering steps do stray ; I cannot safely gof nor safely stay ; Whom should 1 seek but thee, my path, my way ? O, I am dead : to whom shall I, poor I, Repair .? to whom shall my sad ashes fly For life ? and where is life but in thine eye ? And yet thou turn'st away thy face, and fly'st me ; And yet I sue for grace, and thou deny'st me ; Speak, art thou angry. Lord, or only try'st me ? Unscreen those heav'nly lamps, or tell me why Thou shad'st thy face ; perhaps thou thinks't no eye Can view those flames, and not drop down and die. If that be all, shine forth and draw thee nigher ; Let me behold and die, for my desire Is, phcenix-like, to perish in that fire. Death-conquer'd LazVus was redeem'd by thee ; If I am dead. Lord, set death^s prisoner free ; Am I more spent, or stink I worse than he ? If my puflPd life be out, give leave to tine My shameless snufl^at that bright lamp of thine ; O what's thy light the less for light'ning mine .'' EMBLEMS. 117 If I have lost my path, great Shepherd, say, Shall I still wander in a doubtful way ? Lord, shall a lamb of Isr'el's sheep-fold stray ? Thou art the Pilgrim's path, the blind man^s eye ; The dead man's life : on thee my hopes rely ; If thou remove, I err, I grope, I die. Disclose thy sun-beams, close the wings and stay ; See, see how I am blind and dead, and stray, O thou that art my light, my hfe, my way. S. August. Soliloq. Cap. i. Why dost thou hide thy face : happily thou wilt say. None can see thy face and live : Ah, Lord, let me die, that I may see thee ; let me see thee, that I may die ; I would not live, but die ; that I may see Christ, I desire death ; that I may live with Christ, I despise life. Anselm. Med. Cap. v. O excellent hieing, which is become my perfection ! My God, thou hidest thy treasure, to kindle my desire ! thou hidest thy pearl, to inflame the seeker ; thou delayest to give, that thou mayest teach me to impor- tune i seemest not to hear, to make me persevere. Epig. 7. If Heav'n's all-quickening eyes vouchsafe to shine Upon our souls, we sight ; if not, we whine : Our equinoctial hearts can never lie Secure, beneath the tropics of that eye. ii8 EilBLEMS. BOOK III. I Emblem 8 JER. IX. I. Oh that my head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears ^ that I ?night weep day and night. OH that mine eyes were snrings, and could trans- form Their drops to seas ; my sighs into a storm Of zeal, and sacred violence, wherein This lab'ring vessel, laden with her sin. Might suffer sudden shipwreck, and be split Upon that rock, where my drench'd soul may sit, O'erwhelmed with plenteous passion : Oh, and there Drop, drop, into an everlasting tear ! Ah me ! that every sliding vein that wanders Throu2:h this vast isle, did work her wild meanders emble:\is. 129 In brackish tears instead of blood, and swell This flesh with holy dropsies, from whose well, Made warm with sighs, may fume my wasting breath, Whilst I dissolve in streams, and reek to death ! These narrow sluices of my dribbling eyes Are much to strait for those quick springs that rise, And hourly fill my temples to the top ; I cannot shed for every sin a drop ; Great Builder of mankind, why hast thou sent Such swelling floods, and made so small a vent ? Oh that this flesh had been composed of snow, Instead of earth ; and bones of ice ; that so, Feelino; the fervour of mv sin, and loathino; The fire I feel, I might have thaw'd to nothins;! though that didst, with hopeful joy, entomb Me thrice three moons in thy laborious womb, And then, with joyful pain, brought'st forth a son, What, worth thy labour, has thy labour done r What was there, ah ! what was there in my birth That I could deserve the easiest smile or mirth ? A man was born : alas ! and what ^s a man ! A scuttle full of dust, a measur'd span Of flitting time ; a furnishM pack, whose wares Are sullen griefs, and soul-tormenting cares : A vale of tears, a vessel tunn'd with breath. By sickners broachM, to be drawn out by death : A hapless, helpless thing, that, born, does cry To feed, that feeds to live, that lives to die. Great God and man, whose eye spent drops so often For me, that cannot weep enough ; O soften These marble brains, and strike this flinty rock ; Or, if the music of thy Peter's cock Will more prevail, fill, fill my hearkening ears With that sweet sound, that I may melt in tears ! 1 cannot weep until thou broach mine eye ; O give me vent, or else I burst, and die. EMBLEMS. S. Ambros. in Psal. cxviii. He that commits sins to be wept for, cannot weep for sins committed ; and being himself most lamentable, hath no tears to lament his offences. Nazianz. Orat. iii. Tears are the deluge of sin, and the world's sacrifice. S. HiERON. in Esaiam. Prayer appeases God, but a tear compels him : that moves him, but this constrains him. Epig. 8. Earth is an island ported round with fears ; Thy way to Heav'n is through the sea of tears ; It is a stormy passage, where is found The wreck of many a ship, but no man drownM. EMBLEMS. Emblem 9, PSALM XVIII. 5. The sorrows of hell compassed ?ne about^ and the snares of death prevented fne. tS not this type well cut, in ev'ry part -*■ Full of rich cunning ! fill'd with Zeuxian art ? Are not their hunters, and the Stygian hounds Limn'd full to th' life ? did'st ever hear the sounds Of music, and the lip-dividing breaths Of the strong winded horn, recheats, and deaths, Done more exact ? th' infernal Nimrod's halloo ? The lawless purlieus ? and the game they follow ! The hidden engines, and the snares that lie So undiscover'd, so obscure to th' eye ? EMBLEMS. The new drawn net, and her entangled prey ? And him that closes it ? Beholder, say, Is 't not well done ! seems not an em'lous strife Betwixt the rare cut picture and the life ? These purlieu men are devils ; and the hounds (Those quick-nos'd cannibals, that scour the grounds) Temptation ; and the game, the fiends pursue. Are human souls, which still they have in view j Whose fury if they chance to 'scape, by flying. The skilful hunter plants his net, close lying On the unsuspected earth, baited with treasure. Ambitious honour, and self-wasting pleasure : Where, if the soul but stoop, death stands prepar'd To draw the net, and drown the souls ensnared. Poor soul ! how art thou hurried to and fro ? W^here canst thou safely stay ? where safely go ? If stay \ these hot mouth'd hounds are apt to tear thee : If go; the snares enclose, the nets ensnare thee : What good in this bad world has power t' invite thee ? A willing guest ; wherein can earth delight thee ? Her pleasures are but itch : her wealth, but cares : A world of dangers, and a world of snares : The close pursuers' busy hands do plant Snares in thy substance ; snares attend thy want ; Sn?res in thy credit ; snares in thy disgrace ; Snares in thy high estate ; snares in thy base ; Snares tuck thy bed ; and snares surround thy board ; Snares watch thy thoughts ; and snares attach thy word ; Snares in thy quiet ; snares in thy commotion ; Snares in thy diet ; snares in thy devotion ; Snares lurk in thy resolves, snares in thy doubt ; Snares lie within thy heart, and snares withoL t ; Snares are above thy head, and snares beneath ; Snares in thy sickness, snares are in thy death. Oh ! if these purlieus be so full of danger, Great God of hearts, the world's sole sov'reign ranger. EMBLEMS. 123 Preserve thy deer ; and let my soul be blest In thy safe forest, where I seek for rest : Then let the hell-hounds roar, I fear no ill ; Rouse me they may, but have no power to kill. S. Ambros. Lib. iv. in Cap. iv. in Luc. The reward of honours, the height of power, the delicacy of diet, and the beauty of an harlot, are the snares of the devil. S. Ambros. de Bono Mortis. Whilst thou seekest pleasures, thou runnest into snares, for the eye of the harlot is the snare of the adulterer. Savanar. In eating, he sets before us gluttony ; in generation, luxury ; in labour, sluggishness ; in conversing, envy j in governing, covetousness ; in correcting, anger ; in honour, pride ; in the heart, he sets evil thoughts ; in the mouth, evil words ; in actions, evil works ; when awake, he moves us to evil actions ; when asleep, to filthy dreams. Epig. 9. Be sad, my heart, deep dangers wait thy mirth : Thy soul's waylaid by sea, by hell, by earth : Hell has her hounds ; earth, snares ; the sea, a shelf: But, most of all, my heart, beware thyself. 124- EMBLEMS. Emblem lo. PSALM CXLIII. 2. Enter not into judgment with thy servant ; for in thy sight shall no man living he justified. Jejsug. Justice. Sinner. Jes. "ORING forth the pris'ner, Justice. Just. ^ Thy commands Are done, just Judge : See here the pris'ner stands. Jes. What has the pris'ner done ? Say ; what's the cause. Of his commitment? Just. He hath broke the laws Of his too gracious God; conspir'd the death Of that great Majesty that gave him breath, And heaps transgression, Lord, upon transgression. BOOK III. EMBLEMS. 125 yes. How know'st thou this ? Just. E'en by his own confession : His sins are crying ; and they cry'd aloud : They cry'd to Heav'n, they cry^d to Heav'n for blood. Jes. XVhat say'st thou, sinner ? hast thou ought to plead That sentence should not pass ? hold up thy head, And show thy brazen- thy rebellious face. Sin. Ah me ! I dare not : Pm too vile and base To tread upon the earth, much more to lift Mine eyes to Heav'n ; I need no other shrift Than mine own conscience : Lord, I must confess, I am no more than dust, and no whit less Than my indictment styles me j ah ! if thou Search too severe, with too severe a brow, What flesh can stand t I have transgress'd thy laws ; My merits plead thy vengeance ; not my cause. Just. Lord, shall I strike the blow t Jes. Hold, Justice, stay : Sinner, speak on \ what hast thou more to say .? Sin. Vile as I am, and of myself abhorr'd, I am thy handy-work, thy creature. Lord, Stampt with thy glorious image, and at first Most like to thee, though now a poor accurst. Convicted caitiff, and degen'rous creature. Here trembling at thy bar. Just. Thy fault's the greater. Lord, shall I strike the blow } Jes. Hold, Justice, stay : Speak, sinner ; hast thou nothing else to say .? Sin. Nothing but mercy, mercy. Lord ; my state Is miserably poor and desperate ; I quite renounce myself, the world, and flee From Lord to Jesus, from thyself to thee. Just. Cease thy vain hopes ; my angry God has vow'd ; Abused mercy must have blood for blood : 126 EMBLEMS. Shall I yet strike the blow ? yes. Stay, Justice, hold \ My bowels yearn, my fainting blood grows cold, To view the trembling wretch ; methinks I spy My Father's image in the pris'ner's eye. Just. I cannot hold. Jes. Then turn thy thirsty blade Into my sides, let there the wound be made : Cheer up, dear soul ; redeem thy life with mine : My soul shall smart, my heart shall bleed for thine. Sin. O groundless deeps ! O love beyond degree ! Th' offended dies to set th' offender free. S. August. Lord, if I have done that, for which thou mayest damn me ; thou hast not lost that, whereby thou mayest save me : remember not, sweet Jesus, thy justice against the sinner, but thy benignity towards thy creature : remember not to proceed against a guilty soul, but remember thy mercy towards a miserable wretch : forget the insolence of the provoker, and be- hold the misery of the invoker j for what is Jesus but a Saviour ? Anselm. Have respect for what thy Son hath done for me, and forget what my sins have done against thee : my flesh hath provoked thee to vengeance ; let the flesh of Christ move thee to mercy : It is much that my rebellions have deserved ; but it is more than my Redeemer hath merited. Epig. 10. Mercy of mercies ! He that was my drudge Is now my advocate, is now my judge : He suffers, pleads, and sentences alone : Three I adore, and yet adore but One. ElIBLEMS. 127 Emblem II ther let the deep PSALM LXix. 15. Let not the water-Jlood overflow me^ net swallow me up. 'npHE world's a sea ; my flesh a ship that 's mann'd -*- With lab'ring thoughts, and steer'd by reason's hand : My heart 's the seaman's card, whereby she sails j My loose affections are the greater sails ; The top-sail is my fancy, and the gusts That fill these wanton sheets, are worldly lusts. Pray'r is the cable, at whose end appears The anchor Hope, ne'er slipp'd but in our fears : My will 's the inconstant pilot, that commands The stagg'ring keel ; my sins are like the sands : 128 EMBLEMS. Repentance is the bucket, anc^ mine eye The pump unus'd (but in extremes) and dry : My conscience is the plummet that does press The deeps, but seldom cries, O fathomless : Smooth calm 's security ; the gulph, despair ; My freight's corruption, and this life 's my fare : My soul's the passenger, confus'dly driv'n From fear to fright; her landing port is Heav'n. My seas are stormy, and my ship doth leak ; My sailor's rude ; my steersman faint and weak : My canvass torn, it flaps from side to side : My cable 's crackM, my anchor 's slightly ty'd. My pilot 's craz'd : my shipwreck sands are cloak'd ; My bucket 's broken, and my pump is chok'd ; My calm's deceitful ; and my gulph too near ; My wares are slubber'd, and my fare 's too dear : My plummet 's light, it cannot sink nor sound : Oh, shall my rock-bethreaten'd soul be drown'd ? Lord, still the seas, and shield my ship from harm ; Instruct my sailors, guide my steersman's arm : Touch thou my compass, and renew my sails. Send stifFer courage or send milder gales ; Make strong my cable, bind my anchor faster ; Direct my pilot, and be thou his master; Object the sands to my most serious view, Make sound my bucket, bore my pump anew : New cast my plummet, make it apt to try Where the rocks lurk, and where the quicksands lie ; Guard thou the gulph with love, my calms with care ; Cleanse thou my freight ; accept my slender fare ; Refresh the sea-sick passenger \ cut short His voyage ; land him in his wish'd-for port : Thou, thou, whom winds and stormy seas obey. That through the deep gav'st grumbling Isr'el way, Say to my soul, be safe ; and then mine eye Shall scorn grim death, although grim death stand by. EMBLEMS. 129 thou whose strength-reviving arm did cherish Thy sinking Peter, at the point to perish, Reach forth thy hand, or bid me tread the wave, 1 '11 come, I '11 come : the voice that calls will save. S. Ambros. Apol. post. pro. David. Cap. iii. The confluence of lust makes a great tempest, which in this sea disturbeth the seafaring soul, that reason cannot govern it. S. August. Soliloq. Cap. xxxv. We labour in the boisterous sea : thou standest upon the shore and seest our dangers ; give us grace to hold a middle course between Scylla and Charybdis, that, both dangers escaped, we may arrive at the port secure. Epig. II. My soul, the seas are rough, and thou a stranger In these false coasts ; O keep aloof; there 's danger Cast forth thy plummet ; see, a rock appears ; Thy ship wants sea-room ; make it with thy tears. e:\ible:ms. Embl em I 2 JOB XIV. 13. O that thou wouldest hide me in the grave^ that thou wouldest keep me in secret until thy wrath he past ! (\ WHITHER shall I fly? what path untrod '*^ Shall I seek out to 'scape the flaming rod Of" my ofl^ended, of my angry God ? Where shall I sojourn ? what kind sea will hide My head from thunder ? where shall I abide, Until his flames be quench'd or laid aside ? What, if my feet should take their hasty flight. And seek protection in the shades of night ? Alas ! no shades can blind the God of light. emble:\is. What, if mv soul should take the wings of day, And find some desert ? If she springs away, The wings of vengeance clip as fast as they. What, if some solid rock should entertain My frighted soul ? can solid rocks restrain The stroke of Justice, and not cleave in twain ? Nor sea, nor shade, nor shield, nor rock, nor cave. Nor silent deserts, nor the sullen grave. What flame-ey'd fury means to smite, can save. The seas will part, graves open, rocks will split ; The shield will cleave ; the frighted shadows flit ; Where Justice aims, her fier)^ darts must hit. No, no, if stern-brow'd vengeance means to thunder. There is no place above, beneath, or under. So close, but will unlock, or rive in sunder. 'Tis vain to flee ; 'tis neither here nor there Can 'scape that hand, until that hand forbear ; Ah me ! where is he not, that 's everywhere r ' Tis vain to flee, till gentle mercy show Her better eye ; the farther off we go. The swing of Justice deals the mightier blow. Th' ingenuous child, corrected, does not fly His angr}'' mother's hand, but clings more nigh, And quenches with his tears her flaming eye. Shadows are faithless, and the rocks are false ; No trust in brass, no trust in marble walls j Poor cots are e'en as safe as princes' halls. Great God ! there is no safety here below ; Thou art my fortress, thou that seem'st my foe, 'Tis thou, that strikest the stroke, must guard the blow. Thou art my God, by thee I fall or stand ; Thy grace hath giv'n me courage to withstand All tortures, but my conscience and thy hand. 132 EMBLEMS. I know thy justice is thyself; I know, Just God, thy very self is mercy too ; If not to thee, where, whither shall I go ? Then work thy will ; if passion bid me flee, My reason shall obey ; my wings shall be Stretch'd out no further than from thee to thee. S. August, in Psal. xxxiii. Whither fly I ? to what place can I safely fly ? to what mountain ? to what den ? to what strong house ? what castle shall I hold ? what walls shall hold me ? whithersoever I go, myself followeth me : For what- soever thou fliest, O man, thou mayest, but thy own conscience : wheresoever, O Lord, I go, I find thee ; if angry, a revenger ; if appeased, a redeemer : what way have I, but to fly from thee to thee ? that thou mayest avoid thy God, address to thy Lord. EpIG. 12. Hath vengeance found thee ? can thy fears command No rocks to shield thee from her thund'ring hand ; Know'st thou not where to 'scape ? I '11 tell thee where My soul, make clean thy conscience ; hide thee there. EMBLEMS. »33 Emblem JOB X. 20. Are not my days few? Cease then^ and let me alone ^ that I may bewail myself a little. TVyfY glass is half unspent ; forbear t' arrest ^^ My thriftless day too soon : my poor request Is, that my glass may run but out the rest. My time-devoured minutes will be done Without thy help ; see, see how swift they run : Cut not my thread before my thread be spun. The gain 's not great I purchase by this stay ; What loss sustain'st thou by so small delay, To whom ten thousand years are but a day ? 34 emble:\is. My following eye can hardly make a shift To count my winged hours ; they fly so swift, They scarce deserve the bounteous name of gift. The secret wheels of hurrying time do give So short a warning, and so fast they drive. That I am dead before I seem to live. And what 's a life ? a weary pilgrimage, Whose glory in one day doth fill thy stage ^ With childhood, manhood, and decrepit age. And what 's a life ? the flourishing array Of the proud summer-meadow, which to-day Wears her green plush, and is to-morrow hay. And what 's a life a blast sustained with clothing, Maintain'd with food, retain'd with vile self-loathing. Then weary of itself, again to nothing. Read on this dial, how the shades devour My short-livM winter's day; hour eats up hour; Alas ! the total 's but from eight to four. Behold these lilies (which thy hands have made Fair copies of my life, and open laid To view), how soon they droop, how soon they fade ! Shade not that dial, night will blind too soon ; My non-ag'd day already points to noon : How simple is my suit 1 how small my boon ! Nor do I beg this slender inch, to while The time away, or safely to beguile My thoughts with joy, there 's nothing worth a smile. No, no : 'tis not to please my wanton ears With frantic mirth, 1 beg but hours, not years : And what thou giv'st me, I will give to tears. Draw not that soul which would be rather led ! That seed has yet not broke my serpent's head ; O shall I die before my sins are dead? EMBLEMS. 135 Behold th^se rags ; am I a fitting guest To t.iste the dainties of thy royal feast, With hands and face unwashed, ungirt, unblest? First, let the Jordan streams, that find supplies From the deep fountain of my heart, arise, And cleanse my spots, and clear my lep'rous eye I have a world of sins to be lamented ; I have a sea of tears that must be vented : O spare till then ; and then I die contented. S. August. Lib. de Civit. Dei. Cap. x. The time wherein we live, is taken from the space of our life ; and what remaineth, is daily made less, inso- much that the time of our life is nothing but a passage to death. S. Greg. Lib. ix. Cap. Ixiv. in Job. As moderate afflictions bring tears, so immoderate take away tears ; insomuch that sorrow becometh no sorrow, which shallowing up the mind of the afflicted, takcth away the sense of the affliction. Epig. 13. Fear'st thou to go, when such an arm invites thee ? | Dread^st thou thy loads of sin ? or what affrights thee ? | If thou begin to fear, thy fear begins : FooU can he bear thee hence, and not thv sins? • 136 EMBLEMS. Emblem 14. DEUT. XXXII. 29. O that 7nen were w'lse^ that they understood th'is^ that they would consider their latter end ! FL jFlegft, Spirit. "^T^HAT means my sister's eye so oft to pass ^^ Through the long entry of that optic glass ? Tell me ; what secret virtue doth invite Thy twinkled eye to such unknown delight ? S/). It helps the sight, makes things remote appear In perfect view ; it draws the objects near. FL What sense-delighting objects dost thou spy ? What does that glass present before thine eye ? EMBLEMS. 137 I Sp. I see my foe, thy reconciled friend, Grim death, e'en standing at the glasses end : His left hand holds a branch of palm ; his right Holds forth a two-edg'd sword. Fi. A proper sight. And is this all ? doth thy prospective please Th' abused fancy with no shapes but these ? Sp. Yes, I behold the darkenM sun bereav'n Of all his light, the battlements of Heav'n Swelt'ring in flames ; the angel-guarded Son Of glory on his high tribunal-throne ; I see a brimstone sea of boiling fire, And fiends, with knotted whips of flaming wire, Tort'ring poor souls, that gnash their teeth in vain, And gnaw their flame-tormented tongues for pain. Look, sister, how the queasy- stomach'd graves Vomit their dead, and how the purple waves Scald their consumeless bodies, strongly cursing All wombs for bearing, and all paps for nursing. FI. Can thy distemper'd fancy take delight In view of tortures ? these are shows t' affright : Look in this glass triangular ; look here. Here 's that will ravish eyes. Sp. What seest thou there ? FI. The world in colours j colours that distain The cheeks of Proteus or the silken train Of Flora's nymphs ; such various sorts of hue. As sun-confronting Iris never knew : Here, if thou please to beautify a town. Thou may'st ; or with a hand, turn't upside down ; Here may'st thou scant or widen by the measure Of thine own will ; make short or long at pleasure : Here may'st thou tire thy fancy, and advise With shows more apt to please more curious eyes. Sp. Ah fool ! that doat'st on vain, on present toys. And disrespect'st those true, those future joys : How strongly are thy thoughts bcfool'd, alas ! To doat on goods that perish with thy glass ! 13S EMBJ.EMS. Nay, vanish with the turning of a hand : With painted reason that they might devote thee : Were they but painted colours, it might stand, But things that have no being to besot thee ! Foresight of future torments is the way To balk those ills which present joys betray. As thou hast fool'd thyself, so now come hither, Break that fond glass, and let 's be wise together. S. BoNAVENT. de Contemptu Sceculi. O that men would be wise, and understand, and foresee. Be wise, to know three things, the multitude of those that are to be damned ; the few number of those that are to be saved ; and the vanity of transitory things : understand three things ; the multitude of sins, the omission of good things, and the loss of time : foresee three things ; the danger of death, the last judgment, and eternal punishment. Epig. 14. What, soul, no further yet ? what, ne'er commence Master in faith ? still bachelor of sense ? Is ^t insufficiency ? or what has made thee O'erslip thy lost degree ? thy lusts have staid thee. EMBLEMS. 39 Emblem i PSALM XXXI. 10. My life is spent with grief and ?ny years with sighing. TT rHAT sullen star rul'd my untimely birth, ^^ That would not lend my days one hour of mirth } How oft have these bare knees been bent to gain These slender arms of one poor smile in vain ? How often, tir'd with the fastidious light. Have my faint lips implor'd the shades of night? How often have my nightly torments prayM For ling'ring twilight, glutted with the shade ? Day worse than night, night worse than day appears 5 In fears I spend my nights, my days in tears : I moan unpitied, groan without relief, There is no end or measure of my grief. I40 EMBLEilS. The smiling flow'r salutes the day ; it grows Untouch'd with care ; it neither spins nor sows : that my tedious life were like this flow'r, Or freed from grief, or finish'd with an hour : Why was I born ? why was I born a man ? And why proportion'd by so large a span ? Or why suspended by the common lot. And being born to die, why die I not ? Ah me ! why is my sorrow-wasted breath Denied the easy privilege of death ? The branded slave, that tugs the weary oar. Obtains the sabbath of a welcome shore ; His ransom'd stripes are heal'd ; his native soil Sweetens the mem'ry of his foreign toil : But ah ; my sorrows are not half so blest ; My labour fmds no point, my pains no rest ; 1 barter sighs for tears, and tears for groans, Still vainly rolling Sisyphaean stones. Thou just observer of our flying hours. That, with thy admantine fangs, devours The brazen monuments of renowned kings. Doth thy glass stand ? or be thy moulting wings Unapt to fly ? if not, why dost thou spare A willing breast ; a breast that stands so fair ; A dying breast, that hath but only breath To beg a wound, and strength to grave a death ? O that the pleased Heav'ns would once dissolve These fleshy fetters, that so fast involve My hamper'd soul ; then would my soul be blest From all those ills, and wrap her thoughts in rest : Till then, my days are months, my months are years, My years are ages to be spent in tears : My griefs entailed upon my wasteful breath, Which no recov'ry can cut off but death. Breath drawn in cottages, puffd out in moans, Begins, continues, and concludes in groans. BOOK III. e:mblems. 141 Innocent, de Vilitate Condit. Humanas. O who will give mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I may bewail the miserable ingress of man's condition ; the sinful progress of man's conversation ; the damnable egress in man's dissolution ? I will consider with tears, whereof man was made, what man doth, and what man is to do ! alas ! he is formed of earth, conceived in sin, born to punishment : he doth evil things, which are not lawful ; he doth filthy things, which are not decent ? he doth vain things, which are not expedient. J:1.PIG. 15. My heart, thy life's a debt by bond, which bears A secret date ; the use is groans and tears : Plead not ; usurious nature will have all, As well the int'rest as the principal. [ 142 E:»rBLEiis. ::ooK n-. BOOK THE FOURTH. Emblem i . :^^==^^-^^^=^-fli2^^^MiiV^^^^"^^ "■"-iir-^^^ >N_ r^^ My soul hath coveted t. .:.$;:e thy juJ^ments.— Psalm c. ix. ROM. VII. 23. / see another law in my ?ne?nbers warring against the law of ?ny mind^ and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin. C\ HOW my will is hurried to and fro, ^^ And how my unresolv'd resolves do vary ! I know not where to fix, sometimes I go This way, then that, and then the quite contrary : EMBLE3IS. I like, dislike : lament for what I could not j I do, undo ; yet still do what I should not, And, at the selfsame instant, will the thing I would not. Thus are my weather-beaten thoughts opprest With th' earth-bred winds of my prodigious wiil ; Thus am I hourly tost from east to west Upon the rolling streams of good and ill : Thus am I driv'n upon the slippery suds From real ills to false apparent goods : My life 's a troubled sea, compos'd of ebbs and floods. The curious penman, having trimm'd his page With the dead language of his dabbled quill. Let fall a heedless drop, then in a rage Cashiers the fruits of his unlucky skill ; E'en so my pregnant soul in th' infant bud [flood Of her best thoughts show'rs down a coal-black Of unadvised ills, and cancels all her good. Sometimes a su-dden flash of sacred heat Warms my chill soul, and sets my thoughts in frame ; But soon that fire is shoulder'd from her seat But lustful Cupid's much inferior flame. • I feel two flames, and yet no flame entire ; Thus are the mongrel thoughts of mixt desire Consum'd between that heav'nly and this earthly fire. Sometimes my trash-disdaining thoughts outpass The common period of terrene conceit ; O then methinks I scorn the thing I was, Whilst I stand ravish'd at my new estate : But when the Icarian wings of my desire Feel but the warmth of their own native fire, then they melt and plunge within their wonted mire. 1 know the nature of my wav'ring mind ; I know the frailty of my fleshly will : EMDLEMS. My passion 's eagle-ey'd ; my judgment blind ; I know what 's good, and yet make choice of ill. When the ostrich wings of my desires shall be So dull, they cannot mount the least degree, Yet grant my sole desire, but of desiring thee. S. Bern. Med. ix. My heart is a vain heart, a vagabond and instable heart ; while it is led by its own judgment, and wanting divine counsel, cannot subsist in itself; and whilst it divers ways seeketh rest, findeth none, but remaineth miserable through labour, and void of peace : it agreeth not with itself, it dissenteth from itself; it altereth resolu- tions, changeth the judgment, frameth new thoughts, pulleth down the old, and buildeth them up again : it willeth and willeth not ; and never remaineth in the same state. S. August, de Verb. Apost. When it would, it cannot ; because when it might, it would not : therefore by an evil will man lost his good power. Epig. I. My soul, how are thy thoughts disturb'd, confined, Enlarg'd betwixt thy members and thy mind ! Fix here or there ; thy doubt-depending cause Can ne'er expect one verdict 'twixt two laws. EMBLEMS. MS Emblem i PSALM CXIX. 5. O that my ways were directed to keep thy statutes 1 T^^HUS I, the object of the world's disdain, ^ With pilgrim face surround the weary earth \ I only relish what the world counts vain ; Her mirth's my grief j her sullen grief my mirth ; Her light my darkness ; and her truth my error. Her freedom is my gaol \ and her delight my terror. Fond earth ! proportion not my seeming love To my long stay ; but let my thoughts deceive thee Thou art my prison, and my home 's above ; My life 's a preparation but to leave thee : Like one that seeks a door, I walk about thee : With thee I cannot live ; I cannot live without thee. 146 EMBLEMS. liooKiv. | The world 's a lab'rinth, whose anfractuous ways Are all compos'd of rugs and crook'd meanders : No resting here ; he^s hurried back that stays A thought ; and he that goes unguided, wanders : Her way is dark, her path untrod, unev'n ; So hard 's the way from earth ; so hard 's the way to Heav'n. This gyring lab'rinth is betrench'd about On either hand with streams of sulph'rous fire, Streams closely sliding, erring in and out, But seeming pleasant to the fond descrier ; Where, if his footsteps trust their own invention, He falls without redress, and sinks without dimension. Where shall I seek a guide ? where shall I meet Some lucky hand to lead my trembling paces ? What trusty lanthorn will direct my feet To 'scape the danger of these dang'rous places r What hopes have I to pass without a guide ? Where one gets safely through, a thousand fall beside. An unrequested star did gently slide Before the wise men to a greater light ; Backsliding Isr''el found a double guide ; A pillar and a cloud ; by day, by night : Yet in my dcsp'rate dangers, which be far More great than theirs, I have no pillar, cloud, nor star. O that the pinions of a clipping dove Would cut my passage through the empty air j Mine eyes being scal'd, how would I mount above The reach of danger and forgotten care ! My backward eyes should ne'er commit that fault. Whose lasting guilt should build a monument of salt. EMBLEMS. f47 Great God, that art the flowing spring of light, Enrich mine eyes with thy refulgent ray : Thou art my path j direct my steps aright ; I have no other light, no other way : I'll trust my God, and him alone pursue ; His law shall be my path j his heavenly light, my cue. S. August. Soliloq. Cap. iv. O Lord ; Who art the light, the way, the truth, the life ; in whom there is no darkness, error, vanity, nor death : the light, without which there is darkness -, the way, without which there is wandering ; the truth, without which there is error j the life, without which there is death : say, Lord, let there be light, and I shall see light, and eschew darkness ; I shall see the way, and avoid wandering ; I shall see the truth, and shun error j I shall see life, and escape death : illuminate, O illuminate my blind soul, which sitteth in darkness, and the shadow of death ; and direct my feet in the way of peace. Epig. 2. Pilgrim, trudge on : what makes my soul complain. Crowns thy complaint ? the way to rest is pain : The road to resolution lies by doubt : The next way home 's the farthest way about. 14S EMBLEMS. Emblem 3 PSALM XVII. 5. Hold np my goings in thy paths ^ that my footsteps slip not, WHENE'ER the old exchange of profit rings Her silver saints-bell of uncertain gains ; My merchant-soul can stretch both legs and wings, How I can run, and take unwearied pains ! The charms of profit are so strong, that I, Who wanted legs to go, find wings to 'fly. If time-beguiling pleasure but advance Her lustful trump, and blow her bold alarms, O how mv sportful soul can frisk and dance. And hug that siren in her twined arms ! The sprightly voice of sinew-strength'ning pleasure Can lend my bedrid soul both legs and leisure. EMBLEMS. 149 If blazing honour chance to fill my veins With flattVing warmth, and flash of courtly fire, My soul can take a pleasure in her pains : My lofty strutting steps disdain to tire ; My antic knees can turn upon the hinges Of compliment, and screw a thousand cringes. But when I come to thee, my God, that art The royal mine of everlasting treasure, The real honour of my better part, And living fountain of eternal pleasure. How nerveless are my limbs ! how faint and slow ! I have no wings to fly, nor legs to go. So when the streams of swift-foot Rhine convey Her upland riches to the Belgic shore. The idle vessel slides the wat'ry way, Without the blast or tug of wind or oar : Her slipp'ry keel divides the silver foam With ease ; so facile is the way from home ! But when the home-bound vessel turns her sails Against the breast of the resisting stream, O then she slugs ; nor sail, nor oar prevails ! The stream is sturdy, and her tide 's extreme : Each stroke is loss, and ev^ry tug is vain : A boat-length's purchase is a league of pain. Great all in all, thou art my rest, my home ; My way is tedious, and my steps are slow : Reach forth thy helpful hand, or bid me come ; I am thy child, O teach thy child to go : Conjoin thy sweet commands to my desire, And I will venture, though I fall or tire. S. August. Ser. xv. de Verb. Apost. Be always displeased at what thou art, if thou desirest to attain to what thou art not : for where thou hast 50 * EMBLEMS. pleased thyself, there thou abidest. But if thou sayest, I have enough, thou perishest : always add, always walk, always proceed ; neither stand still, nor go back, nor deviate : he that standeth still proceedeth not ; he goeth back that continueth not ; he deviateth, that revolteth ; he goeth better that creepeth in his way than he that runneth out of his way. Epig. 3. Fear not, my soul, to lose for want of cunning ; Weep not ; Heaven is not always got by running : Thy thoughts are swifc, although thy legs be slow True love will creep, not having strength to go. emble:js. /^ Embl em 4, PSALM CXIX. 120. My jiesh tremhleth for fear of thee: and I am afraid of thy judgments, T ET others boast of luck, and go their ways -■^ With their fair game ; know, vengeance seldom plays To be too forward, but doth wisely frame Her backward tables for an after-game : She gives thee leave to venture many a blot ; And, for her own advantage, hits thee not : But when her pointed tables are made fair. That she be ready for thee, then beware ; Then, if a necessary blot be set. She hits thee ; wins the game j perchance the set : 152 EMBLEMS. If prospVous chances make thy casting high, Be wisely temp'rate ; cast a serious eye On after clangers, and keep back thy game ; Too forward seed-times make thy harvest lame. If left-hand fortune give the left-hand chances, Be wisely patient ; let not envious glances Repine, to view thy gamester's heap so fair ; The hindmost hound oft takes the doubling hare. The world's great dice are false ; sometimes they go Extremely high, sometimes extremely low : Of all her gamesters, he that plays the least. Lives most at ease, plays most secure and best : The way to win, is to play fair, and swear Thyself a servant to the crown of fear : Fear is the primer of a gamester's skill : Who fears not bad, stands most unarm'd to ill. The ill that's wisely fear'd, is half withstood ; And fear of bad is the best soil to good. True fear's th' Elixir, which in days of old Turn'd leaden crosses into crowns of gold : The world^s the tables ; stakes, eternal life; The gamesters Heav'n and I ; unequal strife ! My fortunes are the dice, whereby 1 frame My indisposed life : this life's the game ; My sins are several blots ; the lookers-on Are angels ; and in death the game is done. Lord, Lm a bungler, and my game doth grow Still more and more unshap'd ; my dice run low : The stakes are great ; my careless blots are many : And yet thou passest by and hitt'st not any : Thou art too strong ; and I have none to guide me With the least jog ; the lookers-on deride me : It is a conquest undeserving thee. To win a stake from such a worm as me : 1 have no more to lose ; if we persever, 'Tis lost : and that once lost I'm lost for ever. E:\IBLEMS. 153 Lord, wink at faults, and be not too severe, And I will play my game with greater fear j O give me fear, ere fear has past her date : Whose blot being hit, then fears, fears then too late. S. Bern. Ser. liv. in Cant. There is nothing so effectual to obtain grace, to retain grace, and to regain grace, as always to be found before God not over wife, but to fear : happy art thou, if thy heart be replenished with three fears ; a fear for received grace, a greater fear for lost grace, a greatest fear to recover grace. S. August, super Psal. Present fear begetteth eternal security ; fear God, which is above all, and no need to fear man at all. Epig. 4. Lord, shall we grumble when the flames do scourge us Our sins breathe fire ; that fire returns to purge us. Lord, what an alchymist art thou, whose skill Transmutes to perfect good from perfect ill ! 154 EMBLEMS. TOOK IV. Emblem 5. PSALM CXIX. 37- H Turn away mine eyes from beholding vanity, OW like the threads of flax That touch the flame, are my Inflam'd desires ! How Hke to yielding wax, My soul dissolves before these wanton fires ! The fire but touch'd, the flame but felt, Like flax, I burn ; like wax, I melt. O how this flesh doth draw My fetter'd soul to that deceitful fire ! And how the eternal law Is baflled by the law of my desire ! How truly bad, how seeming good. Are all the laws of flesh and blood ! EMBLEMS. 155 O wretched state of men, The height of whose ambition is to borrow What must be paid again, With griping int'rest of the next day's sorrow ! How wild his thought ! how apt to range How apt to vary ! apt to change ! How intricate and nice Is man's perplexed way to man's desire ; Sometimes upon the ice He slips, and sometimes falls into the fire ; His progress is extreme and bold, Or very hot, or very cold. The common food he doth Sustain his soul-tormenting thoughts withal, Is honey in his mouth To-night, and in his heart to-morrow, gall ; ^Tis oftentimes, within an hour, Both very sweet and very sour. If sweet Corinna smxile, A Heav'n of joys breaks down into his heart : Corinna frown awhile. Hell's torments are but copies of his smart : Within a lustful heart doth dwell A seeming Heav'n, a very hell. Thus worthless, vain' and void Of comfort, are the fruits of earth's employment. Which, ere they be enjoy'd Distract us, and destroy us in th' enjoyment ; These be the pleasures that are prizM, When Heav'n's cheap penn'worth stands despis'd. Lord, quench these hasty flashes. Which dart as lightning from the thund'ring skies. And ev'ry minute dashes 156 EMBLEMS. Against the wanton windows of mine eyes : Lord, close the casement, whilst I stand Behind the curtain of thy hand. S. August. Soliloq. Cap. iv. O thou sun, that illuminateth both Heaven and earth ! woe be unto those eyes which do not behold thee : woe be unto those blind eyes which cannot behold thee ; woe be unto those which turn away their eyes that they will not behold thee : woe be unto those that turn away their eyes that they may behold vanity. S. Chrys. Sup. Mat. xix. What is the evil woman but the enemy of friendship, an avoidable pain, a necessary mischief, a natural tempta- tion, a desirable calamity, a domestic danger, a delectable inconvenience, and the nature of evil, painted over with the colour of good ? Epig. 5. 'Tis vain, great God, to close mine eyes from ill, When I resolve to keep the old man still ; Mv rambling heart must covenant first with thee, Or none can pass betwixt mine eye and me. EMBLEMS. 157 Emblem 6 ESTHER VII. 3. If I have found favour in thy sight^ and if it please the king^ let my life be given me at my petition, npHOU art the great Ahasuerus, whose command ■*- Doth stretch from pole to pole ; the world's thy land ; Rebellious Vashti 's the corrupted will, Which, being callM, refuses to fulfil Thy just command ; Esther, whose tears condole The razed city, is the regenerate soul ; A captive maid, whom thou wilt please to grace : With nuptial honours in stout Vashti's place : Her kinsman, whose unbended knee did thwart Proud Haman's glory, is the fleshly part ; 1 58 EMBLEMS. The sober eunuch, that recall'd to mind The new-built gibbet (Haman had divin'd For his own ruin), fifty cubits high. Is lustful thought-controlling chastity j Insulting Haman is that fleshly lust Whose red-hot fury, for a season, must Triumph in pride, and study how to tread On Mordecai, till royal Esther plead. Great King, thy sent-for Vashti will not come ; O let the oil of the bless'd virgin's womb Cleanse my poor Esther ; look, O look upon her With gracious eyes ; and let thy beam of honour So scour her captain stains, that she may prove An holy object of thy heavenly love : Anoint her with the spikenard of thy graces, Then try the sweetness of her chaste embraces : Make her the partner of thy nuptial bed. And set thy royal crown upon her head ; If then ambitious Haman chance to spend His spleen on Mordecai, that scorns to bend The wilful stiffness of his stubborn knee, Or basely crouch to any Lord but thee ; If weeping Esther should prefer a groan Before the high tribunal of thy throne. Hold forth the golden sceptre, and afford The gentle audience of a gracious Lord : And let thy royal Esther be possest Of half thy kingdom, at her dear request : Curb lustful Haman, him that would disgrace, Nay, ravish thy fair queen before thy face : And as proud Haman was himself ensnar'd On that self-gibbet himself prepared ; So nail my lust, both punishment and guilt, On that dear cross that mine own lusts have built. E]\IBLEMS. 159 S. August, in Ep. O holy Spirit, always inspire me with holy works. Constrain me, that I may do : counsel me, that I may love thee ; confirm me, that T may hold thee ; conserve me, that I may not lose thee. S. August. Sup. Joan. The spirit lusts where the flesh resteth : for as the flesh is nourished with sweet things, the spirit is refreshed with sour. Ibidem. Wouldest thou that thy flesh obey thy spirit ? then let thy spirit obey thy God. Thou must be governed, that thou mayest govern. Epig. 6. Of mercy and justice is thy kingdom built ; This plagues my sin, and that removes my guilt ; Whene'er I sue, Ahasuerus-like, decline Thy sceptre ; Lord, say, half my kingdom's thine. I 1 60 EMBLEMS. Emblem 7 CANTICLES VII. II. Come ', ?ny beloved^ let us go forth into the field ; let in the villages. us lodge Chr. /^OME, come, my dear, and let us both retire, ^^ And whifFthe dainties of the fragrant field : Where warbling Phil'mel, and the shril-mouthM choir Chaunt forth their raptures ; where the turtle builds Her lovely nest ; and where the new-born brier Breathes forth the sweetness that her April yields : Come, come, my lovely fair, and let us try These rural delicates ; where thou and I May melt in private flames, and fear no stander-by. EMBLEMS. i6i Soul. My heart's eternal joy, in lieu of whom The earth 's a blast, and all the world 's a bubble ; Our city-mansion is the fairest home. But country sweets are ting'd with lesser trouble : Let's try them both, and choose the better ; come ; A change in pleasure makes the pleasure double ; On thy commands depends my go or tarry, ril stir with Martha, or I'll stay with Mary ; Our hearts are firmly fit, altho' our pleasures vary. Chr. Our country-mansion (situate on high) With various objects, still renews delight ; Her arched roof^s of unstain'd ivory: Her walls of fiery-sparkling chrysolite; Her pavement is of hardest porphyry; Her spacious windows are all glazM with bright And flaming carbuncles ; no need require Titan's faint rays, or Vulcan's feeble fire ; And ev'ry gate 's a pearl ; and ev'ry pearl entire. Soul. Fool that I was ! how were my thoughts de- ceiv'd ! How falsely was my fond conceit possest ! I took it for an hermitage, but pav'd And daub'd with neighb'ring dirt, and thatch'd at best. Alas ! I ne'er expected more nor crav'd A turtle ; hop'd but for a turtle's nest : Come, come, my dear, and let no idle stay Neglect th' advantage of the head-strong day ; How pleasure grates, that feels the curb of dull delay ! Chr. Come, then, my joy ; let our divided paces Conduct us to our fairest territory ; O there we '11 twine our souls in sweet embraces ; Soul. And in thine arms I '11 tell my passion's story : Chr. O there I'll crown thy head with all my graces ; M 1 62 EMBLEMS. uooi iv Soul. And all these graces shall reflect thy glory : Chr, O there I'll feed thee with celestial manna ; I '11 be thy Elkanah. Soul. And I, thy Hannah. Chr. I'll sound my trump of joy. Soul. And I '11 rescind Hosannah. I S. Bern. O blessed contemplation ! the death of vices, and the life of virtues ! thee the law and the prophets admire : who ever attained perfection, if not by thee ? O blessed solitude, the magazine of celestial treasure : by thee, things earthly and transitory are changed into heavenly and eternal. S. Bern, in Ep. Happy is that house, and blessed is that congregation, where Martha still complaineth of Mary. Epic. 7. Mechanic soul, thou must not only do With Martha, but with Mary ponder too : Happy "s that house where these fair sisters vary But most, v/hen Martha ^s reconcile to Mary. emble:\is. ^"] Emblem 8 CANTICLES I. 3, 4. Draw me ; we will run after thee because of the savour thy good ointments. 'TT^HUS, like a lump of che corrupted mass, ^ I lie secure, long lost before I was : And like a block, beneath whose burthen lies That undiscover'd worm that never dies, I have no will to rouse, I have no power to rise. Can stinking Lazarus compound or strive With death's entangling fetters, and revive ? Or can the water-buried axe implore A hand to raise it, or itself restore. And from her sandy deeps approach the dr\^-foot shore r '/ EMBLEMS. BOOK iv. i So hard 's the task for sinful flesh and blood To lend the smallest step to what is good, A-ly God ! I cannot move the least degree ; Ah ! if, but only those that active be, None should thy glory see, none should thy glory see. But, if the potter please t' inform the clay : Or some strong hand remove the block away : '• Their lowly fortunes soon are mounted higher; That proves a vessel, which before was mire ; And this, being hewn, may serve for better use than fire. And if that life-restoring voice command Dead Laz'rus forth ; or that great Prophet's hand Should charm the sullen waters, and begin To beckon, or to dart a stick but in, Dead Laz'rus must revive, and the axe must float again. Lord, as I am, I have no pow'r at ail To hear thy voice, or echo to thy call ; Thy gloomy clouds of mine own guilt benight me ; Thy glorious beams, not dainty sweets, invite me ; They neither can direct, nor these at all delight me. See how my sin be-mangled body lies. Not having pow'r to will, nor will to rise I Shine home upon thy creature, and inspire My lifeless will with thy regen'rate fire ; The first degree to do, is only to desire. Give me the pow'r to will, the will to do ; O raise me up, and I will strive to go: Draw me, O draw me with thy treble twist. That have no pow'r but merely to resist ; O lend me strength to do, and then command thy list. EMBLEMS. 165 My soul's a clock, whose wheels (for want of use And winding up, being subject to th' abuse Of eating rust,) want vigour to fulfil Her twelve hours task, and show her Maker's skill, But idly sleeps unmov'd, and standeth vainly still. Great God, it is thy work, and therefore good, If thou be pleas'd to cleanse it with thy blood, And wind it up with thy soul-moving keys, Her busy wheels shall serve thee all her days ; Her hand shall point thy pow'r, her hammer strike thy praise. S. Bern. Ser. xxi. in Cant. Let us run, let us run but in the savour of thy oint- ment, not in the confidence of our merits, not in the greatness of our strength : we trust to run, but in the multitude of thy mercies, for though we run and are willing, it is not in him that willeth, nor in him that runneth, but in God that showeth mercv. O let thy mercy return, and we will run : thou, like a giant, runnest by thy own power; we, unless thy ointment breathe upon us, cannot run. Epig. 8. Look not, my watch, being once repair'd, to stand Expecting motion from thy Maker's hand. He's wound thee up, and cleans'd thy clogs with blood : If now thy wheels stand still, thou art not good. i66 EMBLEMS. Emblem CANTICLES VIII. I. O that thou wert as my brother^ that sucked the breasts of my mother I when I should find thee without^ I would \ kiss thee. j /^OME, come, my blessed infant, and immure thee ^^ Within the temple of my sacred arms ; Secure miiu arms, mine arms shall then secure thee From Herod's fury, or the high-priest's harms : Or if thy danger'd life sustain a loss, My folded arms shall turn thy dying cross. But ah ! what savage tyrant can behold The beauty of so sweet a face as this is, EMBLEMS. 167 And not himself be by himself controlFd, And change his fury to a thousand kisses ? One smile of thine is worth more mines of treasure Than there were myriads in the days of Caesar. O had the tetrarch, as he knew thy birth, So known thy stock, he had not thought to paddle In thy dear blood ; but prostrate on the earth, Had vail'd his crown before thy royal cradle. And laid the sceptre of his glory down. And begg'd a heav'nly for an earthly crown. Illustrious babe ! how is thy handmaid grac'd With a rich armful ! how dost thou decline Thy majesty, that wert so late embrac'd In thy great Father's arms, and now in m.ine ' How humbly gracious art thou, to refresh Me with thy spirit, and assume my flesh 1 But must the treason of a traitor's hail Abuse the sweetness of these ruby lips? Shall marble-hearted cruelty assail These alabaster sides with knotted whips ? And must these smiling roses entertain The blows of scorn, and flirts of base disdain r Ah ! must these dainty little springs, that twine So fast about my neck, be pierc'd and torn With ragged nails ? and must these brows resign Their crown of glory for a crown of thorn ? Ah ! must the blessed infant taste the pain Of death's injurious pangs ; nay, worse, be slain i Sweet babe ! at what dear rates do wretched I Commit a sin ! Lord, ev'ry sin 's a dart ; And ev^ry trespass lets a jav'lin fly ; And ev'ry jav'lin wounds thy bleeding heart : Pardon, sweet babe, what I have done amiss ; And seal that granted pardon with a kiss. i68 EMBLEMS. S. BoNAVENT. Soliloq. Cap. i. O sweet Jesu, I knew not that thy kisses were so sweet, nor thy society so delectable, nor thy attraction so virtuous : for when I love thee, I am clean ; when I touch thee, I am chaste ; when I receive thee, 1 am a virgin : O most sweet Jesu, thy embraces defile not, but cleanse ; thy attraction polluteth not, but sanctifieth : O Jesu, the fountain of universal sweetness, pardon me that I believed so late, that so much sweetness is in thy embraces. Epig. 9. My burden's greatest ; let not Atlas boast : Impartial reader, judge which bears the most : He bears but Heav'n, my folded arms sustain Heav'n's Maker, whom Heav'n's Heav'n cannot contain. I EMBLEMS. 169 Emblem 10 CANTICLES III. I. By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth ; I sought him., but I found him not. '"pHE learned Cynic having lost the way ^ To honest men, did, in the height of day, By taper-light, divide his steps about The peopled-streets^ to find this dainty out ; But fail'd : the Cynic search'd not where he ought ; The thing he sought for was not where he sought. The wise men's task seem'd harder to be done ; The wise men did by star-light seek the Sun, And found : the wise men search'd it where they ought ; The thing they hop'd to find was where they sought. [70 EMBLEMS. One seeks his wishes where he should ; but then Perchance he seeks not as he should ; nor when. Another searches when he should ; but there He fails ; not seeking as he should, nor where. Whose soul desires the good it wants, and would Obtain, must seek where, as, and when he should. How often have my wild affections led Ady wasted soul to this my widow'd bed. To seek my lover, whom my soul desires ! (I speak not, Cupid, of thy wanton fires : Thy fires are all but dying sparks to mine ; My flames are full of Heav'n, and all divine.) How often have I sought this bed by night, To find that greater by this lesser light ! How oft have m.y unwitness'd groans lamented Thy dearest absence ! ah ! how often vented The bitter tempest of despairing breath. And toss'd my soul upon the waves of death ! How often has my melting heart made choice Of silent tears (tears louder than a voice) To plead my grief, and woo thy absent ear ! And yet thou wilt not come, thou wilt not hear. O, is thy wonted love become so cold ? Or do mine eyes not seek thee where they should ? Why do I seek thee if thou art not here ? Or find thee not, if thou art ev'rywhere ? I see my error ; 'tis not strange I could not Find out my love ; I sought him v^here I should not. Thou art not found on downy beds of ease ; Alas ! thy music strikes on harder keys : Nor art thou found by that false feeble light Of nature's candle ; our Egyptian night Is more than common darkness ; nor can we Expect a morning but what breaks from thee. Well may my empty bed bewail thy loss, When thou art lodg'd upon thy shameful cross : EMBLEMS. 171 If thou refuse to share a bed with me, We'll never part, I'll share a cross with thee. Anselm. in Protolog. i. LoR.D,if thou are not present, where shall I seek thee absent ? if everywhere, why do I not see thee present ? thou dwellest in light inaccessible ; and where is that inaccessible light ? or how shall I have access to light inaccessible ? I beseech thee, Lord, teach me to seek thee, and show thyself to the seeker ; because I can neither seek thee, unless thou teach me ; nor find thee, unless thou show thyself to me : let me seek thee in desiring thee, and desire thee in seeking thee : let me find thee in loving; thee, and love thee in finding; thee. Epig. 10. Where should thou seek for rest, but in thy bed But now thy rest is gone, thy rest is fled : 'Tis vain to seek him there : my soul, be wise ; Go ask thy sins, they '11 tell thee where he lies. EMBLEMS. Embl em 1 1 CAXTICLES III. 2. / will rise, and go about the city^ and will seek him whom my soul loveth : I sought hi?n^ but I found him not. r~\ HOW my disappointed soul 's perplex'd ! ^^ Mow restless thoughts swarm in my breast ! How vainly pleas'd with hopes, then crossly vext With fears ! and how betwixt them both distrest ! What place is left unransack'd Oh ! where next Shall I go seek the author of my rest ? Of what bless'd angel shall my lips inquire The undiscover'd way to that entire And everlasting solace of my heart's desire ? troubled EMBLEMS. 173 I Look how the stricken hart, that wounded flies O'er hills and dales, and seeks the lower grounds For running streams, the whilst his weeping eyes Beg silent mercy from the following hounds ; At length, embost, he droops, drops down, and lies | Beneath the burthen of his bleeding wounds : | E'en so my gasping soul, dissolvM in tears, i Doth search for thee, my God, whose deafen'd ears \ Leave me the unransom'd prisoner to my panic tears. j Where have my busy eyes not pry'd ? O where, i Of whom hath not my threadbare tongue demanded ? I searched this glorious city ; he 's not here : I sought the country ; she stands empty-handed : I search'd the court ; he is a stranger there : I askM the land ; he 's ship'd : the sea, he 's landed : I climbM the air, my thoughts began t'aspire : But ah ! the wings of my too bold desire, Soaring too near the sun, were sing'd with sacred fire. I movM the merchant's ear, alas ! but he Knew neither what I said, nor what to say : I ask'd the lawyer, he demands a fee, I And then demurs me with a vain delay : | I ask'd the schoolman, his advice was free, ! But scor'd me out too intricate a way : | I ask'd the watchman (best of all the four), I Whose gentle answer could resolve no more, j But that he lately left him at at temple door. 1 Thus having sought, and made my great inquest In evVy place, and search'd in ev'ry ear : I threw me on my bed ; but ah I my rest Was poison'd with th' extremes of grief and fear ; Where looking down into my troubled breast, The magazine of wounds, I found him then-;? : 74 EMBLEMS. Let others hunt, and show their sportful art ; I wish to catch the hare before she start, As poachers use to do ; Heav'n's form 's a troubled heart. S. Ameros. Lib. iii. de Virg. Christ is not in the market, nor in the streets : for Christ is peace, in the market are strifes: Christ is justice, in the market is iniquity : Christ is a labourer, in the market is idleness : Christ is charity, in the market is slander : Christ is faith, in the market is fraud. Let us not therefore seek Christ, where we cannot find Christ. S. HiERON. Ser. ix. Ep. xxii. ad Eustoch. Jesus is jealous : he will not have thy face seen : Let foolish virgins ramble abroad, seek thou thy love at home. Epig. II. What, lost thy love ? will neither bed nor board Receive him ? not by tears to be implor'd ? It is the ship that moves, and not the coast ; I fear, I fear, my soul, 'tis thou art lost. EMBLEMS. 75 Emblem 1 2 CANTICLES III. 3, 4, Have you seen him whom my soul loveth P When I had past a little from them^ then I found him ; I took hold on him^ and left him not. T TT'HAT secret corner .'' what unwonted way ^^ Has 'scap'd the ransack of my rambHng thought ? The fox by night, nor the dull owl by day, Have never search'd those places I have sought. Whilft they lamented, absence taught my breast The ready road to grief, without request ; My day had neither comfort, nor my night had rest. How hath my unregarded language vented The sad tautologies of lavish passion ! 176 EMBLEMS. How often have I languished unlamented ! How oft have I complain'd, without compassion ! I ask'd the city-watch, but some deny'd me The common street, whilst others would misguide me ; Some would debar me ; some divert me ; some deride me. Mark how the widow'd turtle, having lost The faithful partner of her royal heart, Stretches her feeble wings from coast to coast, Hunts ev'ry part ; thinks ev'ry shade doth part Her absent love and her ; at length, unsped, She re-betakes her to her lonely bed. And there bewails her everlasting widow-head. So when my soul had progressed ev'ry place. That love and dear affection could contrive, I threw me on my couch, resolvM t' embrace A death for him in whom I ceas'd to live : But there injurious Hymen did present His landscape joys ; my pickled eyes did vent Full streams of briny tears, tears never to be spent. Whilst thus my sorrow-wasting soul was feeding Upon the radical humour of her thought. E'en whilst mine eyes were blind, and heart was bleeding, He that was sought unfound, was found unsought : As if the sun should dart his orb of light Into the secrets of the black-brow'd night : E'en so appeared my love, my soul's delight. O how mine eyes, now ravish'd at the sight Of my bright syn, shot flames of equal hre^ Ah !• how my soul dissolv'd with o'er-delight. To re-enjoy the crown of chaste desire ! How sov'reign joy deposM and dispossest Rebellious grief! and how my ravished breast! But who can express those heights, that cannot be exprest ! EooK IV. EMBLEMS. 177 O how these arms, these greedy arms did twine And strongly twist about his yielding waist ! The sappy branches of the Thespian vine Ne'er cling their less belov'd elm so fast ; Boast not thy flames, blind boy, thy feather'd shot ; Let Hymen's easy snarls be quite forgot ; Time cannot quench our fires, nor death dissolve our knot. Orig. Hom. X. in Divers. O most holy Lord, and sweetest Master, how good art thou to those that are of upright heart, and humble spirit ! O how blessed are they that seek thee with a simple heart ! how happy that trust in thee ! it is a most certain truth, that thou lovest all that love thee, and never forsakest those that trust in thee : for, behold, thy love simply sought thee, and undoubtedly found thee : she trusted in thee, and is not forsaken of thee, but hath obtained more by thee, than she expected from thee. Beda in Cap. iii. Cant. The longer I was in finding whom I sought, the more earnestly I beheld him being found. Epig. 12. What ? found him out .? let strong embraces bind him ; He '11 fly, perchance, where tears can never find him : New sins will lose what old repentance gains. Wisdom not only gets, but got, retains. 1-^8 EMBLEMS. Embl em I PSALiM LXXl] 2«. Il is good for me to draw near to God ; I have put my trust in the Lord God. TX/'HERE is that good, which wise men please to The chiefest ? doth there any such befall Within man's reach ? or is there such a good at all ? If such there be, it neither must expire, Nor change ; than which there can be nothing high'r : Such good must be the utter point of man's desire It is the mark, to which all hearts must tend ; Can be desired for no other end, Than for itself, on which all other goods depend. EMBLEMS. 179 What may this exc'lence be ? doth it subsist A real essence clouded in the mist Of curious art, or clear to ev'ry eye that list ? Or is 't a tart idea, to procure An edge, and keep the practic soul in ure, Like that dear chymic dust, or puzzling quadrature ? Where shall I seek this good ? where shall I find This catholic pleasure, whose extremes may blind My thoughts ? and fill the gulf of my insatiate mind ? Lies it in treasure ? in full heaps untold ? Doth gouty Mammon's griping hand infold This secret saint in sacred shrines of sovereign gold ? No, no, she lies not there ; wealth often sours In keeping ; makes us hers, in seeming ours ; She slides from Heav'n indeed, but not in Danae^s show'rs. Lives she in honour ? No. The royal crown Builds up a creature, and then batters down : Kings raise thee with a smile, and raze thee with a frown. In pleasure ? No. Pleasure begins in rage ; Acts the fooPs part on earth's uncertain stage ; Begins the play in youth, and epilogues in age. These, these are bastard goods ; the best of these Torment the soul with pleasing it ; and please, Like waters gulp'd in fevers with deceitful ease. Earth's flatt'ring dainties are but sweet distresses : Mole-hills perform the mountains she professes, Alas ! can earth confer more good than earth possesses ? Mount, mount, my soul, and let my thoughts cashier Earth's vain delights, and make thy full career At Heav'n's eternal joys ; stop, stop, thy courser there. EMBLEMS. There shall thy soul possess uncareful treasure : There shalt thou swim in never-fading pleasure. And blaze in honour far above the frowns of Caesar. Lord, if my hope dare let her anchor fall On thee, the chiefest good, no need to call For earth's inferior trash ; thou, thou art all in all. S. August. Soliloq. Cap. xiii. I follow this thing, I pursue that, but I am filled ^ith nothing. But when I found thee, who art that immutable, undivided, and only good in thyself, what I obtained, I wanted not ; for what I obtained not, I grieved not ; with what I was possessed, my whole desire was satisfied. S. Bern. Ser. ix. Sup. Beati qui habent, &c. Let others pretend merit; let him brag of the bur- then of the day ; let him boast of his Sabbath-fasts, and let him glory in that he is not as other men : but for me, it is good to cleave unto the Lord, and to put my trust in my Lord God. Epig. 13. Let Boreas' blasts, and Neptune's waves be join'd. Thy i^olus commands the waves, the wind : Fear not the rocks, or world's imperious waves ; Thou climb'st a Rock, my soul, a Rock that saves. EMBLEMS. i8i Emblem 1 4. CANTICLES II. 3. / sat down under his shadow with great delight^ and fruit was sweet to my taste. T OOK how the sheep, whose rambling steps do stray From the safe blessing of her shepherd's eyes, Eft-soon becomes the unprotected prey To the wing'd squadron of beleag'ring flies ; Where, swelter'd with the scorching beams of day, She frisks from bush to brake, and wildly flies away From her own self, e'en of herself afraid ; She shrouds her troubled brow in ev'ry glade, And craves the mercy of the soft removing shade. igji EMBLEMS. E^en so my wand'ring soul, that hath digress'd From her great Shepherd, is the hourly prey Of all my sins ; these vultures in my breast Gripe my Promethean heart ; both night and day I hunt from place to place, but find no rest ; I know not where to go, nor where to stay : The eye of vengeance burns, her flames invade My swelt'ring soul : my soul hath oft assayM, Yet she can find no shroud, yet can she feel no shade ? I sought the shades of mirth, to wear away My slow-pac'd hours of soul-consuming grief; I search'd the shades of sleep, to ease my day Of griping sorrows with a night's reprieve. I sought the shades of death ; thought there t' allay My final torments with a full relief: But mirth, nor sleep, nor death, can hide my hours In the false shades of their deceitful bowers ; The first distracts, the next disturbs, the last devours. Where shall I turn ? to whom shall I apply me ? Are there no streams where a faint soul may wade .? Thy Godhead, Jesus, are the flames that fry me ; Hath thy all-glorious Deity ne^er a shade. Where I may sit and vengeance never eye me ; Where I might sit refresh'd or unafraid ? Is there no comfort ? is there no refection ; Is there no cover that will give protection T' a fainting soul, the subject of thy wrath's reflection ? Look up, my soul, advance the lowly stature Of thy sad thoughts ; advance thy humble eye : See, here 's a shadow found : the human nature Is made th' umbrella to the Deity, To catch the sunbeams of thy just Creator : Beneath this covert thou may'st safely lie : EMBLEMS. 183 Permit thine eyes to climb this fruitful tree, As quick Zacchasus did, and thou shalt see A cloud of dying flesh betwixt those beams and thee. GuiL. in Cap. ii. Cant. Who can endure the fierce rays of the Sun of justice ? who shall not be consumed by his beams ^ therefore the Sun of justice took flesh, that, through the conjunction of that Sun and this human body, a shadow may be made. S. August. Med. Cap. xxxiv. Lord, let my soul flee from the scorching thoughts of the world, under the covert of thy wings, that, being refreshed by the moderation of thy shadow, she may sing merrily. In peace will I lay me down and rest. Epig. 14. Ah ! treach'rous soul, would not thy pleasures give That Lord, which made thee living, leave to live r See what thy sins have done : thy sins have made The Sun of Glorv now become- thy shade f84 EMBLEMS. Embl em 15. PSALM CXXXVIl. 4. How shall we sing the ,Lord's song in a strange land? T TRGE me no more : this airy mirth belongs ^ To better times : these times are not for songs. The sprightly twang of the melodious lute Agrees not with my voice : and both unsuit My untun'd fortunes : the affected measure Of strains that are constraint, ai.ord no pleasure. Music's the child of mirth ? wlicre griefs assail The troubled soul, both voice and fingers fail : Let such as revel out their lavish days In honourable riot ; that can raise Dejected hearts, and conjure up a sp'rit ( ' 1 madness by the magic of delight ; EMBLEMS. 185 Let those of Cupid's hospital, that lie Impatient patients to a smiling eye, That cannot rest, until vain hope beguile Their flatter'd torment with a wanton smile : Let such redeem their peace, and salve the wrongs Of froward fortune with their frolic songs : My grief, my grief's too great for smiling eyes To cure, or counter-charms to exorcise. The raven's dismal croaks, the midnight howls, Of empty wolves, mix'd with the screech of owls. The nine sad knells of a dull passing bell, | With the loud language of a nightly knell, i And horrid outcries of revenged crimes, | Join'd in a medley's music for these times ; These are no times to touch the merry string ! Of Orpheus ; no, these are no times to sing. Can hide-bound pris'ners, that have spent their souls. And famish'd bodies in the noisome holes Of hell-black dungeons, apt their rougher throats. Grown hoarse with be2:2;in2: alms, to warble notes ? I Can the sad pilgrim, that hath lost his way j In the vast desert ; there condemn'd a prey 1 To the wild subject, or his savage king, 1 Rouse up his palsy-smitten sp'rits and sing ? ! Can I, a pilgrim, and a pris'ner too, j Alas ! where I am neither known, nor know | Aught but my torments, an unransom'd stranger In this strange climate, in a land of danger ? O, can my voice be pleasant, or my hand, Thus made a prisoner to a foreign land ? How can my music relish in your ears. That cannot speak for sobs, nor sing for tears ? Ah ! if my voice could, Orpheus-like, unspell My poor Eurydice, my soul, from hell Of earth's misconstrued Heav'n, O then my breast Should warble airs, whose rhapsodies should feast i86 EMBLEMS. The ears of seraphims, and entertain Heav'n's highest Deity with their lofty strain : A strain well drench'd in the true Thespian well, Till then, earth's semiquaver, mirth, farewell. S. August. Med. Cap. xxxiii. O infinitely happy are those heavenly virtues, which are able to praise thee in holiness and purity with ex- cessive sweetness, and unutterable exaltation ! from thence they praise thee, from whence they rejoice, because they continually see for what they rejoice, for what they praise thee : but we, pressed down with this burden of flesh, far removed from thy countenance in this pilgrimage, and blown up with worldly vanities, cannot worthily praise thee : we praise thee by faith, not face to face ; but those angelical spirits praise thee face to face, and not by faith. Epig. 15. Did I refuse to sing ? Said I, these times Were not for songs : nor music for these climes It was my error : are not groans and tears Harmonious raptures in th' Almighty's ears ? EMBLEMS. 187 BOOK THE FIFTH. Embl em I CANTICLES V. / charge you^ O daughters of yerusalem^ if you find my beloved^ that you tell him that I am sick of love. Y'E holy virgins, that so oft surround -*• The city's sapphire walls ; whose snowy feet Measure the pearly paths of sacred ground, And trace the new Jerusalem's jasper street ; Ah ! you whose care-forsaken hearts are crownM With your best wishes ; that enjoy the sweet i88 EjIBTJ']?.I.S. hook v. | Of all your hopes ; if e'er you chance to spy j My absent love, O tell him that I lie | Deep wounr.ed with the flames that furnac'd from his ; eye. I charge you, virgins, as you hope to hear The heav'nly music of your Lover's voice ; I charge you, by the solemn faith you bear To plighted vows, and to that loyal choice Of your affections, or if aught more dear You hold ; by Hymen, by your marriage joys ; I charge you tell him, that a flamiing dart, Shot from his eye, hath pierc'd my bleeding heart, i And I am sick of love, and languish in my smart. Tell him, O tell him, how my panting breast Is scorchM with flames, and how my soul is pin'd • Tell him, O tell him, how I lie opprest With the full torments of a troubled mind ; O tell him, tell him that he loves in jest. But I in earnest ; tell him he's unkind : But if a discontented frown appears Upon his angry brow, accost his ears With soft and fewer words, and act the rest in tears. O tell him, that his cruelties deprive 1 My soul of peace, while peace in vain she seeks ; | Tell him, those damask roses that did strive With white, both fade upon my sallow cheeks j , Tell him, no token doth proclaim I live. But tears, and sighs, and sobs, and sudden shrieks ; Thus if your piercing words should chance to bore | His heark'ning ear, and move a sigh, give o'er | To speak ; and tell him, tell him that I could no more. If your elegious breath should hnp to rouse A happy tear, close har'bring in his eye, EMBLEMS. 1S9 Then urge his plighted faith, the sacred vows. Which neither 1 can break, nor he deny ; Bewail the torment of his loyal spouse. That for his sake would make a sport to die O blessed viigins, how my passion tires Beneath the burden of her fond desires ! Heav'n never shot such flames, earth never felt such fires ! S. August. Med. Cap. xl. What shall I say ? what shall I do ? whither shall I go ? where shall I seek him ? or when shall I find him ? whom shall I ask ? who will tell my beloved that I am sick of love ? GuLiEL. in Cap. v. Cant. I hve, but not I : it is my beloved that liveth in me : I love myself, not with my own love, but with the love of my beloved that loveth me : I love not myself in myself, but myself in him, and him in me. Epig. I. Grieve not, my soul, nor let thy love wax faint : Weep'st thou to lose the cause of thy complaint ? He'll come ; love ne'er was bound to times nor laws ? Till then thy tears complain without a cause. 190 EMBLEMS. Emblem 2 CANTICLES II. Stay me with flowers^ and comfort me with apples ,, for I am sick of love. pow Q TYRANT love ! how doth thy ^^ Subject poor souls to the imperious thrall ; They say, thy cup's composed of sweet and sour ; They say, thy diet 's honey mix'd with gall ; How comes it then to pass, these lips of ours Still trade in bitter : taste no sweet at all ? O tyrant love ! shall our perpetual toil Ne'er find a sabbath to refresh awhile Our drooping souls \ art thou all frowns, and ne'er a smile ? i I EMBLEMS. 191 Ye blessed maids of honour, that frequent The royal courts of our renown'd Jehove, With flowers restore my spirits faint and spent ; O fetch me apples from love's fruitful grove, To cool my palate and renew my scent. For I am sick, for I am sick of love : These will revive my dry, my wasted powers, And they will sweeten my unsav'ry hours ; Refresh me then with fruit, and comfort me with flow\''S. O bring me apples to assuage that fire, Which, ^tna-like, inflames my flaming breast ; Nor is it every apple I desire. Nor that which pleases ev ry palate best : 'Tis not the lasting deuzan I require : Nor yet the red-cheek'd queening I request : Nor that which first beshrewM the name of wife. Nor that whose beauty caus'd the golden strife ; No, no, bring me an apple from the tree of life. Virgins, tuck up your silken laps, and fill ye With the fair wealth of Flora's magazine j The purple violet, and the pale-fac'd lily : The pansy and the organ columbine ; The flow'ring thyme, the gilt bowl daiFodilly ; The lowly pink, the lofty eglantine : The blushing rose, the queen of flow'rs, and best Of Flora's beauty ; but above the rest. Let Jesse's sov'reign flow'r perfume my qualming breast. Haste, virgins, haste, for I he weak, and faint Beneath the pangs of love ; why stand ye mute, As if your silence neither cared to grant. Nor yet your language to deny my suit ? No key can lock the door of my complaint, Until I smell this flov/r, or taste that fruit. igz EMBLEMS. Go, virgins, seek this tree, and search that bower ; O, how my soul shall bless that happy hour, That brings to me such fruit, that brings me such ; flower ! GiSTEN, in Cap. ii. Cant. Expos. 3. O happy sickness, where the infirmity is not to death, but to life, that God may be glorified by it ! O happy fever, that proceedeth not from a consuming, but a calcining fire ! O happy distemper, wherein the soul relisheth no earthly things, but only savoureth divine nourishment ! S. Bern, in Serm. li. Cant. By flowers, understand faith ; by fruit, good works. As the flower or blossom is before the fruit, so is faith before good works : so neither is the fruit without the flower, nor good works without faith. Epig. 2. Why apples, O my soul ? can they remove The pams of grief, or ease the flames of love ? It was that fruit which gave the first offence ; That sent him hither ; that removM him hence. I EMBLEMS. 193 Emblem 3. CANTICLES II. 16. My beloved is m'lne^ and I am his; the lilies. he feedeth among Tj^'EN like two little bank-dividing brooks, *^ That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams, And having rang'd and search'd a thousand nooks, Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames, Where in a greater current they conjoin : So I my best beloved^s am ; so he is mine. E'en so we met ; and after long pursuit, E'en so we join'd, we both became entire ; No need for either to renew a suit. For I was flax, and he was flames of fire. Our firm united souls did more than twine ; So I my best beloved's am \ so he is mine. o 194- EMBLEMS. If all those glitt'ring monarchs, that command The servile quarcers of this earthly ball, Should tender, in exchange, their shares of land, I would not change my fortunes for them all : Their weakh is but a counter to my coin ; The world's but theirs ; but my beloved 's mine. Nay, more ; if the fair Thespian ladies all Should heap together their diviner treasure, That treasure should be deemed a price too small To buy a minute^s lease of half my pleasure ; 'Tis not the sacred wealth of all the nine Can buy my heart from him, or his from being mine. Nor time, nor place, nor chance, nor death can bow My least desires unto the least remove He 's firmly mine by oath ; I his by vow He 's mine by faith ; and I am his by love ; He 's mine by water ; I am his by wine ; Thus I my best beloved's am ; thus he is mine. He is my altar ; I his holy place ; I am his guest, and he my living food ; I'm his by penitence ; he mine by grace ; I'm his by purchase ; he is mine by blood ; He 's my supporting helm ; and I his vine : Thus I my best beloved's am ; thus he is mine. He gives me weakh, I give him all my vows : I give him songs \ he gives me length of days : With wreaths of grace he crowns my conquering brows : And I his temples with a crown of praise, Which he accepts ; an everlasting sign. That I my best beloved's am ; that he is mine. S. August. Manu. Cap. xxiv. O my soul, stamped with the image of thy God, love him of whom thou art so much beloved : bend BOOK T. EMBLEMS. 195 to him that boweth to thee, seek him that seeketh thee : love the lover, by v/hose love thou art pre- vented, begin the cause of thy love : be careful with those that are careful, v^^ant with those that want ; be clean with the clean, and holy with the holy : choose this friend above all friends, who when all are taken away, remaineth only faithful to thee : in the day of thy burial, when all leave thee, he will not deceive thee, but defend thee from the roaring lions prepared for their prey. Eptg. 3. Sing, Hymen, to my soul : what, lost and found ? WelcomM, espous'd, enjoy'd so soon and crown'd ! He did but climb the cross, and then came down To the gates of hell ; triumph'd, and fetchM a crown .96 EMBLEMS. Emblem 4. ^^«^ CANTICLES VII. 10. / am my beloved's^ and his desire is tozvards 7ne. T IKE to the arctic needle, that doth guide ^^ l^he wand'ring shade by his magnetic pow'r, And leaves his silken gnomon to decide The question of the controverted hour, First frantics up and down from side to side. And restless beats his crystal'd iv'ry case, With vain impatience jets from place to place, And seeks the bosom of his frozen bride ; At length he slacks his motion, and doth rest His trembling point at his bright pole's beloved breast. EMBLEMS. 197 E'en so my soul, being hurried here and there, By ev'ry object that presents delight, Fain would be settled, but she knows not where ; She likes at morning what she loaths at night : She bows to honour ; then she lends an ear To that sweet swan-like voice of dying pleasure, Then tumbles in the scatter'd heaps of treasure ; Now flatter'd with false hope ; now foii'd with fear : Thus finding all the world's deli2;ht to be But empty toys, good God, she points alone to thee. But hath the virtued steel a power to move ? Or can the untouch'd needle point aright ? Or can my wand'ring thoughts forbear to rove, Unguided by the virtue of thy sp'rit ? O hath my leaden soul the art 't improve Her wasted talent, and, unrais'd, aspire In this sad moulting time of her desire ? Not first belov'd, have 1 the power to love ; I cannot stir, but as thou please to move me. Nor can my heart return the love, until thou love me. The still commandress of the silent night Borrows her beams from her bright brother's eye ; His fair aspect fills her sharp horns with light, If he withdraw, her flames are quench'd and die : E'en so the beams of thy enlight'ning sp'rit, Infus'd and shot into my dark desire. Inflame my thoughts, and fill my soul with fire, That I am ravish'd with a new delight ; But if thou shroud thy face, my glory fades. And I remain a nothing, all compos'd of shades. Eternal God ! O thou that only art The sacred fountain of eternal light. And blessed loadstone of my better part, O thou, my heart's desire, my soul's delight ! Reflect upon my soul, and touch my heart. 198 emble:ms. And then my heart shall prize no good above thee ; And then my soul shall know thee ; knowing, love thee ; And then my trembling thoughts shall never start i From thy commands, or swerve the least degree, Or once presume to move, but as they move in thee. S. August. Med. Cap. x. If man can love man with so entire affection, that the one can scarce brook the other's absence ; if a bride can be joined to her bridegroom with so great an ardency of mind, that for the extremity of love she can enjoy no rest, nor suffer his absence without great anxiety, with what affection, with what fervency ought the soul, whom thou hast espoused by faith and compassion, to love thee, her true God, and glorious bridegroom ? Epig. 4. My soul, thy love is dear : 'twas thought a good And easy penn' worth of thy Saviour's blood : But be not proud ; all matters rightly scann'd, 'Twas over-bought : 'twas sold at second-hand. EMBLEMS. 199 Emblem 5. V CANTICLES V. 6. Afy soul melted whilst my beloved spake. ORD, has the feeble voice of flesh and blood The pow'r to work thine ears into a flood Of melted mercy ? or the strength t' unlock The gates of Heav'n, and to dissolve a rock Of marble clouds into a morning show'r ? Or hath the breath of whining dust the pow'r To stop or snatch a falling thunderbolt From thy fierce hand, and make thy hand revolt From resolute confusion, and, instead Of vials, pour full blessings on our head ? Or shall the want of famish'd ravens cry, And move thy mercy to a quick supply ? EMBLEMS. Or shall the silent suits of drooping flow'rs Woo thee for drops, and be refresh'd with show'rs ? Alas ! what marvel, then, great God, what wonder. If thy hell-rousing voice, that splits in sunder The br.:zen portals of eternal death ; What wonder if that life-restoring breath. Which dragg'd me from th' infernal shades of night, Should melt my ravish'd soul with o'er-delight ? O can my frozen gutters choose but run. That feel the warmth of such a glorious sun ? Methinks his language, like a flaming arrow. Doth pierce my bones, and melts their wounded marrow. Thy flames, O Cupid, (though the joyful heart Feels neither tang of grief, nor fears the smart Of jealous doubts, but drunk with full desires) Are torments, weighM with these celestial fires ; Pleasures that ravish in so high a measure. That O, I languish in excess of pleasure : What ravish'd heart that feels these melting joys. Would not despise and loathe the treach'rous toys Of dunghill earth ? what soul would not be proud Of wry-mouth'd scorns, the worst that flesh and blood Had rancour to devise ? who would not bear The world^s derision with a thankful ear ? What palate would refuse full bowls of spite To gain a minute's taste of such delight r Great spring of light, in whom there is no shade But what my interposed sins have made ; Whose marrow-melting fires admit no screen But what my own rebellions put between Their precious flames and my obdurate ear ; Disperse this plague-distilling cloud, and clear My mungy soul into a glorious day : Transplant this screen, remove this bar away ; Then, then my fluent soul shall feel the fires Of thy sweet voice, and my dissolv'd desires EMBLEMS. 20I Shall turn a sov'reign balsam, to make whole Those wounds my sins inflicted on thy soul. S. August. Soliloq. Cap. xxxiv. What fire is this that so warmeth my heart ? what light is this that so enlighteneth my soul ! O fire ! that alwavs burneth, and never goeth out, kindle me : O light, which ever shineth, and art never darkened, illu- minate me : O that I had my heat from thee, most holy fire ! how sweetly dost thou burn ! how secretly dost thou shine ! how desiredly dost thou inflame me ! S. BoNAVENT. Stim. Amoris. Cap. viii. It maketh God man, and man God ; things temporal, eternal ; mortal, immortal j it maketh an emeny, a friend ; a servant, a son ; vile things, glorious ; cold hearts, fiery j and hard things, liquid. Epig. 5. My soul, thy gold is true, but full of dross ; Thy Saviour's breath ref.nes thee with some loss ; His gentle furnace makes thee pure as true ; Thou must be melted ere th' art cast anew. EMBLEMS. Emblem 6, *! PSALM LXXIII. 25. Whom have I in heaven but thee? and there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee. T LOVE (and have some cause to love) the earth ; -^ She is my Maker's creature, therefore good : She is my mother, for she gave me birth ; She is my tender nurse ; she gives me food * But v;^hat 's a creature, Lord, compared with thee ? Or v^hat 's my mother, or my nurse, to me ? I love the air ; her dainty sweets refresh My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me ; Her shrill-mouth'd choir sustain me with their flesh. EMBLEMS. 203 And with their Polyphonian notes delight me : But what 's the air, or all the sweets, that she Can bless my soul withal, compar'd to thee ? I love the sea ; she is my fellow-creature, My careful purveyor ; she provides me store : She walls me round ; she makes my diet greater ; She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore : But, Lord of oceans, when compar'd with thee, What is the ocean, or her wealth, to me ? To Heav'n's high city I direct my journey, Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine eye ; Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney, Transcends the crystal pavement of the sky: But what is Heav'n, great God, compar'd to thee ? Without thy presence, Heav'n 's no Heav'n to mc. Without thy presence, earth gives no refection ; Without thy presence, sea affords no treasure ; Without thy presence, air 's a rank infec:ion ; Without thy presence, Heav'n itself 's no pleasure ; If not possess'd, if not enjoy'd in thee, What 's earth, or sea, or air, or Heav'n, to me ? The highest honours that the world can boast Are subjects far too low for my des.'re ; The brightest beams of glory are (at most) But dying sparkles of thy living fire : The proudest flames that earth can kindle bs But nightly glow-worms, if compar'd to thee. Without thy presence, wealth are bags of cares ; Wisdom, but folly ; joy, disquiet sadness : Friendship is tieason, and delights are snares ; Pleasure's but pain, and mirth but pleasing madness ; Without thee, Lord, things be not what they be, Nor have their being when compar'd with thee. 204 EMBLE.MS. In having all things, and not thee, what have I ? Not having thee, vv^hat have my labours got ? Let me enjoy but thee, what farther crave I ? And having thee alone, what have I not ? I wish nor sea, nor land ; nor would I be Possess'd of Heav'n, Heav'n unpossess'd of thee. BoNAVENT. Soliloq. Cap. i. Alas ! my God, now I understand (but blush to con- fess) that the beauty of thy creatures hath deceived mine eyes, and I have not observed that thou art more amiable than all the creatures ; to which thou hast communicated but one drop of thy inestimable beauty : for who hath adorned the heavens with stars ? who hath stored the air with fowl, the waters with fish, the earth with plants and flowers ? but what are all these but a small spark of divine beauty. S. Chrys. Hom. v. in Ep. ad Rom. In having nothing, I have all things, because I have Christ. Having therefore all things in him, I seek no other reward ; for he is the universal reward. Epig. 6. Who would not throw his better thoughts about him ? And scorn this dross within him ; that without him ? Cast up, my soul, thy clearer eye ; behold. If thou be fully melted, there's the mould. EMBLEMS. 205 Emblem 7 PSALM CXX. 5. fJ^oe is me^ . '^^^ / sojourn in Mesech^ that I dwell in the tents of Kedar I tS nature's courst dissolv'd ? doth timers glass stand r "' Or hath some frolic heart set back the hand Of fate^s perpetual clock ? will 't never strike ? Is crazy time grown lazy, faint or sick, With very age ? or hath that great pair-royal Of adamantine sisters late made trial Of some new trade ? shall mortal hearts grow old In sorrow ? shall my weary arms i^ fold. And under-prop my panting sides for ever ? Is there no charitable hand will sever 2o6 EMBLEMS. My well-spun thread, that my imprisoned soul May be deliver'd from this dull dark hole Of dungeon flesh ? O shall I, shall I never Be ransom'd, but remain a slave for ever r It is the lot of man but once to die, But ere that death, how many deaths have I ? What human madness makes the world afraid To entertain Heaven's joys, because conveyM By the hand of death ? will nakedness refuse Rich change of robes, because the man's not spruce That brought them ? or will poverty send back Full bags of gold, because the bringer 's black ? Life is a bubble, blown with whining breaths, Fill'd with a torment of a thousand deaths ; Which being prick'd by death (while death deprives One life) presents the soul a thousand lives : O frantic mortal, how hath earth bewitch'd Thy bedlam soul, which hath so fondly pitch'd Upon her false delights ! delights that cease Before enjoyment finds a time to please : Her fickle joys breed doubtful fears ; her fears Bring hopeful griefs ; her griefs weep fearful tears : Tears coin deceitful hopes ; hopes careful doubt, And surly passion justles passion out : To-day we pamper with a full repast Of lavish mirth, at night we weep as fast : To-night we swim in wealth, and lend ; to-morrow, We sink in want, and find no friend to borrow. In what a climate doth my soul reside ? Where pale-fac'd murder, the first-born of pride, Sets up her kingdom in the very smiles. And plighted faiths of men like crocodiles : And land, where each embroider'd sattin word Is lined with fraud ; where Mars his lawless sword, Exiles Astrae's balance ; where that hand Now slays his brother, that new-sow'd his land ; E^IBLEMS. 207 O that my days of bondage would expire In this lewd soil ! Lord, how my soul's on fire To be dissolv'd, that 1 might once obtain Those long'd-for joys, long'd for so oft in vain ! If, Moses-like, I may not live possest Of this fair land. Lord, let me see 't at least. S. August. Soliloq. Cap. xii. My life is a frail life ; a corruptible life ; a life which the more it increaseth, the more it decreaseth : the farther it goeth, the nearer it cometh to death. A deceitful life, and like a shadow, full of the snares of death : now I rejoice, now I languish, now I flourish, now infirm, now I live, and straight I die ; now I seem happy, always miserable ; now I laugh, now I weep : thus all things are subject to mutability, that nothing continueth an hour in one estate : O joy above joy, exceeding all joy, without which there is no joy, when shall I enter into thee, that I may see my God, that dwelleth in thee .'' Epig. 7. Art thou so weak ? O canst thou not digest An hour of travel for a night of rest ? Cheer up, my soul, call home thy sp'rits, and bear One bad Good-Friday, full-mouth'd Easter's near. 2o8 EMBLEMS. Emblem 8. ROM. VII. 24. wretched man that I am ! who shall deliver me from the body of this death f BEHOLD thy darling, which thy lustful care Pampers, for which thy restless thoughts prepare Such early cares ; for whom thy bubbling brow So often sweats, and bankrupt eyes do owe Such midnight scores to nature, for whose sake Base earth is sainted, the infernal lake Unfear'd, the crown of glory poorly rated : Thy God neglected, and thy brother hated ; Behold thy darling, whom my soul aftects So dearly ; whom thy fond indulgence decks EMBLEMS. 209 And puppets up In soft, in silken weeds ; Behold the darling, whom thy fondness feeds With far-fetch'd delicates, the dear-bought gains Of ill-spent time, the price of half my pains : Behold thy darling, who, when clad by thee. Derides thy nakedness ; and when most free, Proclaims her lover slave ; and being fed Most full, then strikes the indulgent feeder dead. What mean'st thou thus, my poor deluded soul, To love so fondly ? can the burning coal Of thy affection last without the fuel Of counter love ? is thy compeer so cruel. And thou so kind to love, unlovM again ? Canst thou sow favours, and thus reap disdain ? Remember, O remember thou art born Of royal blood ; remember thou art sworn A maid of honour in the court of Heav'n ; Remember what a costly price was giv'n To ransom thee from slav'ry thou wert in : And wilt thou now, my soul, turn slave again ? The Son and Heir to Heav'n's Triune JEHOVE Would fain become a suitor for thy love. And offers for thy dow^r his father's throne. To sit for seraphims to gaze upon ; He ■'11 give thee honour, pleasure, wealth, and things Transcending far the majesty of kings. And wilt thou prostrate to the odious charms Of this base scullion ? shall his hollow arms Hug thy soft sides ? shall these coarse hands untie The sacred zone of thy virginity ? For shame, degen''rous soul, let thy desire Be quickened up with more heroic fire ; Be wisely proud, let thy ambitious eye Read noble objects ; let thy thoughts defy Such am'rous baseness ; let thy soul disdain Th-* ignoble proffers of so base a swain ; P EMBLEMS. Or if thy vows be past, and Hymen's bands Have ceremonied your unequal hands. Annul, at least avoid, thy lawless act With insufficiency, or, pre-contract : Or if the act be good, yet may'st thou plead A second freedom ; or the flesh is dead. Nazianz. Orat. xvi. How I am joined to this body I know not ; which, when it is healthful, provoketh me to war, and, being damaged by war, afFecteth me with grief; which I both love as a fellow-servant, and hate as an utter enemy : it is a pleasant foe, and a perfidious friend. O strange conjunction and alienation : what I fear I embrace, and what I love I am afraid of; before I make war, I am reconciled ; before I enjoy peace, I am at variance. Epig. 8. What need that house be daub'd with flesh and blood ? Hang'd round with silks and gold ? repairM with food ? Cost idly spent ! that cost doth but prolong Thy thraldom. Fool, thou mak'st thy jail too strong. EMBLEMS. Emblem 9 PHILIPPIANS I. 23. / am in a strait betwixt two^ having a desire to depart^ and to be with Christ. TT7HAT meant our careful parents so to wear, ^^ And lavish out their ill-extended hours, To purchase for us large possessions here. Which (though unpurchas'd) are too truly ours r What meant they, ah ! what meant they to endure Such loads of needless labour, to procure And make that thing our own, which was our own too sure ? What mean these liv'ries and possessive keys ? What mean these bargains, and these needless sales ? EMBLEMS. BOOK t. What mean these jealous, these suspicious ways Of law devis'd, and law dissolved entails ? No need to sweat for gold, wherewith to buy Estates of high-priz'd land ; no need to tie Earth to their heirs, were they but clogg'd with earth as I. were their souls but cloggM with earth as I, They would not purchase with so salt an itch ; They would not take of alms, what now they buy ; Nor call him happy whom the world counts rich ; They would not take such pains, project and prog, To charge their shoulders with so great a log : Who hath the greater lands, hath but the greater clog. 1 cannot do an act which earth disdains not ; I cannot think a thought which earth corrupts not ; I cannot speak a word which earth profanes not ; I cannot make a vow earth interrupts not : If I but offer up an early groan. Or spread my wings to Heav'n's long longM-for throne, , i She darkens my complaints, and drags my off'ring down. | E'en like the hawk, (whose keeper's wary hands Have made a pris'ner to her weath'ring stock) Forgetting quite the pow'r of her fast bands. Makes a rank bate from her forsaken block ; But her too faithful leash doth soon retain Her broken flight, attempted oft in vain ; It gives her loins a twitch, and tugs her back again. So, when my soul directs her better eye To Heav'n's bright palace, where my treasure lies, I spread my willing wings, but cannot fly ; Earth hales mc down, I cannot, cannot rise : When I but strive to mount the least degree, Earth gives a jerk, and foils me on my knee ; LoRDj how m.y soul is rack'd betwixt the world and thee ! BOOK V. EMBLEMS. 213 Great God, I spread my feeble wings in vain 3 In vain I ofFer my extended hands : I cannot mount till thou unlink my chain : I cannot come till thou release my bands : Which if thou please to break, and then supply My wings with spirit, th' eagle shall not fly A pitch that's half so fair, nor half so swift as I. S. BoNAVENT. Soliloq. Cap. i. Ah ! sweet Jesus, pierce the marrow of my soul with the heartful shafts of thy love, that it may truly burn, and melt, and languish, with the only desire of thee : that it may desire to be dissolved, and to be with thee : let it hunger alone for the bread of life : let it thirst after thee, the spring and fountain of eternal light, the stream of true pleasure : let it always desire the, seek thee, and find thee, and sweetly rest in thee. Epig. 9. What, will thy shackles neither loose nor break ? Are they too strong, or is thine arm too weak ? Art will prevail where knotty strength denies ; My soul, there 's aquafortis in thine eyes. 214 EMBLEMS. BOOK V. Emblem lo. PSALM CXLII. 7. Bring my soul out of prison that I may praise thy name. lyyrY soul is like a bird, my flesh the cage, IVX Wherein she wears her weary pilgrimage Of hours, as few as evil, daily fed With sacred wine and sacramental bread ; The keys that lock her in and let her out. Are birth and death ; 'twixt both she hops about From perch to perch, from sense to reason j then From higher reason down to sense again : From sense she climbs to faith ; where for a season She sits and sings ; then down again to reason : From reason back to faith, and straight from thence She rudely flutters to the perch of sense : EMBLEMS. 215 From sense to hope ; then hops from hope to doubt. From doubt to dull despair ; there seeks about For desp'rate freedom, and at ev'ry grate She wildly thrusts, and begs the untimely date Of th' unexpir'd thraldom, to release The afflicted captive, that can find no peace. Thus am I coopM ; within this fleshly cage I wear my youth, and waste my weary age ; Spending that breath, which was ordainM to chant HeavVs praises forth, in sighs and sad complaint : Whilst happier birds can spread their nimble wing From shrubs to cedars, and there chirp and sing. In choice of raptures, the harmonious story Of man's redemption, and his Maker's glory: You glorious martyrs, you illustrious stoops. That once were cloister'd in your fleshly coops As fast as I, what rhet'ric had your tongues ? What dext'rous art had your elegiac songs ? What Paul-like pow^r had your admir'd devotion ? What shackle-breaking faith infus'd such motion To your strong pray'r, that could obtain the boon To be enlarg'd ; to be uncaged so soon ? Whilst I, poor I, can sing my daily tears. Grown old in bondage, and can find no ears ; You great partakers of eternal glory. That with your Heaven-prevailing oratory Releas'd your souls from your terrestrial cage. Permit the passion of my holy rage To recommend my sorrows, dearly known To you, in days of old, and once your own, To your best thoughts, (but oh 't doth not befit ye To move your prayers ; you love joy, not pity :) Great Lord of souls, to whom should pris'ners fly But thee ? thou hadst a cage as well as I ; And, for my sake, thy pleasure was to know The sorrows that it brought, and felt'st them too : 21 6 EMBLEMS. O let me free, and I will spend those days, Which now I waste in begging, in thy praise. Anselm. in Protolog. Cap. i. O miserable condition of mankind, that has lost that for which he was created ! alas ! what hath he lost ? and what hath he found ? he hath lost happiness for which he was made, and found misery for which he was not made : what is gone ? and what is left ? that thing is gone, without which he is unhappy ; that thing is left, by which he is miserable : O wretched men ! from whence are we expelled ? to what are we im- pelled ? whence are we thrown ? and whither are we hurried ? from our home into banishment ; from the sight of God into our own blindness ; from the pleasure of immortality to the bitterness of death : miserable change ; from how great a good, to how great an evil ! ah me ! what have I enterprised ? what have I done ? whither did I go ? whither am I corrie ? Epig. 10. Paul's midnight voice prevail'd ; his music 's thundei Unhing'd the prison-doors, split bolts in sunder : And sitt'st thou here, and hang'st the feeble wing ? And whin'st to be enlarged ? soul, learn to sing. EMBLEMS. 217 Emblem 1 1 . PSALM XLII. 1. As the hart panteth after the water-brooks^ so panteth my soul after thee^ O God. TTOW shall my tongue express that hallowed fire, -*• -*■ Which Heaven hath kindled in my ravish'd heart ! What muse shall I invoke, that will inspire My lowly quill to act a lofty part ! What art shall I devise t' express desire, Too intricate to be express'd by art ! Let all the nine be silent ; I refuse Their aid in this high task, for they abuse The flames of love too much : assist me, David's muse. 2i8 EMBLEMS. Not as the thirsty soil desires soft show'rs To quicken and refresh her embryon grain j Nor as the drooping crests of fading flow'rs Request the bounty of a morning rain, Do I desire my God : these in few hours R e-wish what late their wishes did obtain ; But as the swift-foot hart doth wounded fly Xo th^ much-desired streams, even so do I Pant after thee, my God, whom I must find, or die. Before a pack of deep-mouthM lusts I flee ; O, they have singled out my panting heart, And wanton Cupid, sitting in the tree, Hath piercM my bosom with a flaming dart; My soul being spent, for refuge seeks to thee, But cannot find where thou my refuge art : Like as the swift-foot hart doth wounded fly To the desired streams, e'en so do I Pant after thee, my God, whom I must find, or die. At length, by flight, I overwent the pack ; Thou drew'st the wanton dart from out my wound ; The blood that followM left a purple track. Which brought a serpent, but in shape a hound : We strove, he bit me; but thou break^st his back, I left him grov'ling on th' envenomed ground ; But as the serpent-bitten hart doth fly To the long long'd-for streams, e^en so do I Pant after thee, my God, whom I must find, or die. If love should chase my soul, made swift by fright, Thou art the stream whereto my soul is bound : Or if a jav'lin wound my sides in flight. Thou art the balsam that must cure my wound : If poison chance t' infest my soul in fight. Thou art the treacle that must make me sound : BOOKV. EMBLEMS. 219 E^en as the wounded hart, embost, doth fly- To th' streams extremely long'd-for, so do I Pant after thee, my God, whom I must find, or die. S. Cyril. Lib. v. in Joh. Cap. x. O precious water, which quencheth the noisome thirst of this world, scoureth all the stains of sinners, that watereth the earth of our souls with heavenly showers, and bringeth back the thirsty heart of man to his only God. S. August. Soliloq. Cap. xxxv. O fountain of life, and vein of living waters, when shall I leave this forsaken, impassable, and dry earth, and taste the waters of thy sweetness, that I may behold thy virtue and thy glory, and slake my thirst with the streams of thy mercy ! Lord, I thirst, thou art the spring of life, satisfy me : I thirst, Lord, I thirst after thee, the Hving God ! Epig. II. The arrow-smitten hart, deep-wounded, flies To th' springs, with water in his weeping eyes : Heav'n is thy spring : if Satan's fiery dart Pierce thy faint sides : do so, my wounded heart. EMBLEMS. Emblem 12 PSALM XLII. 2. Wlien shall I come and appear before God ? TTTHAT is my soul the better to be tinM ^^ With holy fire ? what boots it to be coin'd With Heav'n's own stamp ? what 'vantage can there be To souls of Heaven-descended pedigree, More than to beasts that grovel ? are not they Fed by the Almighty^s hand ? and ev'ry day Fill'd with his blessings too ? do they not see God in his creatures, as direct as we ? Do they not taste thee ? hear thee ? nay, what sense Is not partaker of thine excellence ? What more do we ? alas ! what serves our reason. But, like dark lanthorns, to accomplish treason EMBLEMS. With greater closeness ? It aiFords no light, i Brings thee no nearer to our purblind sight : No pleasure rises up the least degree, Great God, but in the clearer view of thee : I What priv'lege more than sense hath reason then ? • | What 'vantage is it to be born a man ? i How often hath my patience built, dear Lord, Vain tow'rs of hope upon thy gracious word ? i How often hath thy hope-reviving grace ! Woo'd my suspicious eyes to seek thy face ? How often have I sought the ? O how long Hath expectation taught my perfect tongue Repeated prayers, yet pray'rs could ne'er obtain ! In vain I seek thee, and I beg in vain : If it be high presumption to behold Thy face, why didst thou make mine eyes so bold To seek it? if that object be too bright For man's aspect, why did thy lips invite Mine eye t' expect it? If it might be seen. Why is this envious curtain drawn between My darkenM eye and it ? O tell me, why Thou dost command the thing thou dost deny ? Why dost thou give me so unpriz'd a treasure, And then deny'st my greedy soul the pleasure To view my gift ? Alas ! that gift is void. And is no gift, that may not be enjoy'd : If those refulgent beams of Heav'n's great light Gild not the day, what is the day but night ? The drowsy shepherd sleeps, flow'rs droop and fade ; The birds are sullen, and the beasts are sad : But if bright Titan dart his golden ray. And with his riches glorify the day. The jolly shepherd pipes ; flow'rs freshly spring ; •The beasts grow gamesome, and the birds they sing. Thou art my sun, great God ! O when shall I View the full beams of thy meridian eye ? EMBLE^IS. Draw, draw this fleshly curtain, that denies The gracious presence of thy glorious eyes ; Or give me faith ; and, by the eye of grace, I shall behold thee, though not face to face. S. August in Psal. xxxix. Who created all things is better than all things : who beautified all things, is more beautiful than all things : who made strength, is stronger than all things: who made great things, is greater than all things : whatsoever thou lovest, he is that to thee : learn to love the workman in his work, the Creator in his creature : let not that which was made by him pos- sess thee, lest thou lose him by whom thy self was made. S. August. Med. Cap. xxxvii. O thou most sweet, most gracious, most amiable, most fair, when shall I see thee ? when shall I be satisfied with thy beauty ? when wilt thou lead me from this dark dungeon, that I may confess thy name ? EpIG. 12. How art thou shaded, in this veil of night. Behind thy curtain flesh ? Thou seest no light, But what thy pride doth challenge as her own ; Thy flesh is high : Soul, take this curtain down. EMBLEMS. 223 Emblem 13 PSALM LV. 6. O that I had wings like a dove ^ for then would I Jiy away^ and he at rest I A ND am I sworn a dunghill-slave for ever -^^ To earth's base drudg'ry ? Shall I never find A night of rest ? shall my indentures never Be cancell'd ? Did injurious nature bind My soul earth's ^prentice, w^ith no clause to leave her ? No day of freedom ? Must I ever grind ? O that I had the pinions of a dove, That I might quit my bands, and soar above, And pour my just complaints before the great Jehove ! 224 EMBLEMS. boot v. How happy are the doves, that have the pow^r Whene'er they please, to spread their airy wrings ! Or cloud-dividing eagles, that can tovi^'r Above the scent of these inferior things ! How happy is the lark, that ev^ry hour Leaves earth, and then for joy mounts up and sings ! Had my dull soul but wings as well as they, How I would spring from earth, and clip away, As wise Astraea did, and scorn this ball of clay ! O how my soul would spurn this ball of clay. And loathe the dainties of earth's painful pleasure ! O how I'd laugh to see men night and day Turmoil to gain that trash, they call their treasure ! O how I'd smile to see what plots they lay To catch a blast, or own a smile from Cassar ! Had I the pinions of a mounting dove. How I would soar and sing, and hate the love Of transitory toys, and feed on joys above ! There should I find that everlasting pleasure. Which change removes not, and which chance pre- vents not ; There should I find that everlasting treasure, Which force deprives not, fortune disaugments not ; There should I find that everlasting Caesar, Whose hand recals not, and whose heart repents not ; Had I the pinions of a clipping dove, How I would climb the skies, and hate the love Of transitory toys, and joys in things above ! No rank-mouth'd slander there shall give offence, Or blast our blooming names, as here they do , No liver-scalding lust shall there incense Our boiling veins ; there is no Cupid's bow : Lord, give my soul the milk-v/hite innocence Of doves, and I shall have the pinions too : EMBLEMS. 225 Had I the pinions of a clipping dove, How I would quit this earth, and soar above, And Heav'n^s bless'd kingdom find, and Heav'n's blessM King Jehove I S. August, in Psal. cxxxviii. What wings should I desire, but the two precepts of love, on which the law and the prophets depend ! O if I could obtain these wings, I could fly from thy face to thy face, from the face of thy justice to the face of thy mercy : let us find those wings by love, which we have lost by lust. S. August, in Psal. Ixxvi. Let us cast off whatsoever hindereth, entangleth, or burdeneth our flight, until we obtain that which satisfieth ; beyond which nothing is ; beneath which all things are ; of which all things are. Epig. 13. Tell me, my wishing soul, did^st ever try How fast the wings of red-cross'd faith can fly ? Why begg'st thou, then, the pinions of a dove ? Faith's wings are swifter, but the swiftest, love. Q. zz6 EMBLEMS. Emblem 14. PSALM LXXXIV. I. How amiable are thy tabernacles^ Lord of hosts I A NCIENT of days, to whom all things are now, ^-^ Before whose glory seraphims do bow Their blushing cheeks, and veil their blemishM faces, That, uncontainM, at once doth fill all places ^ How glorious, O how far beyond the height Of puzzled quills, or the obtuse conceit Of flesh and blood, or the two flat reports Of mortal tongues, are they expressless courts ! Whose glory to paint forth with greater art, Ravish my fancy, and inspire my heart ; Excuse my bold attempt, and pardon me For showing sense, what faith alone should see. EMBLEMS. 227 Ten thousand millions, and ten thousand more Of angel-measured leagues, from the eastern shore Of dungeon-earth, his glorious palace stands. Before whose pearly gates ten thousand bands Of armed angels wait to entertain Those purged souls, for which the Lamb was slain ; Whose guiltless death, and voluntary yielding Of whose giv'n life, gave the brave court her building; The lukewarm blood of this dear Lamb, being spilt. To rubies turn'd whereof her posts were built ; And what dropp'd down in a kind gelid gore. Did turn rich sapphires, and did pave her floor : The brighter flames, that from his eye-balls ray'd Grew chr)^solities, whereof her walls were made : The milder glances sparkled on the ground. And groundsill'd ev^ry door with diamond ; But dying, darted upwards, and did fix A battlement of purest sardonyx. Her streets with burnish'd gold are paved round ; Stars lie like pebbles scatter'd on the ground ; Pearl mixt with onyx, and the jasper stone. Made gravell'd causeways to be trampled on. There shines no sun by day, no moon by night ; The palace glory is, the palace light : There is no time to measure motion by. There time is swallowed in eternity : Wry-mouth'd disdain, and corner-hunting lust, And twy-facM fraud, and beetle-browM distrust, Soul-boiling rage, and trouble-state sedition. And giddy doubt, and goggle-eyM suspicion. And lumpish sorrow, and degen'rous fear. Are banishM thence, and death ^s a stranger there : But simple love, and sempiternal joys. Whose sweetness never gluts, nor fulness cloys : Where face to face our ravishM eye shall see Great ELOHIM, that glorious One in Three, 228 EMBLEMS. And Three in One, and seeing him shall bless him, And blessing, love him ; and in love possess him. Here stay, my soul, and, ravish'd in relation. The words being spent, spend nov^^ in contemplation. S. Greg, in Psal. vii. Poenitent. Sweet Jesus, the word of the Father, the brightness of paternal glory, whom angels dehght to view, teach me to do thy will ; that, led by thy good spirit, I may come to that blessed city, where day is eternal, where there is certain security, and secure eternity ; and eternal peace, and peaceful happiness ; and happy sweetness, and sweet pleasure, where thou, O God, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, livest and reignest world without end. Ibidem. There is light without darkness ; joy without grief, desire without punishment ; love without sadness ; satiety without loathing ; safety without fear ; health without disease ; and life without death. Epig. 14. My soul, pry not too nearly ; the complexion Of Sol's bright face is seen by the reflection : But would'st thou know what's Heav'n ? Til tell thee what : Think what thou canst not think, and Heav'n is that. EMBLEMS. 229 Emblem 15 CANTICLES VIII. I4. Make haste^ my beloved^ and be like the roe^ or the young hart upon the mountains of spices. GO, gentle tyrant, go ; thy flames do pierce My soul too deep ; thy flames are too, too fierce i My marrow melts, my fainting spirits fry In th' torrid zone of thy meridian eye : Away, away, thy sweets are too perfuming : Turn, turn thy face, thy fires are too consuming : Haste hence, and let thy winged steps outgo The frighted roebuck, and his flying roe But wilt thou leave me, then ? O thou, that art Life of my soul, soul of my dying heart. EMBLEMS. Without the sweet aspect of whose fair eyes My soul doth languish, and her solace dies ? Art thou so easily woo'd r so apt to hear The frantic language of thy foolish fear ? Leave, leave, me not, nor turn thy beauty from me ; Look, look upon me, tho' thine eyes o'ercome me. how they wound ! but how my wounds content me ! How sweetly these delightful pains torment me ! How am I tortur'd in excessive measure Of pleasing cruelties ! too cruel treasure ! Turn, turn away, remove thy scorching beams ; 1 languish with these bitter-sweet extremes : Haste, then, and let thy winged steps outgo The flying roebuck, and his frighted roe. Turn back, my dear ; O let my ravish'd eye Once more behold thy face before thou fly : What, shall we part without a mutual kiss ? who can leave so sweet a face as this ? Look full upon me ; for my soul desires To turn a holy martyr in those fires : O leave me not, nor turn thy beauty from me ; Look, look upon me, tho^ thy flames o'ercome me. If those becloud the sunshine of thine eye, 1 freeze to death ; and if it shine, I fry ; Which, like a fever, that my soul hath got, Makes me to burn too cold, or freeze too hot : Alas ! I cannot bear so sweet a smart, Nor canst thou be less glorious than thou art. Haste, then, and let thy winged steps outgo The frighted roebuck, and his flying roe. But go not far beyond the reach of breath ; Too large a distance makes another death : My youth is in her spring ; autumnal vows Will make me riper for so sweet a spouse ; BOOKT. EMBLEMS. 231 When after-times have burnish'd my desire, I'll shoot thee flames for flames, and fire for fire. O leave me not, nor turn thy beauty from me ; Look, look upon me, through thy flames overcome me ! Autor Scalae Paradisi. Tom. ix. Aug. Cap. viii. Fear not, O bride, nor despair ; think not thyself contemned if thy Bridegroom withdraw his face a while, all things co-operate for the best -, both from his absence, and his presence, thou gainest hght : he cometh to thee, and he goeth from thee : he cometh to make thee consolate ; he goeth, to make thee cautious, lest thy abundant consolation puff thee up : he cometh that thy languishing soul may be comforted ; he goeth, lest his familiarity should be contemned ; and being absent, to be more desired ; and being desired, to be more earnestly sought; and being long sought, to be more acceptably found. Epig. 15. My soul, sln^s monster, whom with greater ease Ten thousand fold thy God could make than please. What would^st thou have ? Nor pleasM with sun nor shade ? Heaven knows not what to make of what he made. 232 EMBLEMS. THE FAREWELL. Fidesque coronat ad aras. B REV. II. 10. Be thou faithful unto death ^ and I will give thee a crown of life, E faithful ; Lord, what 's that ? Believe : 'Tis easy to believe ; but what ? That he whom thy hard heart hath wounded. And whom thy scorn hath spit upon, Hath paid thy fine, and hath compounded For these foul deeds thy hands have done: Believe that he whose gentle palms Thy needle-pointed sins have nail'd, Hath borne thy slavish load (of alms) And made supply where thou hast fail'd : BOOK V. EMBLEMS. Did ever mis'ry find so strange relief ? It is a love too strange for man^s belief. Believe that he, whose side Thy crimes have pierc'd with their rebellions, died To save thy guilty soul from dying Ten thousand horrid deaths, from whence There was no 'scape, there was no flying, But through his dearest blood^s expense ; Believe, this dying friend requires No other thanks for all his pain, But e^en the truth of weak desires, And, for his love, but love again : Did ever misery find so true a friend ? It is a love too vast to comprehend. With floods of tears baptize And drench these dry, these unregen'rate eyes ; Lord, whet my dull, my blunt belief. And break this fleshly rock in sunder, That from this heart, this hell of grief. May spring a Heav'n of love and wonder : O, if thy mercies will remove And melt this lead from my belief, My grief will then refine my love. My love will then refesh my grief: Then weep, mine eyes, as he hath bled ; vouchsafe To drop for ev'ry drop an epitaph. But is the crown of glory The wages of a lamentabe story ? Or can so great a purchase rise For a salt humour ? Can mine eyes Run fast enough t' obtain this prize ^ If so. Lord, who's so mad to die ? Thy tears are trifles ; thou must do : Alas ! I cannot ; then endeavour : 233 234 EMBLEMS. book t. I will ; but will a tug or two Suffice the turn ? Thou must persevere : ril strive till death \ and shall my feeble strife Be crowned ? V\\ crown it with a crown of life. But is there such a dearth, That thou must buy what is thy due by birth ? He whom thy hands did form of dust, And give him breath, upon condition To love his great Creator ; must He now be thine by composition ? Art thou a gracious God and mild. Or headstrong man, rebellious, rather ? O, man^s a base rebellious child, And thou a very gracious Father. The gift is thine ; we strive, thou crown'st our strife ; Thou giv'st us faith ; and faith a crown of life. END OF EMBLEMS. INTRODUCTION, ^isj^S^iS^V.^ Peruse this little Book j and thou wilt see What thy heart is, and what it ought to be. '"f^URN In, my mind, wander not abroad : Kerens work enough at home ; lay by that load Of scatter'd thought, that clogs and cumbers thee : Resume thy long-neglected liberty Of self-examination : bend thine eye Inward ; consider where thy heart doth He, How 'tis affected, how 'tis busied ; look What thou hast writ thyself in thine own book, Thy conscience : here set thou thyself to school ; Self-knowledge, 'twixt a wise man and a fool, 236 INTRODUCTION. Doth make the difference ; he that neglects This learning, sideth with his own defects. Dost thou draw back ? Hath custom charmM thee so, That thou canst relish nothing but thy woe ? Find'st thou such sweetness in these sugarM lies ? Have foreign objects so engross'd thine eyes ? Canst thou not hold them off? Hast thou an ear To listen, but to what thou shouldst not hear ? Art thou incapable of everything, But what thy senses to thy fancy bring ? Remember that thy birth and constitution Both promise better than such base confusion. Thy birth^s divine, from Heaven : thy composure Is spirit, and immortal : thine inclosure In walls of flesh ; not to make thee debtor For houseroom to them, but to make them better : Thy body 's thy freehold, live then as lord. Not tenant to thy own : some time afford To view what state 'tis in : survey each part, And, above all, take notice of thine heart. Such as that is, the rest is, or will be. Better or worse, blame-worthy or fault-free. What ! are the ruins such, thou art afraid. Or else ashamed, to see how -'tis decay'd .'' Is 't therefore thou art loath to see it such As now it is, because it is so much Degenerated now from what it was. And should have been ? Thine ignorance, alas ! Will make it nothing better : and the longer Evils are suffer'd to grow, they grow the stronger : INTEODUCTION. 237 Or hath thy understanding lost its light ? Hath the dark night of error dimm'd thy sight, So that thou canst not, though thou would^st, observe All things amiss within thee, how they swerve From the straight rules of righteousness and reason ? If so, omit not then this precious season : 'Tis yet school-time j as yet the door's not shut. Hark how the Master calls. Come, let us put Up our requests to him, whose will alone Limits his power of teaching, from whom none Returns unlearn'd that hath once a will To be his scholar, and implore his skill. Great Searcher of the heart, whose boundless sight Discovers secrets, and doth bring to light The hidden things of darkness, who alone Perfectly know'st all things that can be known ; Thou know'st I do not, cannot, have no mind To know mine heart : I am not only blind. But lame, and listless : thou alone canst make Me able, willing : and the pains I take. As well as the success, must come from thee, Who workest both to will and do in me : Having made me now willing to be taught. Make me as willing to learn what I ought. Or, if thou wilt allow thy scholar leave. To choose his lesson, lest I should deceive Myself again, as I have done too often Teach me to know my heart. Thou, thou canst Lighten, enliven, purify, restore, [soften, And make more fruitful than it was before, 238 INTRODUCTION. Its hardness, darkness, death, uncleanness, loss, And barrenness : refine it from the dross. And draw out all the dregs, heal every sore. Teach it to know itself, and love thee more. Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst impart this skill: And as for other learning, take 't who will. THE SCHOOL OF THE HEART STfte inftttion of tl)e l^eart. While Satan thus deceives with flatt'ring breath, Thy heart drinks poison in, disease, and death. ACTS V. 3. TFhy hath Satan filled thu heart P I. Epig. TT7HILST thou inclin'st thy voice-inveigled ear, ^ ^ The subtle serpent's syren songs to hear, Thy heart drinks deadly poison drawn from hell, And with a vip'rous brood of sin doth swell. 24° THE SCHOOL OF ODE I. TJie Soul. Profit and pleasure, comfort and content, Wisdom and honour ; and, when these are spent, A fresh supply of more ! Oh heav'nly words ! Are these the dainty fruits that this fair tree affords ? Tlie Serpent. Yes, these and many more, if more may be. All that this world contains, in this one tree, Contracted is. Take but a taste, and try ; Thou may'st believe thyself, experience cannot lie. The Soul. But thou may'st lie : and, with a false pretence Of friendship, rob me of that excellence Which my Creator's bounty hath bestow'd, And freely given me, to whom he nothing ow'd. The Serpent. Strange composition ! so credulous. And at the same time so suspicious ! This is the tree of knowledge ; and until Thou eat thereof, how canst thou know what ^s goo or ill ? The Soul. God infinitely good my Maker is. Who neither will nor can do aught amiss. The being I received, was that he sent. And therefore I am sure must needs be excellent. The Serpent. Suppose it be : yet doubtless he that gave Thee such a being must himself needs have A better far, more excellent by much : Or else be sure that he could not have made thee such. THE HEAET. 241 The Soul. Such as he made me, I am well content Still to continue : for, if he had meant I should enjoy a better state, he could As easily have giv'n it, if he would. The Serpent. , And is it not all one, if he have giv'n The means to get it ? Must he still be driv'n To new works of creation for thy sake ? Wilt thou not what he sets before thee deign to take ? The Soul. Yes, of the fruits of all the other trees I freely take and eat : they are the fees Allow'd me for the dressing, by the Maker : But of this fatal fruit I must not be partaker. The Serpent. And why ? What danger can it be to eat That which is good, being ordain'd for meat ? What wilt thou say ? God made it not for food ? Or dar'st thou think that, made by him, it is not good ? The Soul. Yes, good it is, no doubt, and good for meat : But I am not allowed thereof to eat. My Maker's prohibition, under pain Of death, the day I eat thereof, makes me refrain. The Serpent. Faint-hearted fondling ! canst thou fear to die, Being a spirit and immortal ? Fie. God knows this fruit once eaten will refine Thy grosser parts alone, and make thee all divine. The Soul. There's something in it, sure : were it not good, It had not in the midst of the garden stood ; R 2^z THE SCHOOL OF And being good, I can no more refrain From wishing, than I can the fire to burn, restrain. Why do I trifle then ? What I desire Why do I not ? Nothing can quench the fire Of longing, but fruition. Come what will. Eat it I must, that I may know what's good and ill. The Serpent. So, thou art taken now : that resolution Gives an eternal date to thy confusion. The knowledge thou hast got of good and ill, Is of good gone, and past 5 of evil, present still. THE HEART. 243'^ STfie tafeing atoag of tf)e l^eart. While lust and wine their beastly joys impart, The mind grows dead ; the heart's without a heart. HOS. IV. II. Whoredom and wine, and new wine., take away the heart Epig. 2. "D ASE lust and luxury, the scum and dross ^ Of hell-born pleasures, please thee, to the loss Of thy soul's precious eyesight, reason; so Mindless thy mind, heartless thine heart doth grow. 244 THE SCHOOL OF ODE II. Laid down already ? and so fast asleep ? Thy precious heart left loosely on thine hand, Which with all diligence thou shouldst keep, And guard against those enemies, that stand Ready prepared to plunge it in the deep Of all distress ? Rouse thee, and understand In time, what in the end thou must confess, That misery at last and wretchedness Is all the fruit that springs from slothful idleness. Whilst thou liest soaking in security. Thou drown'st thyself in sensual delight, And wallow'st in debauched luxury. Which, when thou art awake and seest, will fright Thine heart with horror. When thou shalt descry, By the daylight, the danger of the night. Then, then, if not too late, thou wilt confess, That endless misery and wretchedness Is all the fruit that springs from riotous excess. Whilst thou dost pamper thy proud flesh, and thrust Into thy paunch the prime of all thy store. Thou dost but gather fuel for that lust, Which, boiling in thy liver, runneth o'er. And frieth in thy throbbing veins, which must Needs vent, or burst, when they can hold no more. But oh, consider what thou shalt confess At last, that misery and wretchedness Is all the fruit that springs from lustful wantonness. Whilst thou dost feed effeminate desires With spumy pleasures, whilst fruition The coals of lust fans into flaming fires, And spurious delights thou dotest on. Thy mind through cold remissness e' en expires. And all the active vigour of it 's gone. THE HEAET. 245 Take heed in time, or else thou shalt confess At last, that misery and wretchedness Is all the fruit that springs from careless-mindedness. Whilst thy regardless sense-dissolved mind Lies by unbent, that should have been thy spring Of motion, all thy headstrong passions find Themselves let loose, and follow their own swing; Forgetful of the great account behind. As though there never would be such a thing. But, when it comes indeed, thou wilt confess That misery alone and wretchedness Is all the fruit that springs from soul-forgetfulness. Whilst thou remember'st not thy latter end. Nor what a reck'ning thou one day must make, Putting no difference 'twixt foe and friend. Thou sufFer'st hellish fiends thine heart to take ; Who, all the while thou triflest, do attend. Ready to bring it to the lake Of fire and brimstone : where thou shalt confess That endless misery and wretchedness Is all the fruit that springs from stupid heartlessness. 246 THE SCHOOL OF O the heart's darkness ! which, without my light. Would lead to deeper glooms, and endless night. ROM. I. 21. Their foolish heart was darkened. Epig. 3. CUCH cloudy shadows have eclips'd thine heart, ^ As nature cannot parallel, nor art : Unless thou take my light of truth to guide thee, Blackness of darkness will at length betide thee. THE HEAET. 247 ODE III. Tarry, O tarry, lest thine heedless haste Hurry thee headlong unto hell at last : See, see, thine heart's already half-way there j Those gloomy shadows that encompass it Are the vast confines of th' infernal pit. O stav ; and if thou lov'st not light, yet fear That fatal darkness, where Such danger doth appear. A night of ignorance hath overspread Thy mind and understanding : thou art led Blindfolded by unbridled passion : Thou wand'rest in the crooked ways of error. Leading directly to the king of terror : The course thou tak'st, if thou boldest on, Will bury thee anon In deep destruction. Whilst thou art thus deprived of thy sight, Thou know'st no difference between noon and night, Though the sun shine, yet thou regard'st it not. My love-alluring beauty cannot draw thee. Nor doth my mind-amazing terror awe thee : Like one that had both good and ill forgot, Thou carest not a jot What falleth to thy lot. Thou art become unto thyself a stranger, Observest not thine own desert, or danger ; Thou know'st not what thou dost, nor canst thou tell Whither thou goest : shooting in the dark. How canst thou ever hope to hit the mark ? What expectation hast thou to do well, Thou art content to dwell Within the verge of hell ? 248 THE SCHOOL OF Alas, thou hast not so much knowledge left, As to consider that thou art bereft Of thine own eyesight. But thou runn'st, as though Thou sawest all before thee : whilst thy mind To nearest necessary things is blind. Thou knowest nothing as thou oughtst to know, Whilst thou esteemest so The things that are below. Would ever any, that had eyes, mistake As thou art wont to do : no difF'rence make Betwixt the way to heaven and to hell ? But, desperately devoted to destruction, Rebel against the light, abhor instruction ? As though thou didst desire with death to dwell, Thou hatest to hear tell How yet thou may'st do well. Oh, that thou didst but see how blind thou art. And feel the dismal darkness of thine heart ! Then wouldst thou labour for, and I would lend My light to guide thee ; that ^s not light alone. But life, eyes, sight, grace, glory, all in one. Then should'st thou know whither those bye-ways bend, And that death in the end On darkness doth attend. THE HEAET. 249 Where 's thy heart flown ? if thou a heart hast got, Who both thyself and me rememb'rest not. THE ABSENCE OF THE HEART. PROV. XVII. 16. Wherefore is there a price in the hand of a fool to get wisdom^ seeing he hath no heart to it ? Epig. 4. tJADST thou an heart, thou fickle fugitive, '■' How vi^ould thine heart hate and disdain to live Mindful of such vain trifles as these be ! 250 THE SCHOOL OF ODE IV. The Soul. Brave, dainty, curious, rare, rich, precious things ! Able to make fate-blasted mortals blest, Peculiar treasures, and delights for kings. That having povi^'r of all, vi^ould choose the best. How do I hug mine happiness, that have Present possession of what others crave ! Christ. Poor, silly, simple, sense-besotted soul. Why dost thou hug thy self-procured woes ? Release thy freeborn thoughts, at least control Those passions that enslave thee to thy foes. How wouldst thou hate thyself, if thou didst know The baseness of those things thou prizest so ! The Scul. They talk of goodness, virtue, piety, Religion, honesty, I know not what ; So let them talk for me : so long as I Have goods and lands, and gold and jewels, that Both equal and excel all other treasure. Why should I strive to make their pain my pleasure ? Christ. So swine neglect the pearls that lie before them. Trample them under foot, and feed on draff: So fools gild rotten idols, and adore them. Cast all the corn away, and keep the chaff. That ever reason should be blinded so ; To grasp the shadow, let the substance go! The Soul. All 's but opinion that the world accounts Matter of worth : as this or that man sets A value on it, so the price amounts : THE HEAET. 251 The sound of strings is vary'd by the frets, My mind 's my kingdom : why should I withstand. Or question that, which I myself command ? Christ. Thy tyrant passions captivate thy reason : Thy lusts usurp the guidance of the mind : Thy sense-led fancy barters good for geason : Thy seed is vanity, thine harvest wind : Thy rules are crooked, and thou writ^st awry : Thy ways are wand'ring, and thy mind to die. The SguL This table sums me myriads of pleasure ; That book enrols mine honour's inventory : These bags are stutFd with millions of treasure : Those writings evidence my state of glory : These bells ring heav'nly music in mine ears, To drown the noise of cumb'rous cares and fears. Christ, Those pleasures one day will procure thy pain : That which thou gloriest in, will be thy shame : Thou 'It find thy loss in what thou thought'st thy gain Thine honour will put on another name. That music, in the close, will ring thy knell ; Instead of heaven, toll thee into hell. But why do I thus waste my words in vain On one that 's wholly taken up with toys ; That will not lose one dram of earth, to gain A full eternal weight of heav'nly joys ? All ^s to no purpose : 'tis as good forbear. As speak to one that hath no heart to hear. 252 THE SCHOOL OF Blown up with honour's wind, the heart grows vain, Though a great nothing is the whole you gain. JOB XV. 31. Let not him that is deceived trust in vanity, for vanity shall he his recommence. Epig. 5. AMBITION bellows with the wind of honour, Puffs up the swelling heart that dotes upon her : Which, fiird with empty vanity, breathes forth Nothing, but such things as are nothing worth. THE HEART. 253 ODE V. The bane of kingdoms, world's disquieter, Hell's heir-apparent, Satan's eldest son. Abstract of ills, refin'd elixir. And quintessence of sin, ambition. Sprung from th' infernal shades, inhabits here, Making man's heart its horrid mansion, Which, though it were of vast extent before, Is now pufPd up, and swells still more and more. Whole armies of vain thoughts it entertains. Is stufPd with dreams of kingdoms, and of crowns, Presumes of profit without care or pains. Threatens to baffle all its foes with frowns, In ev'ry bargain makes account of gains. Fancies such frolic mirth as chokes and drowns The voice of conscience, whose loud alarms Cannot be heard for pleasure countercharms. Wer't not for anger, and for pity, who Could choose but smile to see vain-glorious men Racking their wits, straining their sinews so. That, thorough their transparent thinness, when JThey meet with wind and sun, they quickly grow Riv'led and dry, shrink till they crack again. And all but to seem greater than they are ? Stretching their strength, they lay their weakness bare. See how hell's fueller his bellows plies. Blowing the fire that burns too fast before : See how the furnace flames, the sparkles rise And spread themselves abroad still more and more ! See how the doting soul hath fix'd her eyes On her dear fooleries, and doth adore. With hands and heart lift up, those trifling toys Wherewith the devil cheats her of her joys ! 254 THE SCHOOL OF Alas, thou art deceived ; that glitt'ring crown, On which thou gazest, is not gold but grief; That sceptre, sorrow : if thou take them down, And try them, thou shalt find what poor relief They could afford thee, though they were thine own. Didst thou command e'en all the world in chief, Thy comforts would abate, thy cares increase, And thy perplexed thoughts disturb thy peace. Those pearls so thorough pierc'd, and strung together, Though jewels in thine ears they may appear. Will prove continu'd perils, when the weather Is clouded once, which yet is fair and clear. What will that fan, though of the finest feather. Stead thee, the brunt of winds and storms to bear? Thy flagging colours hang their drooping head. And the shrill trumpet's sound shall strike thee dead. Were all those balls, which thou in sport dost toss, Whole worlds, and in thy power to command. The gain would never countervail the loss. Those slipp'ry globes will glide out of thine hand; Thou canst have no fast hold but of the cross. And thou wilt fall, where thou dost think to stand. Forsake these follies, then, if thou wilt live : Timely repentance may thy death reprieve. THE HEAET. 255 With gluttony and drunkenness possess'd ; By heaviest weights the heav'n-bom heart's oppressed. LUKE XXI. 34. Take heed^ lest at any time your hearts be overcharged with surfeiting and drunkenness. Epig. 6. 'T'WO massy weights, surfeiting, drunkenness, ^ Like mighty logs of lead, do so pppress The heav'n-born hearts of men, that to aspire Upwards they have nor power nor desire. 2S6 THE SCHOOL OF ODE VI. Monster of sins ! See how th' enchanted soul, O'ercharg'd already calls for more. See how the hellish skinker plies his bowl, And 's ready furnished with store. Whilst cups on every side Planted, attend the tide. See how the piled dishes mounted stand, Like hills advanced upon hills, And the abundance both of sea and land Doth not suffice, e'en what it fills, Man^s dropsy appetite. And cormorant delight. See how the poison'd body's pufPd and swell'd. The face inflamed glows with heat, The limbs unable are themselves to wield. The pulses (death's alarm) do beat : Yet man sits still, and laughs, Whilst his own bane he quaffs. But where 's thine heart the while, thou senseless sot ? Look how it lieth crush'd and quell'd, Flat beaten to the board, that it cannot Move from the place where it is held, Nor upward once aspire With heavenly desire. Thy belly is thy god, thy shame thy glory, Thou mindest only earthly things ; And all thy pleasure is but transitory. Which grief at last and sorrow brings : to o The courses thou dost take Will make thine heart to ache. Is 't not enough to spend thy precious time In empty idle compliment. Unless thou strain (to aggravate thy crime) THE HEAET. 257 Nature. beyond its own extent, And force it to devour An age within an hour r That which thou swallow'st is not lost alone, But quickly will revenged be, By seizing on thine heart, which, like a stone. Lies buried in the midst of thee. Both void of common sense And reason^s excellence. Thy body is diseases' rendezvous. Thy mind the market-place of vice, The devil in thy will keeps open house : Thou liv'st, as though thou wouldst entice Hell-torments unto thee. And thine own devil be. O what a dirty dunghill art thou grown, A nasty stinking kennel foul ! When thou awak'st and seest what thou hast done, Sorrow will swallow up thy soul. To think how thou art foil'd, And all thy glory spoil'd. Or if thou canst not be ashamM, at least Have some compassion on thyself : Before thou art transformed all to beast, At last strike sail, avoid the shelf Which in that gulf doth lie. Where all that enter die. 258 THE SCHOOL OF Here, wand'rer, may'st thou find thy heart at last ; Where what is dearer than thy heart is plac'd. MATT. VI. 21. Where your treasure is^ there will your heart be also, Epig. 7. DOST thou inquire, thou heartless wanderer, Where thine heart is ? Behold, thine heart here, Here thine heart is, where that Is which above Thine own dear heart thou dost esteem and love. ODE VII. See the deceitfulness of sin. And how the devil cheateth worldly men : THE HEART. 259 They heap up riches to themselves, and then They think they cannot choose but win, Though for their parts They stake their hearts. The merchant sends his heart to sea, And there, together with his ship, 'tis tost : If this by chance miscarry, that is lost. His confidence is cast away : He hangs the head, As he were dead. The pedlar cries. What do you lack ? What will you buy ? and boasts his wares the best But offers you the refuse of the rest. As though his heart lay in his pack. Which greater gain Alone can drain. The ploughman furrows up his land. And sows his heart together with his seed, Which, both ahke earth-born, on earth do feed, And prosper, or are at a stand : He and his field Like fruit do yield. The broker and the scriv'ner have The us'rer's heart in keeping with his bands : His soul's dear sustenance lies in their hands, And if they break, their shop's his grave. His intVest is His only bliss. The money-hoarder in his bags Binds up his heart, and locks it in his chest ; The same key serves to that, and to his breast. Which of no other heaven brags : Nor can conceit A joy so great. 26o THE SCHOOL OF So for the greedy landmonger : The purchases he makes in every part Take livery and seisin of his heart : Yet his insatiate hunger, For all his store, Gapes after more. Poor wretched muckworms, wipe your eyes, Uncase those trifles that besot you so : Your rich-appearing wealth is real woe, Your death in your desires lies. Your hearts are where You love and fear. Oh think not the world deserves Either to be belov'd or fear'd by you : Give heaven these affections as its due. Which always what it hath preserves In perfect bliss That endless is THE HEART. 261 THE OPENING OF THE HEART WITH THE SPEAR. This spear, dear Lord, that's dy'd with blood of thine. Pierces my heart with wounds of love divine. ZECH. VII. 12. T'hey made their hearts as hard as an adamant stone^ lest they should hear the law. Epig. 8. \ IT'ORDS move thee not, nor gifts, nor strokes ' ^ Thy sturdy adamantine heart provokes y justice, slights my mercies : anvil-Hke, 1 hou stand'st unmoved, thou my hammer strike. a62 THE SCHOOL OF ODE VIII. What have we here ? An heart ? It looks like one. The shape and colour speak it such : But, having brought it to the touch, I find it is no better than a stone. Adamants are Softer by far. Long hath it steeped been in Mercy's milk. And soaked in Salvation, Meet for the alteration Of anvils, to have made them soft as silk; Yet it is still Harden'd in ill. Oft have I rained my w^ord upon it, oft The dew of Heaven has distill'd. With promises of mercy filFd, Able to make mountains of marble soft: Yet it is not Changed a jot. My beams of love shine on it every day. Able to thaw the thickest ice ; And, where they enter in a trice. To make congealed crystal melt away : Yet warm they not This frozen clot. Nay, more, this hammer, that is wont to grind Rocks into dust, and powder small. Makes no impression at all, Nor dint, nor crack, nor flaw, that I can find : But leaves it as Before it was. Is mine almighty arm decayed in strength ? Or hath mine hammer lost its weight ? That a poor lump of earth should slight THE HEAET. 26-5 My mercies, and not feel my wrath at length. With which I make E'en Heav'n to shake ! No, I am still the same, I alter not. And, when I please, my works of wonder Shall bring the stoutest spirits under, And make them to confess it is their lot To bow or break, When I but speak. But I would have men know, 'tis not my word Or works alone can change their hearts ; These instruments perform their parts. But 'tis my Spirit doth this fruit afford. *Tis I, not art, Can melt man's heart. Yet would they leave their customary sinning, And so unclench the devil's claws. That keeps them captive in his paws, My bounty soon should second that beginning ; E'en hearts of steel My force should feel. 264 THE SCHOOL OF 3ri)e JBibision of tf)e J^eart Why dost thou give but half thine heart to me, When my whole self I offered up for thee ? HOS. X. 2. Thine heart is divided. Now shall they be found faulty. Epig. 9. VAIN trifling virgin, I myself have given Wholly to thee : and shall I now be driven To rest contented with a petty part, That have deserved more than a whole heart ? THE HEAET. 465 ODE IX. More mischief yet ? was 't not enough before To rob me wholly of thine heart, Which I alone Should call mine own, But thou must mock me with a part ? Crown injury with scorn, to make it more r What's a whole heart ? Scarce flesh enough to serve A kite one breakfast : how much less. If it should be OfFer'd to me, Could it sufficiently express What I for making it at first deserve ? I gav 't thee whole, and fully furnished With all its faculties entire j There wanted not The smallest jot That strictest justice could require, To render it completely perfected. And is it reason -^hat I give in gross Should be return'd but by retail ? To rake so small A part for all, I reckon of no more avail Than, where I scatter gold, to gather dross. Give me thine heart but as I gave it thee : Or give it me at least as I Have given mine To purchase thine. I halvM it not when I did die ; But gave myself wholly to set thee free. 266 THE SCHOOL OF The heart I gave thee was a living heart ; And when thy heart by sin was slain, I laid down mine To ranson thine, That thy dead heart might live again, And live entirely perfect, not in part. But whilst thine heart's divided, it is dead ; Dead unto me, unless it live To me alone, It is all one To keep all, and a part to give : For what's a body worth without an head ! Yet this is worse, that what thou keep ^st from me Thou dost bestow upon my foes : And those not mine Alone, but thine ; The proper causes of thy woes. From whom I gave my life to set thee free. Have I betrothed thee to myself, and shall The devil, and the world intrude Upon my right, E'en in my sight ? Think not thou canst me so delude : I will have none, unless I may have all. I made it all, I gave it all to thee, I gave all that I had for it : If I must lose, I'd rather choose Mine interest in all to quit : Or keep it whole, or give it whole to me. THE HEART. 267 E^ift JnsatiafiilitB of ti)e l^eart The world won't do ; — thy heart's but empt)' still } The Trinity must that triangle fill. HAB. II. 5. WI20 enlargeth his desire as hell^ and is as death ^ and cannot be satisfied. Epig. 10. 'TpHE whole round world is not enough to fill -■■ The hearths three corners, but it craveth still, Only the Trinity, that made it, can Suffice the vast triangled heart of man. 268 THE SCHOOL OF ODE X. The thirsty earth and barren womb cry, give : The grave devoureth all that live : The fire still burneth on, and never saith. It is enough : the horse-leech hath Many more daughters : but the heart of man Outgapes them all as much as Heav'n one span. Water hath drown'd the earth : the barren v^^omb Hath teem'd sometimes, and been the tomb To its own swelling issue : and the grave Shall one day a sick surfeit have : When all the fuel is consum'd, the fire Will quench itself, and of itself expire. But the vast heart of man's insatiate, His boundless appetites dilate Themselves beyond all limits, his desires Are endless still ; whilst he aspires To happiness, and fain would find that treasure Where it is not ; his wishes know no measure. His eye with seeing is not satisfied. Nor 's ear with hearing : he hath try'd At once to furnish ev^ry several sense, With choice of curious objects, whence He might extract, and into one unite, A perfect quintessence of all delight. Yet, having all that he can fancy, still There wanted more to fill His empty appetite. His mind is vex'd, And he is inwardly perplex'd. He knows not why : when as the truth is this. He would find something there, where nothing is. He rambles over all the faculties. Ransacks the secret treasuries THE HEAET. 269 Of art and nature, spells the universe Letter by letter, can rehearse All the records of time, pretends to know- Reasons of all things, why they must be so. Yet is not so contented, but would fain Pry in God's cabinet, and gain Intelligence from Heav'n of things to come, Anticipate the day of doom. And read the issues of all actions so. As if God's secret counsel he did know. Let him have all the wealth, all the renown. And glo-ry, that the world can crown Her dearest darlings with ; yet his desire Will not rest there, but still aspire. Earth cannot hold him, nor the whole creation Contain his wishes, or his expectation. The heart of man 's but little ; yet this All, Compared thereunto, is but small. Of such a large unparallel'd extense Is the short-lin'd circumference, Of that three-corner'd figure, which to fill With the round world, is to leave empty still. So, greedy soul, address thyself to Heav'n And leave the world, as tis' bereav'n Of all true happiness, or any thing That to thine heart content can bring. But there a triune God in glory sits_, Who all grace-thirsting hearts both fills and fits. 27© THE SCHOOL OF ^:_^4'^^^;7-- _^^^^^^^^^^^^^ "-4=. Not to return, so often call'd, will be Thy certain ruin ; come, be rul'd by me. ISA. XLVI. 8. Remember this^ and shew yourselves like men : bring it again to hearty O ye transgressors. Epig. II. iFT have I call'd thee : O return at last, Return unto thine heart : let the time past Suffice thy wanderings : know that to cherish Revolting still, is a mere will to perish. O ODE XI. Christ, Return, O wanderer, return, return. Let me not always waste my words in vain. As I have done too long. Why dost thou spurn And kick the counsels, that should bring thee back again ? THE HEAET. 271 The Soul. What 's this that checks my course ? Methinks I feel A cold remissness seizing on my mind : My stagger'd resolutions seem to reel, As though they had in haste forgot mine heart behind. Christ, Return, O wanderer, return, return. Thou art already gone too far away, It is enough : unless thou mean to burn In hell for ever, stop thy course at last, and stay. The Soul. There 's something holds me back, I cannot move Forward one foot : methinks, the more I strive, The less I stir. Is there a Pow'r above My v/ill in me, that can my purposes reprieve ? Christ. No power of thine own : 'tis I, that lay Mine hand upon thine haste , whose will can make The restless motions of the Heavens stay : Stand still, turn back again, or new-found courses take. The Soul. What ! am I riveted, or rooted here ? That neither forward, nor on either side I can get loose f then there's no hope, I fear ; But I must back again, whatever me betide. Christ. And back again thou shalt. I '11 have it so. Though thou hast hitherto my voice neglected, Now I have handed thee, I '11 let thee know, That what I will have done shall not be unefFected. The Soul. Thou wilt prevail then, and I must return. But how ? or whither ? when a world of shame 27* THE SCHOOL OF And sorrow lies before me, and I burn With horror in myself to think upon the same. Shall I return to thee ? Alas, I have No hope to be receivM : a runaway, A rebel to return ! Madmen may rave Of mercy-miracles, but what will Justice say ? Shall I return to my own heart ! Alas, 'Tis lost, and dead, and rotten long ago, I cannot find it what at first it was. And it hath been too long the cause all of my woe. Shall I forsake my pleasures and delights. My profits, honours, comforts, and contents, For that, the thought whereof my mind affrights, Repentant sorrow, that the soul asunder rents ? Shall I return, that cannot though I would ? I, that had strength enough to go astray. Find myself faint and feeble, how I should Return. I cannot run, I cannot creep this way. What shall I do ? Forward I must not go. Backward I cannot : If I tarry here, I shall be drowned in a world of woe, And antedate my own damnation by despair. But is ■'t not better hold that which I have, Than unto future expectation trust ? Oh no : to reason thus is but to rave. Therefore return I will, because return I must. Christ. Return, and welcome : if thou wilt, thou shalt : Although thou canst not of thyself, yet I, That call, can make thee able. Let the fault Be mine, if, when thou wilt return, I let thee lie. THE HEAET. 273 ^i)t laouting out of tf)e ^Mtt Thy vows and wounds conceal not in thy breast j Pour out thy heart to God ; He'll give thee rest. LAM. II. 19. Pour out thine heart like water before the face of the Lord. Epig. 12. WHY dost thou hide thy wounds ? why dost thou hide In thy close breast thy wishes, and so side With thine own fears and sorrows ? Like a spout Of water, let thine heart to God break out. T 274 THE SCHOOL OF ODE XII. TJu Soul Can death, or hell, be worse than this estate? Anguish, amazement, horror, and confusion, Drown my distracted mind in deep distress. My grief 's grown so transcendent, that I hate To hear of comfort, as a false conclusion Vainly inferr'd from feigned premises. What shall I do ? What strange course shall I try, That, though I loathe to live, yet dare not die ? Christ. Be rul'd by me, I'll teach thee such a way. As that thou shalt not only drain thy mind From that destructive deluge of distress That overwhelms thy thoughts, but clear the day. And soon recover hght and strength, to find And to regain thy long-lost happiness. Confess, and pray. Say, what it is doth ail thee, What thou wouldst have, and that shall soon avail thee. TTie Souh Confess and pray ? If that be all, I will. Lord, I am sick, and thou art health, restore me. Lord, I am weak, and thou art strength, sustain me. Thou art all goodness. Lord, and I all ill. Thou, Lord, art holy ; I unclean before thee. Lord, I am poor ; and thou art rich, maintain me. Lord, I am dead ; and thou art life, revive me. Justice condemns ; let mercy. Lord, reprieve me. A wretched miscreant I am, composed Of sin and misery j 'tis hard to say. Which of the two allies me most to hell : Native corruption makes me indisposed To all that 's good ; but apt to go astray. Prone to do ill, unable to do well : THE HEAET. 275 My light is darkness, and my liberty Bondage, my beauty foul deformity. A plague of leprosy o'erspreadeth all My pow'rs and faculties : I am unclean, I am unclean : my liver broils with lust ; Rancour and malice overflow my gall ; Envy my bones doth rot, and keeps me lean ; Revengful wrath makes me forget what 's just : Mine ear 's uncircumcis'd, mine eye is evil. And hating goodness makes me parcel devil. My callous conscience is cauteris'd ; My trembling heart shakes with continual fear : My frantic passions fill my mind with madness : My windy thoughts with pride are tympanis'd : My pois'nous tongue spits venom everywhere : My wounded spirit's swallowed up with sadness : Impatient discontentment plagues me so, I neither can stand still nor forward go. Lord, I am all diseases : hospitals. And bills of mountebanks, have not so many. Nor half so bad. Lord, hear, and help, and heal me. Although my guiltiness for vengeance calls. And colour of excuse I have not any. Yet thou hast goodness, Lord, that may avail me. Lord, I have pour'd out all my heart to thee : Vouchsafe one drop of mercy unto me. ^76 THE SCHOOL OF Ef)t oritcumti^ion of tfje l^cart. The cross, the nails, the spear, each give a part, To form this knife, to circumcise thine heart. DEUT. X. l6. Circumcise the foreskin of your heart, and be no more stiff-necked. Epig. 13. HERE, take thy Saviour's cross, the nails and spear That for thy sake his holy flesh did tear ; Use them as knives thine heart to circumcise, nd dress thy God a pleasing sacrifice. THE HEAET. 277 ODE XIII. Heal thee I will. But first I '11 let thee know What it comes to. The plaister was prepared long ago : But thou must do Something thyself, that it may be Effectually applied to thee. I, to that end, that I might cure thy sores, Was slain, and died, By mine own people was turn'd out of doors, And crucified : My side was pierced with a spear. And nails my hands and feet did tear. Do thou then to thyself, as they to me : Make haste, and tr}'. The old man, that's yet alive in thee, To crucify. Till he be dead in thee, my blood Is like to do thee little good. My course of physic is to cure the soul. By killing sin. So then thine own corruptions to control Thou must begin, Until thine heart be circumcis'd, My death will not be duly priz'd. Consider then my cross, my nails, and spear, And let that thought Cut, razor-like, thine heart, when thou dost hear How dear I bought Thy freedom from the pow'r of sin. And that distress which thou wast in. Cut out the iron sinew of thy neck, That it may be 478 THE SCHOOL OF Supple, and pliant to obey my beck, And learn of me. Meekness alone, and yielding, hath A power to appease my wrath. Shave off thine hairy scalp, those curled locks Powder'd with pride. Wherewith thy scornful heart my judgments mocks. And thinks to hide Its thunder-threatenM head, which bared Alone is likely to be spar'd. Rip ofF those seeming robes, but real rags. Which earth admires As honourable ornaments and brags That it attires ; Which cumber thee indeed. Thy sores Fester with what the world adores. Clip thine ambitious wings, let down thy plumes. And learn to stoop. Whilst thou hast time to stand. Who still presumes Of strength, will droop At last, and flag when he should fly. Falls hurt them most that climb most high. Scrape off that scaly scurf of vanities That clogs thee so : Profits and pleasures are those enemies That work thy woe. If thou wilt have me cure thy wounds. First rid each humour that abounds. THE HEART. 279 Efit (tontxition of t^e l^eart In thousand pieces would I break this heart, Which leaves its Lord, and acts a rebel's part. PSALM LI. 17. A broken ana a contrite hearty O God^ thou wilt not despise. Epig. 14. TTOW gladly would I bruise and break this heart ''■ -*• Into a thousand pieces, till the smart Make it confess, that, of its own accord, It wilfully rebell'd a2;ainst the Lord ! ODE XIV. Lord, if I had an arm of pow'r like thine, And could effect what I desire, 28o THE SCHOOL OF My love-drawn heart, like smallest wire Bended and writhen, should together twine And twisted stand With thy command : Thou shouldst no sooner bid, but I would go, Thou shouldst not will the thing I would not do But I am weak, Lord, and corruption strong : When I would fain do what I should, Then I cannot do what I would : Mine action 's short, when my intention 's long ; Thou my desire Be quick as fire, Yet my performance is as dull as earth. And stifles its own issue in the birth. But what I can do. Lord, I will : since what I would, I cannot ; I will try Whether mine heart, that 's hard and dry. Being calm'd, and tempered with that Liquor which falls From mine eyeballs. Will work more pliantly, and yield to take Such new impression as thy grace shall make. In mine own conscience then, as in a mortar, ril place mine heart, and bray it there : If grief for what is past, and fear Of what's to come, be a sufficient torture, ril break it all In pieces small : Sin shall not find a sheard without a flaw. Wherein to lodge one lust against thy law. Remember then, mine heart, what thou hast don; What thou hast left undone : the ill Of all my thoughts, words, deeds, is still Thy cursed issue only : thou art grown THE HEAET. a8i To such a pass That never was, Nor is, nor will there be, a sin so bad. But thou some way therein an hand hast had. Thou hast not been content alone to sin, But hast made others sin with thee ; Yea, made their sins thine own to be, By liking, and allowing them therein. Who first begins. Or follows, sins Not his own sins alone, but sinneth o'er All the same sins, both after and before. What boundless sorrow can suffice a guilt Grown so transcendent ? Should thine eye Weep seas of blood, thy sighs outvie The winds, when with the waves they run at tilt. Yet they could not Conceal one blot. The least of all thy sins against thy God Deserves a thunderbolt should be thy rod. Then since (repenting heart) thou canst not grieve Enough at once while thou art whole, Shiver thyself to dust, and dole Thy sorrow to the several atoms, give All to each part. And by that art Strive thy dissevered self to multiply. And want of weight with number to supply. THE SCHOOL OF 2rf)e J^umiliatiott of ti^t il^eart, The heart too high its lofty pride would rear, If not press'd down, and kept within its sphere. ECCLES. VII. 9. The patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit, Epig. 15. A/rlNE heart, alas ! exalts itself too high, ^^^ And doth delight a loftier pitch to fly Than it is able to maintain, unless It feel the weight of thine imposed press. ODE XV. So let it be. Lord, I am well content. THE HEAET. 283 And thou shalt see The time is not misspent. Which thou dost then bestow, when thou dost quell And crush the heart where pride before did swell. Lord, I perceive, As soon as thou dost send. And I receive The blessings thou dost lend, Mine heart begins to mount, and doth forget The ground whereon it goes, where it is set. In health I grew Wanton, began to kick. As though I knew I never should be sick. Diseases take me down and make me know Bodies of brass must pay the debt they owe. If I but dream Of wealth, mine heart doth rise With a full stream Of pride, and I despise All that is good, until I wake, and spy The swelling bubble prick'd with poverty. And little wind Of undeserved praise Blows up my mind. And my swoln thoughts do raise Above themselves, until the sense of shame Makes me contemn my self-dishonour'd name. One moment 's mirth Would make me run Stark mad. And the whole earth. Could it at once be had. Would not suffice my greedy appetite, Didst thou not pain instead of pleasure write. 284 THE SCHOOL OF Lord, it is well I was in time brought down, Else thou canst tell, Mine heart would soon have flown Full in thy face, and study to requite The riches of thy goodness with despite. Slack not thine hand. Lord, turn thy screw about : If thy press stand. Mine heart may chance slip out. O quest it unto nothing, rather than It should forget itself, and swell again. Or if thou art Disposed to let it go. Lord, teach mine heart To lay itself as low As thou canst it : that prosperity May still be temper'd with humility. The way to rise Was to descend j let me Myself despise. And so ascend with thee ; Thou throw'st them down that lift themselves on high. And raise them that on the ground do lie '' THE HEAET. 285 This icy, marble heart, like wax will melt. Soon as the fire of heavenly love is felt, JOB. XXIII. 16. God maketh my heart soft. Epig. 16. INE heart is like a marble ice, Both cold and hard : but thou canst in a trice Melt it like wax, great God, if from above Thou kindle in it once thy fire of love. ODE XVI. Nay, blessed Founder, leave me not : If out of all this grot M^ 'M THE SCHOOL OF There can but any gold be got, The time thou dost bestow, the cost And pains will not be lost : The bargain is but hard at most. And such are all those thou dost make with me : Thou know'st thou canst not but a loser be. When the sun shines with glittering beams. His cold-dispelling gleams Turn snow and ice to wat'ry streams. The wax, so soon as it hath smelt The warmth or fire, and felt The glowing heat thereof, will melt. Yea, pearls with vinegar dissolve we may, And adamants in blood of goats, they say. If nature can do this, much more. Lord, may thy grace restore Mine heart to what it was before. There ''s the same matter in it still, Though new-inform'd with ill, Yet can it not resist thy will. Thy pow'r that fram'd it at the first, as oft. As thou wilt have it, Lord, can make it soft. Thou art the Sun of Righteousness : And though I must confess Mine heart 's grown hard in wickedness. Yet thy resplendent rays of light, When once they come in sight. Will quickly thaw what froze by night. Lord, in thine healing wings a pow'r doth dwell Able to melt the hardest heart in hell. Although mine heart in hardness pass Both iron, steel, and brass. Yea, the hardest thing that ever was ; Yet if thy fire thy Spirit accord. And, working with thy word, THE HEAET. 287 A blessing unto it afford, It will grow liquid, and not drop alone. But melt itself away before thy throne. Yea, though my flinty heart be such, That the sun cannot touch. Nor fires sometimes affect it much, Yet thy warm reeking self-shed blood, O Lamb of God, is so good, It cannot be withstood. The aqua-regia of thy love prevails, E'en where the pow'r of aqua-fortis fails. Then leave me not so soon, dear LoRD, Though I neglect thy word, And what thy power doth afford ; O try thy mercv, and thy love The force thereof may prove. Soak'd in thy blood, mine heart will soon surrender Its native hardness, and grow soft and tender. 288 THE SCHOOL OF ®f)c orieansing of ti)e f^eart. A fountain flows from Jesu's wounded side, Here let thy filthy heart be purified. JER. V. 14. Jerusalem^ wash thy heart from wickedness^ that thou mayest be saved. Epig. 17. OUT of thy wounded Husband's, Saviour's side, Espoused soul, there flows with a full tide, A fountain for uncleanness : wash thee there. Wash there thine heart, and then thou need'st not fear. THE HEAET. 289 ODE XVII. ENDLESS misery ! I labour still, but still in vain. The stains of sin I see Are oaded all, or dy'd in grain. There's not a blot Will stir a jot. For all that I can do. There is no hope In fullers^ soap, Though I add nitre too. 1 many ways have tried. Have often soak'd it in cold fears ; And, when a time I spied, Pour'd upon it scalding tears : Have rins'd and rubb'd, And scrap'd and scrubb'd. And turnM it up and down : Yet can I not Wash out one spot ; It 's rather fouler grown. O miserable state ! Who would be troubled with an heart. As I have been of late. Both to my sorrow, shame, and smart? If it will not Be clearer got, 'T were better 1 had none Yet how should we Divided be. That are not two, but one ? But am I not stark wild, That go about to wash mine heart With hands that are defil'd As much as any other part ? 290 THE SCHOOL OF Whilst all thy tears, Thine hopes and fears, Both ev^ry word, and deed, And thought is foul, Poor silly soul ! How canst thou look to speed ? Can there no help be had ? Lord, thou art holy, thou art pure : Mine heart is not so bad. So foul, but thou canst cleanse it, sure. Speak, blessed Lord, Wilt thou afford Me means to make it clean ? I know thou wilt : Thy blood was spilt. Should it run still in vain ? Then to that blessed spring. Which from my Saviour's sacred side Doth flow, mine heart I '11 bring ; And there it will be purified. Although the dye. Wherein I lie. Crimson or scarlet were ; This blood, I know, W^ill make 't as snow Or wool, both clean and clear. THE HEAET. 291 THE MIRROR OF THE HEART. Would'st thou inspect the heart ? Lord, look at mine And let the sight imprint new wounds on thine. PROV. XXIII. 26. Afy sotij give me thine heart. Epig. 18. 'T^HE only love, the only fear thou art, Dear and dread Saviour, of my sin-sick heart. Thine heart thou gavest, that it might be mine : Take thou mine heart, then, that it may be thine. 292 THE SCHOOL OF ODE XVIII. Give thee mine heart ? Lord, so I would, And there's great reason that I should. If it were worth the having : Yet sure thou wilt esteem that good, Which thou hast purchased with thy blood. And thought it worth the craving. Give thee mine heart ? Lord, so I will, If thou wilt first impart the skill Of bringing it to thee : But should I trust myself to give Mine heart, as sure as I do live, I should deceived be. As all the value of mine heart Proceeds from favour, not desert, Acceptance is its worth : So neither know I how to bring A present to my heav'nly King, Unless he set it forth. Lord of my life, methinks I hear Thee say, that thee alone to fear. And thee alone to love, Is to bestow mine heart on thee, That other giving none can be, Whereof thou wilt approve. And well thou dost deserve to be Both loved. Lord, and fear'd by me. So good, so great thou art : Greatness so good, goodness so great, As passeth all finite conceit. And ravisheth mine heart. Should I not love thee, blessed Lord, Who freely of thine own accord Laid'st down thy life for me ? THE HEAET. 193 For me, that was not dead alone, But desp'rately transcendent grown In enmit}' to thee ? Should I not fear before thee. Lord, Whose hand spans heaven, at whose word Devils themselves do quake ? Whose eyes outshine the sun, whose beck Can the whole course of nature check, And its foundations shake r Should I withhold mine heart from thee. The fountain of felicity. Before whose presence is Fulness of joy, at whose right hand All pleasures in perfection stand, And everlasting bliss ? Lord, had I hearts a million. And myriads in ev'ry one Of choicest loves and fears 5 They were too little to bestow On thee, to whom I all things owe, I should be in arrears. Yet, since my heart's the most I have. And that which thou dost chiefly crave, Thou shalt not of it miss. Although I cannot give it so As I should do, I'll offer 't though : Lord, take it, here it is. 294 THE SCHOOL OF (^g^ ■■"""'"iiiiiiillliiiiiiiillli Eiit Sacrifice of tf)t l^tatt. God is not pleas'd with calves or bullocks slain j The heart he gave, is all he asks again. PSALM LI. 17. The sacrifices of God are a broken heart, Epig. 19. NOR calves, nor bulls, are sacrifices good Enough for thee, who gav'st for me thy blood, And, more than that, thy life : take thine own part, Great God, thou gavest all : here, take mine heart. ODE XIX. Thy former covenant of old Thy law of ordinances, did require THE HEART. 295 Fat sacrifices from the fold, And many other ofPrings made by fire. Whilst thy first tabernacle stood, All things were consecrate with blood. And can thy better covenant, The law of grace and truth by Jesus Christ, Its proper sacrifices want For such an altar, and for such a priest ? No, no, thy gospel doth require Choice oiF rings too, and made by fire A sacrifice for sin indeed. Lord, thou didst make thyself and once for all ; So that there never will be need Of any more sin-ofPrings, great or small. The life-blood thou didst shed for Hath set my soul for ever free. Yea, the same sacrifice thou dost Still offer in behalf of thine elect : And, to improve it to the most. Thy word and sacraments do in effect Offer thee oft, and sacrifice Thee daily, in our ears and eyes. Yea, each believing soul may take Thy sacrificed flesh and blood, by faith. And therewith an atonement make For all its trespasses : thy gospel faith, Such infinite transcendent price Is there in thy sweet sacrifice ! But is this all ? Must there not be Peace-offerings, and sacrifices of Thanksgiving, tender'd unto thee ? Yes, Lord, I know I should but mock, and scoff Thy sacrifice for sin, should I My sacrifice of praise deny. 296 THE SCHOOL OF But I have nothing of mine own Worthy to be presented in thy sight ; Yea, the whole world affords not one Or ram, or lamb, wherein thou canst delight. Less than myself it must not be : For thou didst give thyself for me. Myself, then, I must sacrifice : And so I will, mine heart, the only thing Thou dost above all other prize As thine own part, the best I have to bring. An humble heart 's a sacrifice, Which I know thou wilt not despise. Lord, be my altar, sanctify Mine heart thy sacrifice, and let thy Spirit Kindle thy fire of love, that I, Burning with zeal to magnify thy merit, May both consume my sins, and raise Eternal trophies to thy praise. THE HEART. ^97 This gift of thine will not appear so great, Unless when tried it proves of proper weight. PROV. XXI. 2. The Lord pondereth the heart. Epig. 20. THE heart thou giv'st as a great gift, my love, Brought to the trial, nothing such will prove ; If Justice' equal balance tell thy sight, That, weighed with my law, it is too light. ODE XX. 'Tis true, indeed, an heart, Such as it ought to be, 298 THE SCHOOL OP Entire and sound in ev'ry part, Is always welcome unto me. He that would please me with an offering, Cannot a better have, although he were a king. And there is none so poor, But, if he will, he may Bring me an heart, although no more. And on mine altar may it lay. The sacrifice which I like best, is such As rich men cannot boast, and poor men need notgrutch. Yet ev^ry heart is not A gift sufficient. It must be purg'd from ev'ry spot, And all to pieces must be rent. Though thou hast sought to circumcise and bruise 't, It must be weighed too, or else I shall refuse 't. My balances are just. My law's an equal weight ; The beam is strong, and thou may'st trust My steady hand to hold it straight. Were thine heart equal to the world in sight, Yet it were nothing worth, if it should prove too light. And so thou seest it doth ; My ponderous law doth press This scale ; but that, as fiU'd with froth, Tilts up, and makes no show of stress. Thine heart is empty sure, or else it would In weight, as well as bulk, better proportion hold. Search it, and thou shalt find It wants integrity ; And yet is not so thorough linM With single-ey'd sincerity, As it should be : some more humility [stancy. Therj wants to make it weight, and some more con- THE HEAET. 299 Whilst windy vanity Doth puff it up with pride, And double-fac'd hypocrisy Doth many empty hollows hide, It is but good in part, and that but little, Wav'ring unstaidness makes its resolutions brittle. The heart, that in my sight As current coin would pass. Must not be the least grain too light. But as at first it stamped was. Keep then thine heart till it be better grown. And, when it is full, I'll take it for mine own. But if thou art asham'd To find thine heart so light. And art afraid thou shalt be blam'd, I'll teach thee how to set it right. Add to my law my gospel, and there see My merits thine, and then the scales will equal be. THE SCHOOL OF THE DEFENCE OF THE HEART. O thou my light and life ! thy aid impart, And let thy sufFrings now defend my heart. PROV. XVII. 3. Thi fining-pot for silver^ and the furnace for gold : but the Lord trieth the hearts. Epig. 21. ^T^HINE heart, my dear, more precious is than gold, ^ Or the most precious things that can be told. Provide first that my poor fire have tried Out all the dross, and pass it purified. THE HEAET. 301 ODE XXI. What ! take it at adventure, and not try What metal it is made of? No, not I. Should I now lightly let it pass Take sullen lead for silver, sounding brass, Instead of solid gold, alas ! What would become of it in the great day Of making jewels ? 'twould be castaway. The heart thou giv'st me must be such a one, As is the same throughout, I will have none But that which will abide the fire. 'Tis not a glitt'ring outside I desire, Whose seeming shows do soon expire . But real worth within, which neither dross, Nor base alloys makes subject unto loss. If, in the composition of thine heart, A stubborn steely wilfulness have part, That will not bow and bend to me, Save only in a mere formality^ Of tinsel-trimm'd hypocrisy, I care not for it, though it show as fair As the first blush of the sun-gilded air. The heart that in my furnace will not melt. When it the growing heat thereof hath felt. Turn liquid and dissolve in tears Of true repentance for its faults, that hears My threat'ning voice, and never fears, Is not an heart worth having;. If it be An heart of stone, 'tis not an heart for me. The heart, that, cast into my furnace, spits And sparkles in my face, falls into fits Of discontented grudging, whines When it is broken of its will, repines At the least suffering, declines 302 THE SCHOOL OF My fatherly correction, is an heart On which I care not to bestow mine art. The heart that in my flames asunder flies, Scatters itself at random, and so lies In heaps of ashes here and there, Whose dry dispersed parts will not draw near To one another, and adhere In a firm union, hath no metal in 't Fit to be stamped and coined in my mint. The heart that vapours out itself in smoke. And with these cloudy shadows thinks to cloke Its empty nakedness, how much Soever thou esteemest it, is such As never will endure my touch. Before I take 't for mine, then I will try What kind of metal in thine heart doth lie. ril bring it to my furnace, and there see What it will prove, what it is like to be. If it be gold, it will be sure The hottest fire that can be to endure. And I shall draw it out more pure. Affliction may refine, but cannot waste That heart wherein my love is fixed fast. THE HEAET. 303 THE SEARCHING OF THE HEART. That which no line can fathom, I alone Can search : To me the hapaaa heart is known. 2ri)e 3nuntiing of tfte ?^eart. JER. XVII. 9^ 10. The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; who can know iff I the Lord. Epig. 22. THAT alone am infinite can try, 5 How deep within itself thine heart doth lie. Thy seamen's plummet can but reach the ground I fmd that which thine heart itself ne'er found. I 304 THE SCHOOL OF ODE XXII. A GOODLY heart to see to, fair and fat ! It may be so ; and what of that ? Is it not hollow ? Hath it not within A bottomless whirlpool of sin ? Are there not secret creeks and crannies there, Turning and v/inding corners, where The heart itself e'en from itself may hide, And lurk in secret unespied ? I'll none of it, if such a one it prove : Truth in the inward parts is that I love. But who can tell what is within thine heart ? ' Tis not a work of nature ; art Cannot perform that task : 'tis I alone, Not man, to whom man's heart is known. Sound it thou may'st, and must : but then the line And plummet must be mine^ not thine ; And I must guide it too ; thine hand and eye May quickly be deceiv'd : but I, That made thine heart at first, am better skill'd To know when it is empty, when 'tis fill'd. Lest then thou shouldst deceive thyself, for Me Thou canst not ; I will let thee see Some of those depths of Satan, depths of hell. Wherewith thine hollow heart doth swell. Under pretence of knowledge in thy mind, Error and ignorance I find ; Quicksands of rotten superstition. Spread over with misprision. Some things thou knowest not, mis-knowest othe And oft thy conscience its own knowledge smothers. Thy crooked will, that seemingly inclines To follow reason's dictates, twines Another way in secret, leaves its guide, And lags behind, or swerves aside i THE HEAET. 305 Crab-like, creeps backwards ; when it should have made Progress in good, is retrograde Whilst it pretends a privilege above Reason's prerogative, to move As of itself unmov'd, rude passions learn To leave the oar, and take in hand the stern. The tides of thine affections ebb and flow, Rise up aloft, fall down below. Like to the sudden land-floods, that advance Their swelling waters but by chance. Thy love, desire, thy hope, delight, and fear, Ramble they care not when, nor where, Yet cunningly bear thee in hand, they be Only directed unto me, Or most to me, and would no notice take Of other things, but only for my sake. Such strange prodigious impostures lurk In thy prasstigious heart, 'tis work Enough for thee all thy lifetime to learn How thou may'st truly it discern : That, when upon mine altar thou dost lay Thine ofPring, thou may^st safely say, And swear it is an heart : for, if it should Prove only an heart-case, it would Nor pleasing be to me, nor do thee good. An heart 's no heart, not rightly understood. 3o6 THE SCHOOL OF El)t iLebelUus of ti)C l^eart The heart's true level if you still design, Then often bring it to be try'd by mine. PSALM XCVII. II. Gladness for the upright in heart. Epig. 23. SET thine heart upright, if thou wouldst rejoice, ^ And please thyself in thine heart's pleasing choice But then be sure thy plumb and level be Rightly applied to that which pleaseth me. ODE XXIII. Nay, yet I have not done : one trial more Thine heart must undergo, before I will accept of it : THE HEAET. 307 Unless I see It upright be, I cannot think it ::: To be admitted in my sight, And to partake of mine eternal light. My will's the rule of righteousness, as free From error as uncertainty : What I would have is just. Thou must desire What I require, And take it upon trust : If thou prefer thy will to mine, The level's lost, and thou go'st out of line. Canst thou not see how thine heart turns aside, And leans towards thyself? How wide A distance there is here ? Until I see Both sides agree Alike with mine, 'tis clear The middle is not where 't should be ; Likes something better, though it look at me. I, that know best how to dispose of thee, W^ould have thy portion povert\'. Lest wealth should make thee proud, And me forget: But thou hast set Thy voice to cry aloud For riches ; and unless I grant All thou wishest, thou complain'st of want. I, to preserve thine health, would have thee fast From nature's dainties, lest at last Thy senses' sweet delight Should end in smart : But thy vain heart Will have its appetite THE SCHOOL OF Pleased to-day, though grief and sorrow- Threaten to cancel all thy joys to-morrow. I, to prevent thy hurt by climbing high. Would have thee be content to lie Ouiet and safe below. Where peace doth dwell ; But thou dost swell With vast desires, as though A little blast of vulgar breath Were better than deliverance from death. I, to procure thy happiness, would have Thee mercy at mine hands to crave: But thou dost merit plead, And wilt have none But of thine own. Till justice strike thee dead, And all thy crooked paths go cross to mine. THE HEAET. 309 Since so much pleasure novelties innpart, Resign thine old for this new better heart, EZEK. XXXVI. 26. ji new heart will I give you^ and a new spirit will I put within you. Epig. 24. A RT thou delighted with strange novelties, '^^ Which often prove but old fresh-garnished lies ? Leave then thine old, take the new heart I give thee : Condemn thyself, that so I may reprieve thee. 3IO THE SCHOOL OF ODE XXIV. No, no, I see There is no remedy : An heart, that wants both weight and worth, That's fill'd with nought but empty hoJIowness, And screw'd aside with stubborn wilfulness, Is only fit to be cast forth. Nor to be given me. Nor kept by thee. Then let it go ; And if thou wilt bestow An acceptable heart on me, V\\ furnish thee with one shall serve the turn Both to be kept and given : which will burn With zeal, yet not consumed be : Nor with a scornful eye Blast standers-by. The heart, that I Will give thee, though it lie Buried in seas of sorrows, yet Will not be drown'd with doubt, or discontent ; Though sad complaints sometimes may give a vent To grief, and tears the cheeks may wet, Yet it exceeds their art To hurt his heart. The heart I give. Though it desire to live. And bathe itself in all content. Yet will not toil, or taint itself with any : Although it take a view and taste of many. It feeds on few, as though it meant To breakfast only here. And dine elsewhere. THE HEAET. 311 This heart is fresh And new : an heart of flesh, Not, as thine old one was, of stone. A lively spiritly heart, and moving still. Active to what is good, but slow to ill : An heart, that with a sigh and groan Can blast all worldly joys, As triflino; tovs. • This heart is sound, And solid will be found ; Tis not an empty air}' flash. That baits at butterflies, and with full cry Opens at ev'r)' flirting vanity. It slights and scorns such paltry trash : But for eternity Dares live or die. I know thy mind : Thou seek'st content to find In such things as are new and strange. Wander no further then : lay by thine old. Take the new heart I give thee, and be bold To boast thyself of the exchange, And say that a new heart Exceeds all art. 3i» THE SCHOOL OF ©i)e i5nligf)trning of tije J^cart, Thou Light of lights, O by thy presence bright Chase my heart's darkness, and impart thy light. PSALM XXXIV. 5. They looked on hi?n^ and were lightened. Epig. 25- 'T'HOU art Light of lights, the only sight ''' Of the blind world, lend me thy saving light Disperse those mists which in my soul have made Darkness as deep as hell's eternal shade. THE HEAET. 313 ODE XXV. Alas ! that I Could not before espy The soul-confounding misery Of this more than Egyptian dreadful night ! To be deprived of the light, And to have eyes, but eyes devoid of sight, As mine have been, is such a woe, As he alone can know- That feels it so. Darkness has been My God and me between. Like an opacous doubled screen. Through which nor light nor heat could passage find. Gross ignorance hath made my mind And understanding not blear-ey'd, but blind; My will to ail that 's good is cold, Nor can, though I would. Do what I should. No, now I see x'here is no remedy Left in myself: it cannot be That blind men in the dark should find the way To blessedness : although they may Imagine the high midnight is noon-day, As I have done till now, they'll know At last, unto their woe, ^Twas nothing so. Now I perceive Presumption doth bereave Men of all hope of help, and leave Them, as it finds them, drown'd in misery : Despairing of themselves, to cry For mercy is the only remedy 314 THE SCHOOL OF That sin-sick souls can have ; to pray Against this darkness, may Turn it to day. Then unto thee, Great Lord of light, let me Direct my prayer, that I may see. Thou, that didst make mine eyes, canst soon restore That pow'r of sight they had before. And, if thou seest it good, canst give them morCr The night will quickly shine like day, If thou do but display One glorious ray, I must confess. And I can do no less. Thou art the Sun of righteousness : There 's healing in thy wings ; thy light is life j My darkness death. To end all strife, Be thou mine husband, let me be thy wife j So light and life divine Will all be thine. THE HEART. 315 ss^Sv;^^^?*^: ^SSrrs^ JTj^e lLato::ffl:ail0 of t^e ^taxt Leave the stone tables for thy Saviour's part j Keep thou the law that's written in thy heart. JER, XXXI. 33. / will put my law in their inward parts ^ and write it in their hearts. % Epig. 26. TN the soft table of thine heart I'll write ^ A new law, which I will newly indite. Hard stony tables did contain the old : But tender leaves of flesh shall this infold. 3i6 THE SCHOOL OF ODE XXVI. What will thy sight Avail thee, or my light, If there be nothing in thine heart to see Acceptable to me ? A self-vi^rit heart will not Please me, or do thee any good ; I wot The paper must be thine, The writing mine. What I indite 'Tis 1 alone can write. And write in books that I myself have made. 'Tis not an easy trade To read or write in hearts : They that are skilful in all other arts. When they take this in hand, Are at a stand. My law of old Tables of stone did hold. Wherein I wrote what I before had spoken, Yet were they quickly broken : A sign the covenant Contain'd in them would due observance want. Nor did they long remain Copied again. But now I'll try What force in flesh doth lie : Whether thine heart renewM afford a place Fit for my law of grace. This covenant is better Than that, though glorious, of the killing letter. This gives life, not by merit. But by my Spirit. THE HEAET. 317 When in men's hearts, And their most inward parts, I by my Spirit write my law of love, They then begin to move, Not by themselves, but me. And obedience is their liberty. There are no slaves, but those That serve their foes. When I have writ A-ly covenant in it. View thine heart by my light, and thou shalt see A present fit for me. The worth, for which I look, Lies in the lines, not in the leaves of the book. Coarse paper may be lin'd With words re fin' d • And such are mine. No furnace can refine The choicest silver so, to make it pure. As my law put in ure Purgeth the hearts of men : Which being rul'd, and written with my pen. My Spirit, ev'ry letter Will make them better. 3i8 THE SCHOOL OF 5rf)e ^Tilling nf tlje ?^fart. Lord, with thy plough break up this heart of mine, And fit it to receive the seed divine. EZEK. XXXVI. 9. / will turn unto you^ and ye shall be tilled and sown. r Epig. 27. ATINE heart's a field, thy cross a plough : be ^^ Dear Spouse, to till it, till the mould be Fit for the feeding of thy word : then sow, And if thou shine upon it, it will grow. pleas'd, rais'd THE HEAET. 319 ODE XXVII. So now methinks I find Some better vigour in my mind ; My will begins to move, And mine affections stir towards things above : Mine heart grows big with hope ; it is a field That some good fruit may yield, If it were till'd as it should be. Not by myself, but thee. Great Husbandman, whose pow'r All difficulties can devour. And do what likes thee best. Let not thy field, my heart, lie by and rest ; Lest it be over- run with noisome weeds, That spring of their own seeds : Unless thy grace the growth should stop. Sin would be all my crop. Break up my fallow ground, That there may not a clod be found To hide one root of sin. Apply the plough betime : now, now begin To furrow up my stiff and starvy heart ; No matter for the smart : Although it roar, when it is rent, Let not thine hand relent. Corruption's rooted deep ; Showers of repentant tears must steep The mould, to make it soft : It must be stirr'd, and turn'd, not once, but oft. Let it have all its seasons. O impart The best of all thine art : For of itself it is so tough, All will he but enough. 320 THE SCHOOL OF Or, if it be thy will To teach me, let me learn the skill Myself to plough mine heart : The profit will be mine, and 'tis my part To take the pains, and labour, though the' increase Without thv blessing cease : If fit for nothing else, yet thou May' St make me draw thy plough : Which of thy ploughs thou wilt, For thou hast more than one. My guilt, Thy wrath, thy rods, are all Ploughs fit to tear mine heart to pieces small : And when, in these, it apprehends thee near, 'Tis furrowed with fear : Each weed turn'd under, hides its head, And shows as it were dead. But, Lord, thy blessed passion Is a plough of another fashion. Better than all the rest. Oh fasten me to that, and let the rest Of all my powers strive to draw it in. And leave no room for sin. The virtue of thy death can make Sin its fast hold forsake. THE HEART. 321 Ei^t S>tt1iir[Q ^( ti)e il^eart. With thine own hand, O Lord, now seed the ground, Lest this vile heart be still unfruitflil found. LUKE VIII. 15. That on the good ground are they^ which^ with an honest and good hearty having heard the word^ keep it^ and bring forth fruit with patience. Epig. 28. T EST the field of mine heart should unto thee, *— ' Great Husbandman that mad'st it, barren be, Manure the ground, then come thyself and seed it ; And let thy servants water it and weed it. Y 322 THE SCHOOL OF ODE XXVIII. Nay, blessed Lord, Unless thou wilt afford Manure, as well as tillage, to thy field. It will not yield That fruit which thou expectedst it should bear The ground, I fear. Will still remain Barren of what is good : and all the grain It will bring forth, As of its own accord, will not be worth The pains of gathering So poor a thing. Some faint desire. That quickly will expire, Wither, and die, is all thou canst expect. If thou neglect To sow it now 'tis ready, thou shalt find That it will bind And harder grow Than at the first it was. Thou must bestow Some further cost. Else all thy former labour will be lost. Mine heart no corn will breed Without thy seed. Thy word is seed. And manure too : will feed. As well as fill mine heart. If once it were Well rooted there, It would come on apace : O then neglect No time : expect No better season. Now, now thy field, mine heart, is ready : reason Surrenders now : THE HEART. 323 Now my rebellious will begins to bow, And mine affections are Tamer by far. Lord, I have lain Barren too long, and fain I would redeem the time, that I may be Fruitful to thee j Fruitful in knowledge, faith, obedience. Ere I go hence : That when I come At harvest to be reaped, and brought home, Thine angels may My soul in thy celestial garner lay, Where perfect joy and bliss Eternal is. If to entreat A crop of purest wheat, i\ blessing too transcendent should appear For me to hear. Lord, make me what thou wilt, so thou wilt take What thou dost make. And not disdain To house me, though among thy coarsest grain ; So I may be Laid with the gleanings gathered by thee. When the full sheaves are spent, I am content. 3^4 THE SCHOOL OF My heart toward Heav'n is open ; let thy showers Gently distil, and aid the springing flowers. ISAIAH XXVII. 3. / the Lord do keep it : I will water it every moment. Epig. 29. CLOSE downwards towards the earth, open above Towards Heav'n, mine heart is. O let thy love Distil in fructifying dews of grace, And then mine heart will be a pleasant place. ODE XXIX. See how this dry and thirsty land. Mine heart, doth gaping, gasping stand, THE HEAET. 325 And, close below, opens towards Heav'n and thee j Thou Fountain of felicity, Great Lord of living waters, water me : Let not my breath, that pants with pain, Waste and consume itself in vain. The mists, that from the earth do rise, An heav'n-born heart will not suffice : Cool it without they may, but cannot quench The scalding heat within, nor drench Its dusty dry desires, or fill one trench. Nothing, but what comes from on high. Can heav'n-bred longings satisfy. See how the seed, which thou didst sow. Lies parch'd and wither'd ; will not grow Without some moisture, and mine heart hath none That it can truly call its own. By nature of itself, more than a stone : Unless thou water 't, it will lie Drowned in dust, and still be dry. Thy tender plants can never thrive. Whilst want of water doth deprive Their roots of nourishment : which makes them call And cry to thee, great All in All, That seasonable showers of grace may fall, And water them : thy word will do 't, If thou vouchsafe thy blessing to 't. O then be pleased to unseal Thy fountain, blessed Saviour ; deal Some drops at least, wherewith my drooping spirits May be revived. Lord, thy merits Yield more refreshing than the world inherits; Rivers, yea seas, but ditches are. If with thy springs we them compare. 326 THE SCHOOL OF If not full show'rs of rain, yet, Lord, A little pearly dew afford, Begot by thy celestial influence On some chaste vapour, raised hence To be partaker of thine excellence : A little, if it come from thee, Will be of great avail to me. Thou boundless Ocean of grace, Let thy free Spirit have a place Within mine heart : full rivers, then, I know, Of living waters, forth will flow ; And all thy plants, thy fruits, thy flow'rs will grow. Whilst thy springs their roots do nourish, They must needs be fat, and flourish. THE HEAET. These lilies, rais'd from seed which thou didst sow, I give thee, with the soil in which they grow. CANT. VI. 2. My beloved is gone down Into his garden^ to the beds of spices^ to feed in the gardens^ and to gather lilies, Epig. 30. 1"^HESE lilies I do consecrate to thee, Beloved Spouse, which spring, as thou may'st see Out of the seed thou sowedst; and the ground Is better'd by thy flow'rs^ when they abound. ODE XXX. Is there a joy like this ? What can augment my bliss ? 328 THE SCHOOL OF If my Beloved will accept A posy of these flowers, kept And consecrated unto his content, I hope hereafter he will not repent The cost and pains he hath bestow'd So freely upon me, that owM Him all I had before, And infinitely more. Nay, try them, blessed Lord ; Take them not on my word. But let the colour, taste, and smell. The truth of their perfections tell. Thou that art infinite in wisdom, see If they be not the same that came from thee. If any difference be found. It is occasion'd by the ground. Which yet I cannot see So good as it should be. What say'st thou to that Rose, That queen of flowers, whose Maiden blushes, fresh and fair, Outbrave the dainty morning air ? Dost thou not in those lovely leaves espy The perfect picture of that modesty. That self-condemning shame-facedness. That is more ready to confess A fault, and to amend. Than it is to ofFend ? Is not this lily pure ? What fuller can procure A white so perfect, spotless, clear. As in this flower doth appear ? Dost thou not in this milky colour see The lively lustre of sincerity, THE HEAET. 329 Which no hypocrisy hath painted, Nor self-respecting ends have tainted r Can there be to thy sight A more entire delight ? Or wilt thou have, beside, Violets purple-dy'd ? The sun-observing mari2;old. Or orpin never waxing old, The primrose, cowslip, gillyflow'r, or pink, Or any flow'r, or herb, that I can think Thou hast a mind unto ? I shall Quickly be furnish'd with them ail, If once I do but know That thou wilt have it so Faith is a fruitful grace ; Well planted, stores the place, Fills all the borders, beds, and bow'rs, With wholesome herbs and pleasant iiow'rs Great Gardener, thou say'st, and I beUeve, What thou dost mean to gather, thou wilt give. Take then mine heart in hand, to fill 't, And it shall yield thee what thou wilt. Yea thou, by gath'ring more, Shalt still increase my store- 330 THE SCHOOL OF Eiit Helping of ti)t l^eart His heart is guarded well, whose hands appear Arm'd with a flaming sword by holy fear. PROV. IV. 23. Keep thy heart with all diligence. Epig. 31. LIKE to a garden that is closed round, That heart is safely kept, which still is found Compass'd with care, and guarded with the fear Of God, as with a flaming sword and spear. ODE XXXI. The Soul. Lord, wilt thou suffer this ? Shall vermin spoil The truit of all thy toil, THE HEAET. 331 Thy trees, thine herbs, thy plants, thy flow'rs thus ; And, for an overplus Of spite and malice, overthrow thy mounds, Lay common all thy grounds r Canst thou endure thy pleasant garden should Be thus turn'd up as ordinary mould ? Christ. What is the matter ? why dost thou complain ? Adust I as well maintain, And keep, as make thy fences ? wilt thou take No pains for thine own sake ? Or doth thy self-confounding fancy fear thee. When there 's no danger near thee ? Speak out thy doubts, and thy desires, and tell me, What enemy or can or dares to quell thee ? The Soul. Many, and mighty, and mahcious, Lord, That seek, with one accord, To work my speedy ruin, and make haste To lay the garden waste. The devil is a ramping roaring lion, Hates at his heart thy Zion, And never gives it respite day nor hour. But still goes seeking whom he may devour. The world 's a wilderness, wherein I find Wild beasts of every kind. Foxes, and wolves, and dogs, and boars, and bears ; And, which augments my fears, Eagles and vultures, and such birds of prey, Will not be kept away : Besides the light-abhorring owls and bats, And secret corner-creeping mice and rats. But these, and many more, would not dismay Me much, unless there lay 332 THE SCHOOL OF One worse than all within, myself I mean : My false, unjust, unclean, Faithless, disloyal self, that both entice And entertain each vice ; This home-bred traitorous partaking 's worse Than all the violence of foreign force. Lord, thou may'st see my fears are grounded, rise Not from a bare surmise, Or doubt of danger only ; my desires Are but what need requires, Of thy Divine protection and defence To keep these vermin hence : Which, if they should not be restrain'd by thee. Would grow too strong to be kept out by me. Christ. Thy fear is just, and I approve thy care. But yet thy comforts are Provided for, e'en it that care and fear : Whereby it doth appear Thou hast what thou desirest, my protection To keep thee from defection. The heart that cares and fears, is kept by me : I watch thee, whilst thv foes are watched bv thee. TPIE HEART. 333 ) My wakeful heart, that loves thy presence, keeps A constant watch, e'en while my body sleeps. CANT. V. 2. J sleeps but my heart waketh. Epig. 32. HILST the soft bands of sleep tie up my senses, My watchful heart, free from all such pretences. Searches for thee, inquires of all about thee. Nor day nor night, able to be without thee. ODE XXXII. It must be so ; that God that gave Me senses, and a mind, would have W 334 THE SCHOOL OF Me use them both, but in their several kinds ; Sleep must refresh my senses, but my mind's A sparkle of heav'nly fire, that feeds On action and employment, needs No time of rest : for, when it thinks to please Itself with idleness, 'tis least at ease. Though quiet rest refresh the head. The heart, that stirs not, sure is dead. Whilst, then, my body ease doth take. My rest-reiusing heart shall wake : And that mine heart the better watch may keep, I'll lay mv senses for a time to sleep. Wanton desires shall not entice. Nor lust inveigle them to vice : No fading colours shall allure my sight. Nor sounds enchant mine ears with their delight : I'll bind my smell, my touch, my taste, To keep a strict religious fast. My worldly business shall lie still, That heav'nly thoughts my mind may fill : My Martha's cumbering cares shall cease their noise, That Mary may attend her better choice. That meditation may advance My heart on purpose, not by chance, My body shall keep holyday, that so My mind with better liberty may go About her business, and engross That gain which worldly men count loss. And though my senses sleep the while. My mind my senses shall beguile With dreams of thee, dear Lord, whose rare perfections Of excellence are such, that bare inspections Cannot suffice my greedy soul, Nor her fierce appetite control j THE HEAET. 335 But that the more she looks, the more she longs, And strives to thrust into the thickest throngs Of those divine discoveries Which dazzle even angels' eyes. Oh could I lay aside this flesh, And follow after thee v^^ith fresh And free desires ! my distentangled soul, Ravish'd with admiration, should roll Itself and all its thoughts on thee , And, by believing, strive to see What is invisible te flesh and blood. And only by fruition understood : The beauty of each sev'ral grace, That shines in thy sun-shaming face. But what can I do that I will, Waking and sleeping, seek thee still : rU leave no place unpry'd into behind me Where I can but imagine I may find thee : I'll ask of all I meet, if they Can tell me where thou art, which wav Thou goest that I may follow after thee. Which way thou com'st, that thou may'st meet with me. If not thy face. Lord, let mine heart Behold with Moses thy back part. 336 THE SCHOOL OF Eift asaouniiing of tlje l^eart. With thousand shafts O pierce this heart of mine ; The wounds thou givest, Lord, are balm divine. LAM. III. 12. He hath bent his bow^ and set me as a mark for the arrow. A Epig. 33. THOUSAND of thy strongest shafts, my Light, Draw up against this heart with all thy might. And strike it through : they, that in need do stand Of cure, are healed by thy wounding hand ODE XXXIII. Nay, spare me not, dear Lord, it cannot be They should be hurt, that wounded are by thee. THE HEART. 337 Thy shafts will heal the hearts they hit. And to each sore its salve will fit. All hearts by nature are both sick and sore, And mine as much as any else, or more : There is no place that ^s free from sin, Neither without it, nor within ; And universal maladies do crave Variety of medicines to have. First, let the arrow of thy piercing eye. Whose light outvieth the star-spangled sky. Strike through the darkness of my mind. And leave no cloudy mist behind. Let thy resplendent rays of knowledge dart Bright beams of understanding to mine heart j To my sin-shadov/d heart, wherein Black ignorance did first begin To blur thy beautious image, and deface The glory of thy self-sufficing grace. Next let the shaft of thy sharp-pointed pow'r. Discharged by that strength that can devour All difficulties, and incline Stout opposition to resign Its steely stubbornness, subdue my will ; Make it hereafter ready to fulfil Thy royal law of righteousness, As gladly as, I must confess. It hath fulfilled heretofore th-* unjust. Profane, and cruel laws of its own lust. Then let that love of thine, which made thee leave The bosom of thy Father, and bereave Thyself of thy transcendent glory, (Matter for an eternal story I) Strike through mine affections all together ; And let that sunshine clear the cloudy weather, z 338 THE SCHOOL OF Wherein they wander without guide. Or order, as the wind and tide Of floating vanities transport and toss them. Till self-forgotten troubles curb and cross them. Lord, empty all thy quivers, let there be No corner of my spacious heart left free, Till all be but one wound, wherein No subtle sight-abhorring sin May lurk in secret unespy'd by me, Or rei£!;n in pow'r unsubduM by thee. Perfect thy purchased victory. That thou may'st ride triumphantly, And, leading captive all captivity, May'st put an end to enmity in me. Then, blessed archer, in requital, I To shoot thine arrows back again will try ; By prayers and praises, sighs and sobs. By vows and tears, by groans and throbs, ril see if I can pierce and wound thine heart, And vanquish thee again by thine own art ; Or, that we may at once provide For all mishaps that may betide, Shoot thou thyself thy polish'd shaft to me. And I will shoot my broken heart to thee. THE HEAET. 339 ^\\t Jni^atiting of tf)c l^cart. While here thy Spirit dwells, my heart shall burn With thine own love : which sure thou wilt return. GAL. IV. 6. I God hath sent forth the Spirit of his Son into your hearts. j Epig. 34. "INE heart 's an house, my Light, and thou canst tell There 's room enough ; O let thy Spirit dwell For ever there : that so thou may'st love me, And, being lov'd, I may again love thee. M' 340 THE SCHOOL OF ODE XXXIV. Welcome, great guest ; this house, mine heart, Shall all be thine : I will resign Mine interest in ev'ry part : Only be pleased to use it as thine own For ever, and inhabit it alone : There 's room enough ; and, if the furniture Were answerably fitted, I am sure Thou wouldst be well content to stay, And, by thy light. Possess my sight With sense of an eternal day. It is thy building, Lord ; 'twas made At thy command, And still doth stand Upheld and sheltered by the shade Of thy protecting Providence; though such As is decayed and impaired much, Since the removal of thy residence. When, with thy grace, glory departed hence : It hath been all this while an inn To entertain The vile, and vain. And wicked companies of sin. Although 't be but an house of clay, fVam'd out of dust, And such as must Dissolved be, yet it was gay And glorious indeed, when ev'ry place Was furnished and fitted with thy grace : When, in the presence-chamber of my mind. The bright sun-beams of perfect knowledge shinM : When my will was thy bedchamber. THE HEAET. 34.1 And ev'ry power A stately tower, Sweeten'd with thy Spirit's amber. But whilst thou dost thyself absent, It is not grown Noisome alone, But all to pieces torn and rent. The windows all are stopt, or broken so, That no light without wind can thorough go. The roof's uncovered, and the wall 's decay'd. The door 's flung oft the hooks, the floor 's unlay'd ; Yea the foundation rotten is, And ever)^where It doth appear All that remains is far amiss. But if thou wilt return again, And dwell in me, Lord, thou shalt see What care I '11 take to entertain Thee, though not like thyself, yet in such sort As thou wilt like, and I shall thank thee for 't. Lord, let thy blessed Spirit keep possession. And all things will be well : at least, confession Shall tell thee what 's amiss in me. And then thou shalt Or mend the fault, Or take the blame of all on thee. 34i THE SCHOOL OF Cfte (Enlarging of ti^e l^eart. That 's pleasant now, which once I strove to shun, With heart enlarg'd the narrow way to run. PSALM CXIX. 32, / will run the way of thy coimnandmeuts^ when thou shalt enlarge iny heart. Epic. 35. OW pleasant is that now, which heretofore Mine heart held bitter, sacred learning's lore ! Enlarged heart enters with greatest ease The straightest paths, and runs the narrowest ways. H THE HEART. 343 ODE XXXV. What a blessed change I find, Since I entertain'd this guest ! Now methinks another mind Moves and rules within my breast. Surely I am not the same That I was before he came ; But I then was much to blame. When, before, my God commanded Any thing he would have done, I was close and gripple-handed, Made an end ere I begun. If he thought it lit to lay Judgments on me, I could say, They are good \ but shrink away. All the ways of righteousness I did think were full of trouble ;• I complain'd of tediousness, And each duty seemed double. Whilst I serv'd him but of fear, Ev'ry minute did appear Longer far than a whole year. Strictness in religion seemed Like a pined, pinion'd thing: Bolts and fetters I esteemed More beseeming for a king. Than for me to bow mv neck, And be at another's beck. When I felt my conscience check. But the case is altered now : He no sooner turns his eye. But I quickly bend, and bow, Ready at his feet to lie : 344 THE SCHOOL OF Love hath taught me to obey- All his precepts, and to say, Not to-morrow, but to-day. What he wills, I say I must : What I must, I say I will : He commanding, it is just What he would I should fulfil. Whilst he biddeth, I believe What he calls for he will o-ive ' To obey him, is to live. His commandments grievous are not, Longer than men think them so : Though he send me forth, I care not, Whilst he gives me strength to eo -, When or whither, all is one ; On his bus'ness, not mine own, I shall never go alone. If I be complete in him. And in him all fulness dwelleth, I am sure aloft to swim, Whilst that Ocean overswelleth. Having Him that's All in All, I am confident I shall Nothing want, for which I call. THE HEAPtT. 34S Ei}t inflaming of tfje l^rart Thus my fond heart, inflam'd with strong desire, Shall, like a salamairder, live in fire. PSALM XXXIX. 3. Afy heart was hot within me : while I was musing^ the fire burned. Epig. 36. CPARE not, my Love, to kindle and inflame ^ Mine heart within throughout, until the same Break forth, and burn : that so thy salamander, Mine heart, may never from thy furnace wander. 346 THE SCHOOL OF ODE XXXVI. Welcome, holy, heav'nly fire, Kindled by immortal love : Which descending from above. Makes all earthly thoughts retire, And give place To that grace, Which, with gentle violence. Conquers all corrupt affections, Rebel nature's insurrections, Bidding them be packing hence. Lord, thy fire doth heat vi^ithin, Warmeth not without alone ; Though it be an heart of stone, Of itself congeaFd in sin, Hard as steel, If it feel Thy dissolving pow'r, it groweth Soft as wax, and quickly takes Any print thy Spirit makes, Paying what thou say'st it oweth. Of itself mine heart is dark ; But thy fire, by shining bright, Fills it full of saving light. Though 't be but a little spark Lent by thee, I shall see More by it than all the light. Which in fullest measure streams From corrupted nature's beams, Can discover to my sight. Though mine heart be ice and snow To the things which thou hast chosen. All benumb'd with cold, and trozen. Yet thy fire will make it glow. THE HEART. 347 Though it burns, When it turns Towards the things which thou dost hate. Yet thy blessed warmth, no doubt, Will that wild fire soon draw out. And the heat thereof abate. Lord, thy fire is active, using Always either to ascend To its native heav'n, or lend Heat to others : and diff'using Of its store. Gathers more. Never ceasing till it make All things like itself and longing To see others come with thronging. Of thy goodness to partake. Lord, let then thy fire inflame My cold heart so thoroughly. That the heat may never die, But continue still the same : That I may Ev'ry day More and more, consuming sin. Kindling others, and attending All occasions of ascending, Heaven upon earth begin. 348 THE SCHOOL OF Srfje iLati5er of tf)e ©eart. Would you scale Heav'n, and use a ladder's aid ? Then in thy heart let the first step be made. PSALM LXXXIV. 5. In whose heart are the ways of them. Epig. 37. TT70ULDST thou, my love, a ladder have ^^ whereby Thou may'st climb Heav'n, to sit down on high ? In thine own heart, then, frame thee steps, and bend Thy mind to muse how thou may'st there ascend. THE HEAET. 349 ODE XXXVII. The Soul What ! Shall I Always lie Grov'ling on earth, Where there is no mirth ? Why should I not ascend And climb up, where I may mend My mean estate of misery ? Happiness, I know, is exceeding high : Yet sure there is some remedy for that. Christ. True, There is. Perfect bliss May be had above : But he, that will obtain Such a gold-exceeding gain. Must never think to reach the same, And scale Heav'n's walls, until he frame A ladder in his heart as near as new. The Soul. Lord, ■ I will: But the skill Is not mine own : Such an art 's not known, Unless thou wilt it teach : It is far above the reach : Of mortal minds to understand. But if thou wilt lend thine helping hand, I will endeavour to obey thy word. Christ. Well Then, see That thou be 350 THE SCHOOL OF As ready prest To perform the rest, As now to promise fair : And I'll teach thee how to rear A scaling-ladder in thine heart To mount Heav'n with : no rules of art, But I alone, can the composure tell. First, Thou must Take on trust All that I say ; Reason must not sway Thy judgment cross to mine, But her sceptre quite resign. Faith must be both thy ladder's sides, Which will stay thy steps whateVr betides, And satisfy thine hunger, and thy thirst. Then, The round Next the ground, Which I must see. Is humility : From which thou must ascend. And with perseverance end. Virtue to virtue, grace to grace, Must each orderly succeed in its place ; And when thou hast done all, begin again. THE HEART. 351 ^^t dFlging of tf)e l^eart. O that on wings my weary heart could rise, Quit this vain world, and seek her native skies. ISAIAH LX. 8. f^o are these that fly as a cloudy and as the doves •windows f Epic. 38. to their /^H that mine heart had wings like to a dove, ^^ That I might quickly hasten hence, and move With speedy flight towards the celestial spheres. As weary of this world, its faults and fears. 352 THE SCHOOL OF ODE XXXVIII. This way, though pleasant, yet methinks is long Step after step, makes little haste, And I am not so strong As still to last Among So great. So many lets : SwelterM and swill'd in sweat, My toiling soul both fumes and frets. As though she were inclined to a retreat. Corruption clogs my feet like filthy clay. And I am ready still to slip : Which makes me often stay, When I should trip Away. My fears And faults are such. As challenge all my tears So justly, that it were not much. If I in weeping should spend all my years. This makes me weary of the world below. And greedy of a place above. On which I may bestow My choicest love ; And so Obtain That favour, which Excels all worldly gain, And maketh the possessor rich In happiness of a transcendent strain. What ! must I still be rooted here below, And riveted unto the ground, Wherein mine haste to grow THE HEART. 353 Will be, though sound, But slow ? I know The sun exhales Gross vapours from below. Which, scorning as it were the vales. On mountain-topping clouds themselves bestow. But my fault-frozen heart is slow to move. Makes poor proceedings at the best, As though it did not love. Nor long for rest Above. Mine eyes Can upward look. As though they did despise All things on earth, and could not brook Their presence : but mine heart is slow to rise. Oh that it were once winged like the dove, That in a moment mounts on high, Then should it soon remove Where it may lie In love. And lo, This one desire Methinks have impM it so. That it already flies like fire, And e^en my verses into wings do grow. A A 354 THE SCHOOL OF Ef)t WLnion of tlje l^eart, Live ye united minds, and social hearts, To whom one love but one deshe imparts. EZEK. XI. 19. / will give them one heart. Epig. 39. IKE-MINDED minds, hearts alike heartily ' Affected, will together live and die : Many things meet and part : but love's great cable, Tying two hearts, makes them inseparable. L THE HEAET. 355 ODE XXXIX. The Soul. All this is not enough : methinks I grow- More greedy by fruition : what I get Serves but to set An edge upon mine appetite, And all thy gifts do but invite My pray'rs for more. Lord, if thou wilt not still increase my store, Why didst thou anything at all bestow : Christ. And is \ the fruit of having still to crave ? Then let thine heart united be to mine. And mine to thine, In a firm union, whereby, We may no more be thou and I, Or I and thou. But both the same : and then I will avow. Thou can'st not want what thou dost wish to have. The Soul. True Lord, for thou art All in All to me ; But how to get my stubborn heart to twine And close with thine, I do not know, nor can I guess How I should ever learn, unless Thou wilt direct The course that I must take to that effect. 'Tis thou, not I, must knit mine heart to thee. Christ. 'Tis true, and so I will : but yet thou must Do something towards it too : First thou must lay All sin away. And separate from that, which would Our meeting intercept, and hold Us distant still : 356 THE SCHOOL OF I am all goodness, and can close with ill No more than richest diamonds with dust. Then thou must not count any earthly thing. However gay and gloriously set forth, Of any worth. Compared with me, that am alone Th' eternal, high, and holy One : But place thy love Only on me and the things above, Which true content and endless comfort bring. Love is the loadstone of the heart, the glue, The cement, and the solder, which alone Unites in one Things that before were not the same. But only like ; imparts the name. And nature too, « Of each to the other : nothing can undo The knot that 's knit by love, if it be true. But if in deed and truth thou lovest me, And not in word alone, then I shall find That thou dost mind The things I mind, and regulate All thine affections, love and hate. Delight, desire. Fear, and the rest, by what I do require, And I in thee myself shall always see. THE HEAET. 357 Ei^t Ut^t Df t\)t ^taxt My heart, of earthly scenes quite weary grown, S^eks for repose and rest in God alone. PSALM CXVI. 7. Return unto thy rest^ O my soul. Epic. 40. Y busy, stirring heart, that seeks the best, Can find no place on earth wherein to rest For God alone, the author of its bliss, Its only rest, its only centre is. M 358 THE SCHOOL OF ODE XL. Move me no more, mad world, it is in vain. Experience tells me plain I should deceived be, If ever I again should trust in thee. My w^eary heart hath ransack'd all Thy treasures, both great and small. And thy large inventory bears in mind : Yet could it never find One place wherein to rest. Though it hath often tried all the best. Thy profits brought me loss instead of gain, And all thy pleasures pain : i Thine honours blurr'd my name With the deep stains of self-confounding shame. Thy wisdom made me turn stark fool ; And all the learning, that thy school Afforded me, was not enough to make Me know myself, and take Care of my better part. Which should have perished for all thine heart. Not that there is not a place of rest in thee For others : but for me There is, there can be none ; That God, that made mine heart, is he alone That of himself both can and will Give rest unto my thoughts, and fill Them full of all content and quietness : That so I may possess My soul in patience. Until he find it time to call me hence. On thee, then, as a sure foundation, A tried corner-stone. Lord, I will strive to raise The tow'r of my salvation, and thy praise. THE HEART. 359 In thee, as in my centre, shall The lines of all my longings fall. To thee, as to mine anchor, surely tied, My ship shall safely ride. On thee, as on my bed Of soft repose, I'll rest my weary head. Thou, thou alone, shalt be mv whole desire ; I'll nothing else require But thee, or for thy sake. In thee I'll sleep secure ; and, when I wake, Thy glorious face shall satisfv^ The longing of my looking eye. ni roll myself on thee, as on my rock, When threatening dangers mock. Of thee, as of my treasure, I'll boast and brag, my comforts know no measure. Lord, thou shalt be mine All, I will not know A profit here below. But what reflects on thee : Thou shalt be all the pleasure I will see In anything the earth affords. Mine heart shall own no words Of honour, out of which I cannot raise The matter of thy praise. Nay, I will not be mine. Unless thou wilt vouchsafe to have me thine. 360 THE SCHOOL OF Christ's bloody sweat immortal blessings gives, As by its daily sweat man's body lives. JOEL III. 21. / luill cleanse their bloody that I have not cleansed. Epig. 41. ^T^HIS bath thy Saviour sweat with drops of blood, -'' Sick heart, on purpose for to do thee good. They that have tried it can the virtue tell ; Come, then, and use it, if thou wilt be well. THE HEART. 361 ODE XLI. All this thy God hath done for thee ; And now, mine heart, It is high time that thou shouldst be Acting thy part. And meditating on his blessed passion. Till thou hast made it thine by imitation. That exercise will be the best And surest means, To keep thee evermore at rest. And free from pains. To suffer with the Saviour is the way To make thy present comforts last for aye. Trace then the steps wherein he trod, And first begin To sweat with him. The heavy load. Which for thy sin He underwent, squeez'd blood out of his face. Which in great drops came trickling down apace. Oh let not, then, that precious blood Be spilt in vain. But gather evVy drop. 'Tis good To purge the stain Of guilt, that hath defiled and overspread Thee from the sole of the foot to the crown of the head. Poison possesseth every vein ; The fountain is Corrupt, and all the streams unclean : All is amiss. Thy blood's impure ; yea, thou thyself, mine heart. In all thine inward powers polluted art. When thy first father did ill, Man's doom was read. 36z THE SCHOOL OF That in the sweat of his face he still Should eat his bread. What the first Adam in a garden caught, The second Adam in a garden taught. Taught by his own example, how To sweat for sin, Under that heavy weight to bow. And never lin Begging release, till, with strong cries and tears, The soul be drain'd of all its faults and fears. If sin's imputed guilt oppress'd Th' Almighty so, That his sad soul could find no rest Under that woe : But that the bitter agony he felt Made his pure blood, if not to sweat, to melt; Then let that huge inherent mass Of sin, that lies In heaps on thee, make thee surpass In tears and cries. Striving with all thy strength, until thou sweat, Such drops as his, though not as good as great. And if he think it fit to lay Upon thy back Or pains or duties, as he may. Until it crack. Shrink not away, but strain thine utmost force To bear them cheerfullv without remorse. THE HEART. 363 Ei)t ISiniJing of tf)e l^eart toiti^ ti^e ornrtrs nf orijrigt My sins made thee a cruel bondage prove : O bind my heart to thee with cords of love. HOS. XI. 4. I drevj them with cords of a man^ with bands of love^ M Epig. 42. Y sins, I do confess a cord were found Heavy and hard by thee, when thou wast bound, ^ ry -I .1 L..^ ^1 1 ^ ^.„- 'J Great Lord of love, with them ; but thou hast twin'd Great love- cords my tender heart to bind. 364 THE SCHOOL OF ODE XLII. What ! could those hands, That made the world, be subject unto bands ? ' Could there a cord be found. Wherewith Omnipotence itself was bound ? Wonder, my heart, and stand amazM to see The Lord of liberty Led captive for thy sake, and in thy stead. Although he did Nothing deserving death, or bands, yet he Was bound, and put to death, to set thee free. Thy sins had tied Those bands for thee, wherein thou shouldst have died : And thou didst daily knit Knots upon knots, whereby thou mad'st them sit Closer and faster to thy faulty self. Helpless and hopeless, friendless and forlorn, The sink of scorn, And kennel of contempt, thou shouldst have lain Eternally enthralled to endless pain ; Had not the Lord Of love and life been pleased to afford His helping hand of grace. And freely put himself into thy place. So were thy bands transfer'd, but not untied. Until the time he died. And, bv his death, vanquis'd and conquerM all That Adam's fall Had made victorious. Sin, death, and hell, Thy fatal foes, under his footstool fell. Yet he meant not That thou shouldst use the liberty he got As it should like thee best ; To wander as thou listest, or to rest THE HEART. 365 In soft repose, careless of his commands : He that hath loos'd those bands, Whereby thou wast enslaved to the foes. Binds thee with those Wherewith he bound himself to do thee good, The bands of love, love writ in lines of blood. His love to thee Made him to lay aside his majesty. And, clothed in a vail Of frail, though faultless flesh, become thy bail. But love requireth love : and since thou art Loved by him, thy part It is to love him too : and love affords The strongest cords That can be : for it ties, not hands alone. But heads, and hearts, and souls, and all in one. Come then, mine heart. And freelv follow the prevailing art Of thy Redeemer's love. That strong magnetic tie hath pow'r to move The steelest stubbornness. If thou but twine And twist his love with thine, And, by obedience, labour to express Thy thankfulness. It will be hard to say on whether side The bands are surest, which is fastest tied. 366 THE SCHOOL OF Nor fruits, nor flowers, require my weaken'd heart } Her pillar, Christ, can lasting aid impart. PSALM CXII. 7, 8. His heart is fixed, trusting in the Lord. His heart is established, he shall not be afraid. Epig. 43. MY weak and feeble heart a prop must use, But pleasant fruits and flowers doth retuse • My Chrisc my pillar is •, on him rely, Repose and rest myself, alone will I. THE HEART. 367 ODE XLIII. Suppose it true, that, whilst thy Saviour's side Was furrowed with scourges, he was tied Unto some pillar fast : Think not, mine heart, it was because he could Not stand alone, or that left loose he would Have shrunk away at last ; Such weakness suits not with Omnipotence, Nor could man's malice match his patience. But, if so done, 'twas done to tutor thee, Whose frailty and impatience, he doth see Such, that thou hast nor strength Nor will, as of thyself, to undergo The least degree of duty or of woe. But wouldst be sure at length To flinch or faint, or not to stand at all, Or in the end more fearfully to fall ; The very frame and figure, broad above, Narrow beneath, apparently doth prove • Thou canst not stand alone. Without a prop to bolster and to stay thee. To trust to thine own strength, would soon betray thee. Alas ! thou now art grown So weak and feeble, wav'ring and unstaid, Thou shrink'st at the least weight that^s on thee laid. The easiest commandments thou declinest, And at the lightest punishment thou whinest : Thy restless motions are Innumerable, like the troubled sea. Whose waves are toss'd and tumbled ev'rv way. The hound-pursued hare Makes not so many doubles as thou dost. Till thy cross'd courses in themselves are lost. 368 THE SCHOOL OF Get thee some stay that may support thee then, And stablish thee, lest thou should^st start again. But where may it be found ? Will pleasant fruits or flow'rs serve the turn ? No, no, my tott'ring heart will overturn And lay them on the ground. Dainties may serve to minister delight. But strength is only from the Lord of might. Betake thee to thy Christ, then, and repose Thyself, in all extremities, on those His everlasting arms. Wherewith he girds the heavens, and upholds The pillars of the earth, and safely folds His faithful flock from harms. Cleave close to him by faith, and let the bands Of love tie thee in thy Redeemer's hands. Come life, come death, come devils, come what will, Yet, fastened so, thou shalt stand steadfast still : And all the powers of hell Shall not prevail to shake thee with their shock, So long as thou art founded on that Rock : No duty shall thee quell ; No danger shall disturb thy quiet state. Nor soul-perplexing fears thy mind amate. THE HEAKT. 369 THE HEART A CUP TO A THIRSTING CHRIST. Refuse the cup of gall, O spouse divine ; But wounded hearts afford a pleasant wine. ®t^ Scourging of tte l^eatt. PROV. X. 13. J rod is for the back of him that is void of understanding. W Epig. 44. 'HEN thou withhold'st thy scourges, dearest Love, My sluggish heart is slack, and slow to move : Oh let it not stand still, but lash it rather, And drive it, though unwilling, to thy Father. B B 370 THE SCHOOL OF ODE XLIV. What do those scourges on that sacred flesh, Spotless and pure ? Must he, that doth sin-wearied souls refresh. Himself endure Such tearing tortures ? Must those sides be gash'd? Those shoulders lash'd ? Is this the trimming that the world bestows Upon such robes of Majesty as those ? Is 't not enough to die, unless by pain Thou antedate Thy death before-hand, Lord ? What dost thou mean ? To aggravate The guilt of sin, or to enhance the price Thy sacrifice Amounts to ? Both are Infinite, I know, And can by no additions greater grow. Yet dare I not imagine, that in vain Thou didst endure One stripe : though not thine own thereby, my gain Thou didst procure. That when I shall be scourged for thy sake. Thy stripes may make Mine acceptable, that I may not grutch, When I remember thou hast borne as much : As much, and more for me. Come, then, mine heart, And willingly Submit thyself to suft^er : smile at smart. And death defy. Fear not to feel that hand correcting thee, Which set thee free. Stripes, as the tokens of his love, he leaves, Who scourQ-eth ev'rv son whom he receives THE HEAET. 371 There's foolishness bound up within thee fast : But yet the rod Of fatherly correction at the last. If bless'd by God, Will drive it far away, and wisdom give, That thou may'st live ; Not to thyself, but him that first was slain. And died for thee, and then rose again. Thou art not only dull, and slow of pace, But stubborn too. And refractory ! ready to outface. Rather than do Thy duty : though thou know'st it must be so, Thou wilt not go The way thou shouldst, till some affliction First set thee right, then prick and spur thee on. Top-like thy figure and condition is. Neither to stand, Nor stir thyself alone, whilst thou dost miss An helping hand To set thee up, and store of stripes bestow To make thee go. Beg, then, thy blessed Saviour to transfer His scourges unto thee, to make thee stir. 372 THE SCHOOL OF This thorny diadem, O heart, behold ; Thus hedg'd, no savage can approach the fold. HOSEA II. 6. / will hedge up thy way with thorns, Epig. 45. HE, that of thorns would gather roses, may In his own heart, if handled the right way. Hearts hedgM with Christ's crown of thorns, instead Of thorny cares, will sweetest roses breed. THE HEAET. 373 ODE XLV. A CROWN of thorns ; I thought so : ten to one, A crown without a thorn, there 's none : There 's none on earth, I mean ; what, shall I, then, Rejoice to see him crown'd by men. By whom kings rule and reign ? Or shall I scorn And hate to see earth's curse, a thorn, Preposterously preferrM to crown those brows, From whence all bliss and glory flows. Or shall I both be clad, And also sad, To think it is a crown, and yet so bad ? There's cause enough of both, I must confess : Yet what 's that unto me, unless I take a course his crown of thorns may be Made mine, transferr'd from him to me ? Crowns, had they been ot stars, could add no more Glory, where there was all before : And thorns might scratch him, could not make him worse, Than he was made, sin and a curse. Come, then, mine heart, take down Thy Saviour's crown Of thorns, and see if thou canst make 't thine own. Remember, first, thy Saviour's head was crown'd By the same hands that did him wound : They meant it not to honour, but to scorn him, When in such sort they had betorn him. Think earthly honours such, if they redound : Never believe they mind to dignify Thee, that thy Christ would crucify. Think ev'ry crown a thorn, Unless to adorn Thy Christ, as well as him by whom 'tis worn. 374 THE SCHOOL OF Consider, then, that as the thorny crown Circled thy Saviour^s head, thine own Continual care to please him, and provide For the advantage of his side. Must fence thine actions and affections so, That they shall neither dare to go Out of that compass, nor vouchsafe access To what might make that care go less. Let no such thing draw nigh, Which shall not spy Thorns ready plac'd to prick it till it die. Thus, compassM with thy Saviour's thorny crown. Thou may'st securely sit thee down. And hope that he, who made of water wine. Will turn each thorn into a vine. Where thou may'st gather grapes, and, to delight thee, Roses : nor need the prickles fright thee. Thy Saviour's sacred temples took away The curse that in their sharpness lay. So thou may'st crown'd be. As well as he, And, at the last, light in his light shall see. THE HEAET. 375 THE HEART PIERCED WITH THE NAIL OF GOD'S FEAR. With holy fear let my heart fast'ned be, O thou, once fastened to the cross for me. 2ri)e jTastening of tf)e l^cart JER. XXXII. 40. / will put fear into their hearts^ that they shall not depart from me, Epig. 46. npHOU that wast nailed to the cross for me, '^ Lest I should slip, and fall away from thee, Drive home thine holy fear into mine heart, And clinch it so, that it may ne'er depart. 376 THE SCHOOL OF ODE XLVI. What ? dost thou struggle to get loose again ! Hast thou so soon forgot the former pain, That thy licentious bondage unto sin, And lust-enlarged thraldom, put thee in ? Hast thou a mind again to rove, and ramble Rogue-like, vagrant though the world, and scramble For scraps and crusts of earth-bred, base delights. And change thy days of joy for tedious nights Of sad repentant sorrow ! What ; wilt thou borrow That grief to-day, which thou must pay to-morrow ? No, self-deceiving heart, lest thou shouldst cast Thy cords away, and burst the bands at last Of thy Redeemer's tender love, I '11 try What further fastness in his fear doth lie. The cords of love soaked in lust niay rot, And bands of bounty are too oft forgot : But holy filial fear, like to a nail Fasten'd in a sure place, will never fail. This driven home, will take Fast hold, and make Thee that thou darest not thy God forsake. Remember how, besides thy Saviour's bands. Wherewith they led him bound, his holy hands And feet were pierced, how they nailM him fast Unto his bitter cross, and how at last His precious side was gored with a spear : So hard sharp-pointed iron and steel did tear His tender flesh, that from those wounds might flow The sov'reign salve for sin-procured woe. Then, that thou may'st not fail Of that avail. Refuse not to be fasten'd with his nail. THE HEAET. 377 Love in a heart of flesh is apt to taint, Or be fly-blown with folly : and its faint, And feeble spirits, when it shows most fair, Are often fed on by the empty air Of popular applause, unless the salt Of holy fear in time prevent the fault : But, season'd so it will be kept for ever. He that doth fear, because he loves, will never Adventure to ofFend, But always bend His best endeavours to content his friend. Though perfect love cast out all servile fear. Because such fear hath torment : yet thy dear Redeemer meant not so to set thee free. That filial fear and thou should strangers be. Though as a son, thou honour him thy Father, Yet, as a Master, thou may'st fear hini rather. Fear's the the soui's centinei, and keeps the heart, Wherein love lodges, so, that all the art And industry of those, That are its foes. Cannot betray it to its former woes. THE SCHOOL OF ^\)t Jleto aaine nf tfte f^eart out of tJje latest of t^e CItoggi- Behold, the Cyprian clusters now are press'd j Accept the wine, it flows to make thee bless'd. PSALM CIV. 15. ff^ine that maketh glad the heart of man. Epig. 47. CHRIST, the true vine, grape, cluster, on the cross Trod the wine-press alone, unto the loss Of blood and life. Draw, thankful heart, and spare not Here 's wine enough for all, save those that care not. THE HEART. 379 ODE XLVII. Leave not thy Saviour now, whatever thou dost. Doubtful, distrustful heart ; Thy former pains and labours all are lost, If now thou shalt depart. And faithlessly fall off at last from him. Who, to redeem thee, spar'd nor life nor limb. Shall he, that is thy cluster and thy vine, Tread the wine-press alone, Whilst thou stand^st looking on ? Shall both the wne And work be all his own ? See how he bends, crush'd with the straightenM screw Of that fierce wrath that to thy sins was due. Although thou canst not help to bear it, yet Thrust thyself under too. That thou may^st feel some of the weight, and get. Although not strength to do. Yet will to suffer something as he doth. That the same stress at once may squeeze you both. Thy Saviour being press'd to death, there ran Out of his sacred wounds That wine that maketh glad the heart of man, And all his foes confounds ; Yea, the full-flowing fountain 's open still. For all grace-thirsting hearts to drink their fill : And not to drink alone, to satiate Their longing appetites. Or drown those cumb^rous cares that would abate The edge of their delights ; But, when they toil, and soil themselves with sin. Both to refresh, to purge, to cleanse them in. Thy Saviour hath begun this cup to thee. And thou must not refuse 't. 38o THE SCHOOL OF THE HEAET. Press then thy sin-swoln sides, until they be Empty, and fit to use 't. Do not delay to come, when he doth call ; Nor fear to want, where there 's enough for all. Thy bounteous Redeemer, in his blood, Fills thee not wine alone. But likewise gives his flesh to be thy food. Which thou may^st make thine own, And feed on him who hath himself reveal'd The bread of life, by God the Father seal'd. Nay, he 's not food alone, but physic too. Whenever thou art sick ; And in thy weakness strength, that thou may'st do Thy duty, and not stick At any thing that he requires of thee. How hard soever it may seem to be. Make all the haste, then, that thou canst to come, Before the day be past ; And think not of returning to thy home. Whilst vet the lio-ht doth last. The longer and the more thou draw'st this wine, Still thou shalt find it more and more divine. Or if thy Saviour think it meet to throw Thee in the press again To sufi'er as he did ; yet do not grow Displeased at thy pain : A summer season follows winter weather: SufPring, you shall be glorified together. REV. XXII. 17. The Spirit and the bride say^ Come. And let hi?n that heareth say^ Come. And let him that is athirst co?ne. And whosoever will^ let him take the water of life freely. THE CONCLUSION. 381 Ei)t (Stontlnmn. TS this my period ? Have I now no more ^ To do hereafter ? Shall my mind give o'er Its best employment thus, and idle be, Or busied otherwise ? Should I not see How to improve my thoughts more thriftily. Before I lay these Heart-School lectures by ? Self-knowledge is an everlasting task. An endless work, that doth not only ask A whole man for the time, but challengeth To take up all his hours until death. Yet, as in other schools, they have a care To call for repetitions, and are Busied as well in seeking to retain What they have learn'd already, as to gain Further degrees of knowlegde, and lay by Invention, whilst they practise memory : So must I likewise take some time to view What I have done, ere I proceed anew. Perhaps I may have cause to interline. To alter, or to add : the work is mine, And I may manage it as I see best. With my great Master's leave. Then here I rest From taking out new lessons, till I see How I retain the old in memory. And if it be his pleasure, I shall say These lessons before others, that they may Or learn them too, or only censure me ; I ''11 wait with patience the success to see. 382 THE CONCLUSION. And though I look not to have leave to play (For that this school allows not), yet I may Another time, perhaps, if they approve Of these, such as they are, and show their love To the School of the Heart, by calling for 't. Add other lessons more of the like sort. THE LEAEXIXa OF THE HEARl. 383 Ci^e learning nf t]&e l&cart, THE PREFACE. T AM a scholar. The great Lord of love ■*■ And hfe my tutor is j who, from above, All that lack learning, to his school invites. My heart 's my prayer-book, in which he writes Systems of all the hearts and faculties : First reads to me, then makes me exercise. But all in paradoxes, such high strains As flow from none but love-inspired brains : Yet bids me publish them abroad, and dare T^ extol his arts above all other arts that are. Why should I not ? methinks it cannot be But they should please others as well as me. Come, then, join hands, and let our hearts embrace, Whilst thus Love's labyrinth of art we trace ; I mean the Sciences call'd Liberal : Both Trivium and Quadrivium, seven in all. *^ With the higher faculties, Philosophy ; And Law, and Physic, and Theology. 384 THE LEAENING OF THE HEABT. Ei)t ©rammar of tf)e l^eart PSALM XV. 2. That speaketh the truth in his heart. TVyf Y Grammar, I define to be an art IVl Which teacheth me to write and speak mine heart ; By which I learn that smooth-tongu'd flatteries are False language, and, in love, irregular, Amongst my letters, Vow-wells, I admit Of none but Consonant to Sacred Writ : And therefore, when my soul in silence moans, Half-vowel'd sighs, and double deep-thong'd groans, Mute looks, and liquid tears instead of words. Are of the language that mine heart affords. And, since true love abhors all variations. My Grammar hath no moods nor conjugations. Tenses, nor persons, nor declensions. Cases, nor genders, nor comparisons : Whate'er my Letters are, my Word 's but one, And, on the meaning of it. Love alone. Concord is all my Syntax, and agreement Is in my Grammar perfect regiment. He wants no language that hath learn'd to love : When tongues are still, hearts will be heard above. THE LEAENINQ OF THE HEAET. 385 2rf)e 5Jf)etoric of t\)t ^mxu PSALM XLV. I. Ady heart is inditing a good matter. AyfY Rhetoric is not so much an art, ^^ As an infused habit in mine heart, Which a sweet secret elegance instils, And all my speech with tropes and figures fills. Love is the tongue's elixir, which doth change The ordinary sense of words, and range Them under other kinds ; dispose them so. That to the height of eloquence they grow, E^en in their native plainness, and must be So understood as liketh love and me. When I say Christ, I mean my Saviour ; When his commandment, my behaviour : For to that end it was he hither came. And to this purpose 'tis I bear his name. When I say, Hallow'd be thy name, he knows I would be holy : for his glory grows Together with my good, and he hath not Given more honour than himself hath got. So when I say. Lord, let thy kingdom come. He understands it, I would be at home, To reign with him in glory. So grace brings My Love, in me, to be the King of kings. He teacheth me to say. Thy will be done. But meaneth, he would have me do mine own, By making me to will the same he doth. And so to rule myself, and serve him both. c c 386 THE LEARNING OF THE HEART. So when he saith, My son, give me thine heart, I know his meaning is, that I should part With all I have for him, give him myself. And to be rich in him from worldly pelf. So when he says. Come to me, I know that he Means I should wait his coming unto me : Since 'tis his coming unto me that makes Me come to him : my part he undertakes. And when he says, Behold I come, I know His purpose and intent is, I should go. With all the speed I can, to meet him whence His coming is attractive, draws me hence. Thick-folded repetitions in love Are no tautologies, but strongly move And bind unto attention. Exclamations Are the heart's heav'n-piercing exaltations. Epiphonoemas and Apostrophes Love likes of well, but no Prosopopes. Not doubtful but careful deliberations. Love holds as grounds of strongest resolutions. Thus love and 1 a thousand ways can find To speak and understand each other's mind ; And descant upon that which unto others Is but plain song, and all their music smothers. Nay, that which worldly wit-worms call nonsense. Is many times love's purest eloquence. THE LEARNIXG OF THE HEAET. 387 ^fft Horn Df tf)t i^eart I PETER III. 15. Be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you. "lyrY Logic is the faculty of faith, 1V± Where all things are resolvM into, He saith And ergos, drawn from trust and confidence, Twist and tie truths with stronger consequence Than either sense or reason : for the heart, And not the head, is fountain of this art. And what the heart objects, none can resolve, But God himself, till death the frame dissolve. Nay, faith can after death dispute with dust, And argue ashes into stronger trust, And better hopes, than brass and marble can Be emblems of unto the outward man. All my invention is, to find what terms My Lord and I stand in : how he confirms His promises to me, how I inherit What he hath purchas'd for me by his merit. My judgment is submission to his will. And, when he once hath spoken, to be still. My method 's to be ordered by him ; What he disposeth, that I think most trim. Love's arguments are all, I will. Thou must; What he says and commands, are true and just. When to dispute and argue 's out of season, Then to believe and to obey is reason. This bubble 's Man ; hope, fear, false joy, and trouble, Are those four winds which daily toss this bubble. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE {Both in Blood and Virtue) AND MOST ACCOMPLISHED LADY, MARY, COUNTESS OF DORSET, f.ADY GOVERNESS TO THE MOST ILLUSTRIOUS CHARLES, PRINCE OF GREAT BRITAIN, AND JAMES, DUKE OF YORK. Excellent Lady, I present these tapers to burn under the safe protection of your honourable name 5 where, I presume, they stand secure irom the damps of ignorance, and blasts of censure. It is a small part of that abundant service which my thank- ful heart oweth to your incomparable goodness. Be pleased to honour it with your acceptance, which shall be nothing but what your own esteem skill make it. Madam, Your Ladyship's Most humble servant, Fran. Quarles. TO THE READER. If you are satisfied with my Emblems, I here set before you a second service. It is an Egyptian dish, dressed on the English fashion. They, at their feasts, used to present a death's head at their second course : this will serve for both. You need not fear a surfeit : here is but little, and that light of digestion : if it but please your palate, I question not your stomach. Fall to, and much good may it do you. Convivio addit MInerval, E. B, Rem, regem, regimen, regionem, reUgionemf Exortiatj celebrat, laudat, honoraty amat. HIEROGLYPHICS. 393 HIEROGLYPHICS, I. Sine Lum'ine inane. How canst thou thus be useful to the sight ? What is the taper not endu'd with light ? Behold.^ I was shap PSALM LI. 5. en in iniquity .^ and in sin did my mother conceive me. TVyrAN is man's A, B, C. There 's none that can ^^ Read God aright, unless he first spell man : Man is the stairs, whereby his knowledge climbs To his Creator, though it oftentimes 394 HIEROGLYPHICS OF Stumbles for want of light, and sometimes trips For want of careful heed ; and sometimes slips Through unadvised haste ; and when at length His weary steps have reach'd the top, his strength Oft fails to stand ; his giddy brains turn round, And, Phaeton-like, falls headlong to the ground : These stars are often dark, and full of danger To him, whom want of practice makes a stranger To this blind way ; the lamp of nature lends But a false light, and lights to her own ends. These be the ways to heav'n, these paths require A light that springs from that diviner hre. Whose human soul-enlight'ning sunbeams dart Through the bright crannies of th' immortal part. And here, thou great original of light. Whose error-chasing beams do unbenight The very soul of darkness, and untwist The clouds of ignorance ; do thou assist My feeble quill : reflect thy sacred rays Upon these lines, that they may light the ways That lead to thee ; so guide my heart, my hand. That I may do what others understand. Let my heart practise what my hand shall write : Till then, I am a taper wanting light. This golden precept, " Know thyself," came down From Heaven's high court : it was an art unknown To flesh and blood. The men of nature took Great journeys in it ; their dim eyes did look But through the mist ; like pilgrims, they did spend Their idle steps, but knew no journey^s end. The way to know thyself, is first to cast Thy frail beginning, progress, and thy last : This is the sum of man ; but now return, And view this taper standing in this urn. Behold her substance sordid and impure. Useless and vain, (wanting light) obscure : THE LIFE OF MAN. 395 'Tis but a span at longest, nor can last Beyond that span ; ordain'd and made to waste ; E'en such was man (before his soul gave light To this vile substance) a mere child of nighty Ere he had life, estated in his urn. And mark'd for death ; by nature born to burn : Thus lifeless, lightless, worthless, first began That glorious, that presumptuous thing, call'd man. S. August. Consider, O man, what thou wert before thy birth, and what thou art from thy birth to thy death, and what thou shalt be after death : thou wert made of an im- pure substance, clothed and nourished in thy mother's blood. Epig. I. Forbear, fond taper : what thou seek'st, is fire : Thy own destruction 's lodg'd in thy desire ; Thy wants are far more safe than their supply : He that begins to live, begins to die. 396 HIEROGLYPHICS OF Nesdus unde. At length thou seest it catch the living flame, But know'st not whence the emanation came. GEN. I. 3. And God said^ Let there he light -, and there was light. 'T~*HIS flame-expecting taper hath at length -■■ Received fire, and now begins to burn : It hath no vigour yet, it hath no strength ; Apt to be puff 'd and quench'd at ev'ry turn : THE LIFE OF MA^NT. 397 It was a gracious hand that thus endow'd This snuff with flame : but mark, this hand doth shroud Itself from mortal eyes, and folds it in a cloud. Thus man begins to live. An unknown flame Quickens his finished organs, now possest With motion ; and which motion doth proclaim An active soul, though in a feeble breast j But how, and when infus'd, ask not my pen ; Here lies a cloud before the eyes of men : I cannot tell thee how, nor canst thou tell me when. Was it a parcel of celestial fire, Infus'd by Heav'n into this fleshly mould ? Or was it (think you) made a soul entire ? Then, was it new-created ? or of old ? Or is 't a propagated spark, rakM out From nature's embers ? While we go about By reason to resolve, the more we raise a doubt. If it be part of that celestial flame, It must be e'en as pure, as free from spot, As that eternal fountain whence it came : If pure and spotless, then whence came the blot ? Itself being pure, could not itself defile : Nor hath unactive matter pow'r to soil Her pure and active form, as jars corrupt their oil. Or if it were created, tell me when ? If in the first six days, where kept till now ? Or if thy soul were new-created, then Heav'n did not all, at first, he had to do : Six days expired, all creation ceas'd ; All kinds, e'en from the greatest to the least, Were finished and complete before the day of rest. 398 HIEROGLYPHICS OF But why should man, the lord of creatures, want That privilege which plants and beasts obtain ? Beasts bring forth beasts, the plant a perfect plant. And ev'ry like brings forth her like again ; Shall fowls and fishes, beasts and plants conv^ey Life to their issue, and man less than they ? Shall these get living souls, and man dead lumps of clay ? Must human souls be generated then ? My water ebbs ; behold, a rock is nigh : If nature's work produce the souls of men, Man^s soul is mortal : all that 's born must die. What shall we then conclude ? what sunshine will Disperse this gloomy cloud ? till then be still. My vainly-striving thoughts ; lie down, my puzzled quill. IsiDOR. Why dost thou wonder, O man, at the height of the stars, or the depth of the sea; enter into thine own soul, and wonder there. Thy soul, by creation, is infused ; by infusion, created. Epig. 2. What art thou now the better by this flame ? Thou know^st not how, nor when, nor whence it came : Poor kind of happiness ! that can return No more account but this, to say, I burn. THE LIFE OF MAX, 399 ^0 me cunque trapit. My feeble light is thus toss'd to and fro, The sport of all the envious winds that blow. PSALM cm. l6. The wind passeth over it^ and it is gone. '^rO sooner is this lighted taper set -*-^ Upon the transitory stage Of eye-bedark'ning night, But it is straight subjected to the threat Of envious winds, whose wasteful rage 400 HIEROGLYPHICS OF Disturbs her peaceful light, And makes her substance waste, and makes her flames less bright. No sooner are we born, no sooner come To take possession of this vast. This soul-afflicting earth. But danger meets us at the very womb ; And sorrow, with her full-mouth'd blast. Salutes our painful birth. To put out all our joys, and pufFout all our mirth. Nor infant innocence, nor childish tears, Nor youthful wit, nor manly power. Nor politic old age, Nor virgin^s pleading, nor the widow's prayers. Nor lowly cell, nor lofty tower. Nor prince, nor peer, nor page. Can 'scape this common blast, or curb our stormy rage. Our life is but a pilgrimage of blasts, And ev'ry blast brings forth a fear ; And ev'ry fear a death ; The more it lengthens, ah ! the more it wastes : Where, were we to continue here The days of long-liv'd Seth, Our sorrows would renew, as we renew our breath. Toss'd to and fro, our frighted thoughts are driven With ev'ry puff, with ev'ry tide Of life-consuming care ; Our peaceful flame, that would point up to heaven, Is still disturb'd, and turn'd aside ; And ev'ry blast of air Commits such waste in man, as man cannot repair. We are all born debtors, and we firmly stand Oblig'd for our first parents' debt, Besides our interest ; HIEROGLYPHICS OF 401 Alas ! we have no harmless counterbond : And we are ev^ry hour beset With threat'nings of arrest, And, till we pay the debt, we can expect no rest. What may this sorrow-shaken life present, To the false relish of our taste. That's worth the name of sweet ? Her minute's pleasure ^s chok'd with discontent, Her glory soil'd with ev'ry blast ; How many dangers meet Poor man between the bi2:2:in and the windino;-sheet ! S. August. In the world, not to be grieved, not to be afflicted, not to be in danger, is impossible. Ibidem. Behold, the world is full of trouble, yet beloved : what if it were a pleasing world ? how wouldst thou delight in her calms^ that canst so well endure hei storms ? Epig. 3. Art thou consum'd with soul-afflicting crosses ? Disturb'd with grief? annoy'd with worldly losses ? Hold up thy head : the taper, lifted high. Will brook the wind, when lower tapers die. D D 402 HIEROGLYPHICS OF Curar.do labasck. The flame by trimming burns more briglit and fast, But Olsten trimming makes the taper waste. MATT. IX. 12. The whole need not a physician. A LWAYS pruning, always cropping -^^ Is her brightness still obscurM ? Ever dressing, ever topping Always curing, never curM ? Too much snuffing makes a waste When the spirits spend too fast, They will shrink at ev'ry blast. THE LIFE OF MAX. 403 You that always are bestowing Costly pains in life repairing, Are but always overthrowino; Nature's work by over-caring Nature, meeting with her foe, In a work she hath to do, Takes a pride to overthrow. Nature knows her own perfection, And her pride disdains a tutor ; Cannot stoop to art^s correction. And she scorns a coadjutor. Saucy art should not appear, Till she wnisper in her ear : Hagar flees, if Sarah bear. Nature worketh for the better, If not hinder'd that she cannot ; Art stands by as her abettor. Ending nothing she began not ; If distemper chance to seize, (Nature foil'd with the disease,) Art may help her if she please. But to make a trade of trying Drugs and doses, always pruning. Is to die for fear of dying ; He^s untun'd that^s always tuning. He that often loves to lack Dear-bought drugs, hath found a knack To foil the man, and feed the quack. O the sad, the frail condition Of the pride of nature's glory! How infirm his composition, And, at best, how transitory I When this riot doth impair Nature's weakness, then his care Adds more ruin by repair. 404 HIEROGLYPHICS OF Hold thy hand, health's dear maintainer, Life, perchance, may burn the stronger Having substance to sustain her. She, untouch'd, may last the longer ; When the artist goes about To redress her flame, I doubt, Oftentimes he snuffs it out. NiCOCLES. Physicians, of all men, are most happy : what good success soever they have, the world proclaimeth ; and what faults they commit, the earth covereth. Epig. 4. My purse being heavy, if my light appear But dim, quack comes to make all clear ; Quack, leave thy trade ; thy dealings are not right, Thou tak'st our weighty gold to give us light. THE LIFE OF :MAX. 405 Te auxU'iante^ resurgo. The winds with all their breath may blow, in vain. For by thy help I am reviv'd again. PSALM XCI. II. And he will give his angels charge over thee. r\ HOW mine eyes could please themselves, and ^^ spend Perpetual ages in this precious sight ! How I could woo eternity, to lend My wasting day, an antidote for night ! And how my flesh could with my flesh contend. That views this object with no more delight! 4o6 HIEROGLYPHICS OF My work is great, my taper spends too fast : 'Tis all I have, and soon would out or waste, Did not this blessed screen protect it from this blast. O, I have lost the jewel of my soul. And I must find it out, or I must die : Alas ! my sin-made darkness doth control The bright endeavour of my careful eye : I must go search and ransack evVy hole ; Nor have I other light to seek it by : O if this light be spent, my work not done, My labour 's worse than lost ; my jewel 's gone, And I am quite forlorn, and I am quite undone. You blessed angels, you that do enjoy The full fruition of eternal glory. Will you be pleased to fancy such a toy As man, and quit your glorious territory. And stoop to earth, vouchsafing to employ Your care to guard the dust that lies before ye f Disdain you not these lumps of dying clay. That for your pains do oftentimes repay Neglect, if not disdain, and send you grievM away ? This taper of our lives, that once was placM In the fair suburbs of eternity. Is now, alas ! confin'd to evVy blast. And turnM a maypole for the sporting fly; And will you, sacred spirits, please to cast Your care on us, and lend a gracious eye ? How had this slender inch of taper been Blasted and blaz'd, had not this heav'nly screen Curbed the proud blast, and timely stepp'd between ? O goodness, far transcending the report Of lavish tongues ! too vast to comprehend ! Amazing quill, how far dost thou come short To express expressions that so far transcend ! THE LIFE OF [MAN. 407 You blessed courtiers ofth' eternal court, Whose full-mouthM hallelujahs have no end, Receive that world of praises that belongs To your great Sov'reign ; fill your holy tongues With our hosannas mixM with your seraphic songs. S. Bern. If thou desirest the help of angels, fly the comforts of the world, and resist the temptations of the devil. He will give his angels charge over thee. O what reverence, what love, what confidence, deserveth so sweet a saying ! For their presence, reverence ; for their good will, love ; for their tuition, confidence. Epig. 5. My flame, art thou disturb'd, diseas'd, and driven To death with storms of grief? point thou to Heaven One angel there shall ease thee more alone, Than thrice as many thousands of thy own. 4o8 HIEEOGLYPHICS OF Tempus erit. The time shall come when all must yield their breath : Till then, Time checks th' uplifted hand of Death. ECCLES. III. I. To everything there is an appointed time, TIME. DEATH. Time. D EHOLD the frailty of this slender snuft ; ^ Alas ! it hath not long to last j Without the help of either thief or puff, Her weakness knows the way to waste : THE LIFE OF MAN. 409 Nature hath made her substance apt enough To spend itself, and spend too fast : It needs the help of none, That is so prone To lavish out untouch'd, and languish all alone. Death. Time, hold thy peace, and shake thy slowpac'd sand ; Thine idle minutes make no way : Thy glass exceeds her hour, or else doth stand : I cannot hold, I cannot stay. Surcease thy pleading, and enlarge my hand ; I surfeit with too long delay : This brisk, this bold-fac'd light Doth burn too bright; Darkness adorns my throne, my day is darkest night. Time. Great prince of darkness, hold thy needless hand ; Thy captive ^s fast, and cannot flee : What arm can rescue, who can countermand ? What power can set thy prisoner free r Or if they could, what close, what foreign land Can hide that head that flees from thee ? But if her harmless light Offend thy sight. What need'st thou snatch at noon, what will be thine at night ? Death. I have outstay'd my patience : my quick trade Grows dull, and makes too slow return : This long-liv'd debt is due, and should been paid When first her flame began to burn ; But I have stay'd too long, I have delayed To store my vast, my craving urn. My patent gives me pow'r Each day, each hour. To strike the peasant's thatch, and shake the princely tower. 410 HIEROGLYPHICS OF Time. Thou count'st too fast : thy patent gives no power Till Time shall please to say, Amen. Death. Canst thou appoint my shaft ? Time. Or thou my hour? Death. 'Tis I bid, do. Time. 'Tis I bid, when ; Alas ! thou canst not make the poorest flower To hang the drooping head till then : Thy shafts can neither kill. Nor strike, until My power gives them wings, and pleasure arms thy will. S. August. Thou knowest not what time he will come : wait always, that because thou knowest not the time of his coming, thou mayest be prepared against the time he Cometh. And for this, perchance, thou knowest not the time, because thou mayest be prepared against all times. Epig. 6. Expect, but fear not Death : Death cannot kill, Till Time (that first must seal her patent) will : Wouldst thou live long ? keep Time in high esteem ; Whom gone, if thou canst not recall, redeem. THE LIFE OF I^IAX. 411 Nee iinej nee tecum Nor with thee, nor without thee, is she bright : For thy fierce rays put out her feeble light. JOB XVIII. 6. His light shall be dark^ and his candle shall he put out "I TTHAT ails our taper ? is her lustre fled, ^^ Or foil'd \ What dire disaster bred This change, that thus she veils her drooping head ? It vi^as but very now she shin'd as fair As Venus' star ; her glory might compare With Cynthia, burnishM with her brother^s hair. 4r2 HIEROGLYPHICS OF There was no cave-begotten damp that mought Abuse her beams ; no wind that went about To break her peace ; no puff to put her out. Lift up thy wondering thoughts, and thou shalt spy A cause will clear thy doubts, but cloud thine eye : Subjects must veil, when as their sov'reign 's by. Canst thou behold bright Phoebus, and thy sight No whit impair'd ? the object is too bright The weaker yields unto the stronger light. Great God, I am thy taper, thou my sun ; From thee, the spring of light, my light begun ; Yet if thy light but shine, my light is done. If thou withdraw thy light, my light will shine : If thine appear, how poor a light is mine ! My light is darkness, if compar'd to thine. Thy sunbeams are too strong for my weak eye ! If thou but shine, how nothing. Lord, am I ! Ah ! who can see thy visage, and not die ! If intervening earth should make a night, My wanton flame would then shine forth too bright ; My earth would e'en presume to eclipse thy light. And if thy light be shadow'd, and mine fade. If thine be dark, and my dark light decay'd, I should be clothed with a double shade. What shall I do .? O what shall I desire ? What help can my distracted thoughts require That thus am wasted 'twixt a double fire ? In what a strait, in what a strait am I ! 'Twixt two extremes, how my rack'd fortunes lie ! See I thy face, or see it not, I die. O let the streams of my Redeemer's blood, That breathes from my sick soul, be made a cloud, To interpose these lights, and be my shroud. THE LIFE OF MAN. 4^3 Lord, what am I ! or what's the light I have ! May it but light my ashes to the grave, And so from thence to thee ; 'tis all I crave. O make my light, that all the world may see Thy glory by 't : if not, it seems to me Honour enough to be put out by thee. O light inaccessible, in respect of which my light is utter darkness ; so reflect upon my weakness, that all the world may behold thy strength ! O majesty incom- prehensible, in respect of which, my glory is mere shame : so shine upon my misery, that all the world may behold thy glory ! Epig. 7. Wilt thou complain, because thou art bereav'n Of all thy light ? wilt thou vie lights with Heav'n ? Can thy bright eye not brook the daily light ? Take hjed : I fear, thou art a child of night. 414 HIEROGLYPHICS OF 8 Nee "virtus ohscura petit. Virtue can ne'er in this dark shade delight : Poor is that worth which hides its useful light. MATT. V. l6. Let your light so shine, that men^ seeing your good ivorks^ may glorify ycur Father which is in heaven. AS it for this, the breath of Heav'n was blown Into the nostrils of this heav'nly creature ? Was it for this, that sacred Three in One Conspir'd to make this quintessence of nature? Did heav'nly Providence intend So rare a fabric for so poor an end ? W THE LIFE OF MAX. 415 Was man, the highest masterpiece of nature, The curious abstract of the whole creation. Whose soul was copy'd from his great Creator, Made to give light, and set for observation, Ordain'd for this ? to spend his light In a dark lantern, cloister'd up in night ? Tell me, recluse monastic, can it be A disadvantage to thy beams to shine ? A thousand tapers may gain light from thee : Is thy light less or worse for lightening mine ? If wanting light I stumble, shall Thy darkness not be guilty of mv fall ? Why dost thou lurk so close ? Is it for fear Some busy eye should pry into thy flame. And spy a thief, or else some blemish there ? Or, being spy'd, shrink'st thou thy head for shame ? Come, come, fond taper, shine but clear. Thou need'st not shrink for shame, nor shroud for fear. Remember, O remember, thou wert set For men to see the great Creator by ; Thy flame is not thine own ; it is a debt Thou ow^st thy Master. And wilt thou deny To pay the interest of thy light ? And skulk in corners, and play least in sight ? Art thou afraid to trust thy easy flame To the injurious waste of fortune's puff? Ah ! coward, rouse, and quit thyself for shame : Who dies in service, hath liv'd long enough : Who shines, and makes no eye partaker, Usurps himself, and closely robs his Maker. Make not thyself a prisoner, that art free : Why dost thou turn thy palace to a jail ? Thou art an eagle : and befits it thee To Hve immured hke a cloisterM snail ? 41 6 HIEROGLYPHICS OF Let toys seek corners ; things of cost Gain worth by view : hid jewels are but lost. My God, my light is dark enough at lightest. Increase her flame, and give her strength to shine 'Tis frail at best ; 'tis dim enough at brightest ; But ^tis its glory to be foil'd by thine : Let others lurk : my light shall be Proposed to all men ; and by them to thee. S. Bern. If thou be one of the foolish virgins, the congregation is necessary for thee ; if thou be one of the wise virgins, thou art necessary for the congregation. Hugo. Monastics make cloisters to inclose the outward man : O would to God they would do the like to restrain the inward man ! Epig. 8. Afraid of eyes ? what, still play least in sight ? 'Tis much to be presumed all is not right : Too close endeavours bring forth dark events : Come forth, monastic j here' s no parliaments. THE LIFE OF :\IA^', 417 Ut luna, infantla tirpet. Cold, like the moon, are these thy iniant days : But Phcebus soon shall warm thee with his rays. JOB XIV. 2. He Cometh forth like a flower^ and is cut down. Behold, How short a span Was long enough of old To measure out the life of man ; In those well-temper'd days ! his time was then Survey'd, cast up, and found but threescore years and ten. E E 41 8 HIEROGLYPHICS OF Alas ! And what is that ? They come, and slide, and pass. Before my pen can tell thee what. The posts of time are swift, which having run Their seven short stages o'er, their short-liv'd task is done. Ou7- days Begun we lend To sleep, to antic plays And toys, until the first stage end : Twelve waning moons, twice five times told, we give To unrecover'd loss : we rather breathe than live. IVe spend A ten years' breath Before we apprehend What 'tis to live, or fear a death : Our childish dreams are fill'd with painted joys. Which please our sense awhile, and, waking, prove but toys. How vain^ How wretched, is Poor man, that doth remain A slave to such a state as this ! His days are short, at longest ; few at most : They are but bad, at best ; yet lavish'd out, or lost. They be The secret springs That make our minutes flee On wheels more swift than eagles' wings : Our life 's a clock, and every gasp of breath Breathes forth a warning grief, till Time shall strike a death. THE LIFE OF MAX. 419 Hgw soon Our new-born light Attains to full-agM noon ! And this, how soon to gray-hair'd night ! We spring, we bud, we blossom, and we blast, Ere we can count our days, our days they flee so fast. They end When scarce begun ; And ere we apprehend That we begin to live, our life is done : Man, count thy days ; and, if they flv too fast For thy dull thoughts to count, count every day the last. Our infancy is consumed In eating and sleeping ; in all which time, what differ we from beasts, but by a possi- bility of reason, and a necessity of sin ! O misery of mankind, in whom no sooner the image of God appeareth in the act of his reason, but the devil blurs it in the corruption of his will ! Epig. 9. TO THE DECREPID MAN. Thus was the first seventh part of thy few days Consumed in sleep, in food, in toyish plays : Know'st thou what tears thine eyes imparted then ? Review thy loss, and weep them o'er again. lIIElLOGLYrHICS OF lO. Proles tua, Mala, Jwventus. Now active, heedless, volatile, and gay, Are youth ; the offspring of the laughing May. JOB XX. II. HU hones are full of the sin of his youth. npHE swift-wing'd post of Time hath now begun ^ His second stage ; The dawning of" our age Is lost and spent without a sun ; The light of reason did not yet appear Within the horizon of this hemisphere. THE LIFE OF MAX. 421 The infant will had yet no other guide But twilight sense ; And what is gain'd from thence, But doubtful steps that tread aside ! Reason now draws her curtains ; her closM eyes Begin to open, and she calls to rise. Youth's now disclosing buds peep out, and show Her April head ; And from her grass-green bed, Her virgin primrose early blows ; Whilst waking Philomel prepares to sing Her warbling sonnets to the wanton spring. His stage is pleasant, and the way seems short. All strew'd with flowers ; The days appear but hours, Being spent in time-beguiling sport. Her griefs do neither press, nor doubts perplex ; Here's neither fear to curb, nor care to vex. His downy cheeks grow proud, and now disdains The tutor's hand j He glories to command The proud-neck'd steed with prouder reins : The strong-breath'd horn must now salute his ear With the glad downfall of the falling deer. His quick-nos'd army, with their deep-mouth'd sounds, iVLust now prepare To chase the tim'rous hare, About his yet unmortgag'd grounds ; The ill he hates, is counsel and delay ; And fears no mischief but a rainy day. The thought he takes, is how to take no thought For bale nor bliss ; And late repentance is The last dear penn'worth that he bought : 422 HIEROGLYPHICS OF He is a dainty morning, and he may, If lust o'ercast him not, be as fair a day. Proud blossom, use thy time : Time's headstrong horse Will post away. Trust not the following day. For every day brings forth a worse : Fake time at best : believ't, thy days will fall From good to bad, from bad to worst of all. S. Ambros. Humility is a rare thing in a young man, therefore to be admired : when youth is vigorous, when strength is firm, when blood is hot, when cares are strangers, when mirth is free, then pride swelleth, and humility is despised. Epig. 10. TO THE OLD MAN. Thy years are newly gray, his newly green ! His youth may live to see what thine hath seen He is thy parallel : his present stage And thine are the two tropics of man's age. THE LIFE OF :MAN. 423 I I 'Jam ruit in Venerem. His strength increasing, now he burns to prove The pleasing pains, and flatt'ring sweets of love. ECCLES. XI. 9. Rejoice^ O young man^ and let thy heart cheer thee^ but know^ isfc. TjOW flux, how alterable is the date ^^ Of transitory things ! How hurried on the clipping wings Of Time, and driven upon the wheels of Fate ! 424 HIEROGLYPHICS OF How one condition brings The leading prologue to another state ! No transitory things can last : Change waits on Time, and Time is wingM with haste , Time present ■'s but the ruin, of Time past. Behold how change hath inch'd away thy span ; And how thy light doth burn Nearer and nearer to thine urn ! For this dear Vv'aste, what satisfaction can Injurious Time return Thy shortened days, but this the style of man ? And what 's a man ? A cask of care, New-tunn-'d and working : he 's a middle stair 'Twixt birth and death j a blast of full-ag'd air. His breast is tinder, apt to entertain The sparks of Cupid's fire, Whose new-blown flames must now inquire . A wanton julep out, which may restrain The rage of his desire, Whose painful pleasure is but pleasing pain : His life 's a sickness, that doth rise From a hot liver, whilst his passion lies Expecting cordials from his mistress' eyes. His stage is strew'd with thorns, and deck'd with flowers * His year sometimes appears A minute ; and his minutes years : His doubtful weather's sunshine mix'd with showers ; His traffic, hopes and fears ; His life's a medley, made of sweets and sours ; His pains reward his smiles and pouts ; His diet is fair language mTx'd with flouts ; He is a nothing, all composed of doubts. THE LIFE OF MAN. 4*5 Do, waste thine inch, proud span of living earth, Consume thy golden days In slavish freedom ; let thy ways Take best advantage of thy frolic mirth ; Thy stock of time decays, And lavish plenty still foreruns a dearth : The bird that 's flown may turn at last ; And painful labour may repair a waste, But pains nor price can call my minutes past. Ben. Expect great joy when thou shalt lay down the mind of a child, and deserve the style of a wise man ; for at those years childhood is past, but oftentimes childish- ness remaineth ; and, what is worse, thou hast the authority of a man, but the voice of a child. Epig. II. TO THE DECLINING MAN. Why stand'st thou discontented .'' Is not he As equal-distant from the top as thee ? What then may cause thy discontented frown ? He 's mounting up the hill ; thou plodding down. 426 HIEROGLYPHICS OF 12. Ut Sol ardore ni'irili. Now like the sun he glows with manly fire ; Invokes the muse, and strikes the Thracian lyre. DEUT. XXXIII. 25. As thy days^ so shall thy strength be. 1 HE post Of swift-foot time Hath now at length begun The kalends of our middle stage : The number'd steps that we have gone, do show THE LIFE OF ]\IAN. 427 The number of those steps we are to go : The buds and blossoms of our age Are blown, decayed, and gone, And all our prime Is lost : And what we boast too much, we have least cause to boast. Ah me! There is no rest : Our time is always fleeing, What rein can curb our headstrong hours ? They post away : they pass we know not how : Our Now is gone, before we can say now : Time past and future 's none of ours : That hath as yet no being ; And this hath ceas'd To be ; What is, is only ours : how short a time have we ! And now Apollo's ear Expects harmonious strains. New-minted from the Thracian lyre ; For now the virtue of the twy-fork'd hill Inspires the ravish'd fancy, and doth fill The veins with Pegasean fire : And now those sterile brains, That cannot show Nor bear Some fruits, shall never wear Apollo's sacred bow. Excess And surfeit uses To wait upon these days ; Full feed and flowing cups of wine Conjure the fancy, forcing up a spirit By the base magic of debauchM delight ; 428 HIEROGLYPHICS OF Ah ! pity, twice-born Bacchus' vine Should starve Apollo's bays, And drown those muses That bless And calm the peaceful soul, when storms of care oppress. Strong light, Boast not those beams That can but only rise And blaze awhile, and then away : There is no solstice in thy day ; Thy midnight glory lies Betwixt th' extremes Of night, A glory soil'd with shame, and fool'd with false delight. Hast thou climbed up to the full age of thy few days ? Look backwards, and thou shalt see the frailty of thy youth, the folly of thy childhood, and the waste of thy infancy ; look forwards, thou shalt see the cares of the world, the troubles of thy mind, the diseases of thy body. EpIG. 12. TO THE MIDDLE-AGED. Thou that art prancing on the lusty noon Of thy full age, boast not thyself too soon : Convert that breath to wail thy fickle state ; Take heed, thou 'It brag too soon, or boast too late. THE LIFE OF :^IAX. 429 Et Martem sfirat et Arma. And now, rejoicing in tlie loud alarms, He pants for war, and sighs for deeds of arms. JOHN III. 30. He must increase, hut I must decrease* npIME voids the table, dinner 's done : -*■ And now our day's declining sun Hath hurried his diurnal load To the borders of the western road ; Fierce Phlegon, with his fellow-steeds, Now pufFs and pants, and blows and bleeds, 43 o HIEROGLYPHICS OF And froths and fumes, remembering still Their lashes up th' Olympic hill ; Which, having conquered, now disdain The whip, and champ the frothy rein. And with a full career they bend Their paces to their journey's end: Our blazing taper now has lost Her better half; nature hath crost Her forenoon book, and clear'd that score, But scarce gives trust for so much more : And now the gen'rous sap forsakes Her seir-grown twig : a breath e'en shakes The down-ripe fruit : fruit soon divorc'd From her dear branch, untouch'd, unforc'd. Now sano-uine Venus doth beo;in o to To draw her wanton colours in. And flees neglected in disgrace, Whilst Mars supplies her lukewarm place : Blood turns to choler : what this age Loses in strength, it finds in rage : That rich enamel, which, of old, Damask'd the downy cheek, and told A harmless guilt, unask'd, is now Worn off from the audacious brow ; Luxurious dalliance, midnight revels. Loose riot, and those venial evils Which inconsiderate youth of late Could plead, now want an advocate : And what appear'd in former times Whisp'ring as faults, now roar as crimes j And now all ye, whose lips were wont To drench their coral in the font Of fork'd Parnassus ; you that be The sons of Phoebus, and can flee On wings of fancy, to display The flag of high invention ; stay. THE LIFE OF MAN. 431 Repose your quills ; your veins grow sour, Tempt not your salt beyond her power ; If your pall'd fancies but decline, Censure will strike at ever)' line, And wound your names ; the popular ear Weighs what you are, not what you were : Thus, hackney-like, we tire our age, Spur-gaird with change from stage to stage. Seest thou the daily light of the greater world ? when attained to the highest pitch of meridian glory, it stayeth not; but by the same degrees it ascended, it descendeth. And is the light of the lesser world more permanent ? Continuance is the child of eternity, not of time. Epig. 13. TO THE YOUNG MAN. Young man, rejoice; and let thy rising days Cheer thy glad heart : think'st thou these uphill ways Lead to death^s dungeon ? No ; but know withal A rising 's but a prologue to a fall. 43* HIEROGLYPHICS OF 14. Invidioia ^mcfjs. Envious oli age obscures thy feeble light, And gives thee warning of approaching night. JOHN XII. 35. Tet a little while is the light with you. '"pHE day grows old, the low-pitch'd lamp hath made -*■ No less than treble shade. And the descending damp doth now prepare To uncurl bright Titan's hair ; Whose western wardrobe now begins to unfold Her purples, fring'd with gold, THE LIFE OF MAX. 4.33 To clothe his ev'ning glory, when th' alarms Of rest shall call to rest in restless Thetis' arms. Nature now calls to supper, to refresh The spirits of all flesh ; The toiling ploughman drives his thirsty teams To taste the slipp'ry streams ; The droiling swineherd knocks away, and feasts His hungry whining guests : The box-bill ouzel, and the dappled thrush. Like hungry rivals, meet at their beloved bush. And now the cold autumnal dews are seen To cobweb ev'ry green ; And by the low-shorn rowens doth appear The fast-declining year : The sapless branches doff their summer suits. And wane their winter fruics j And stormy blasts have forc'd the quaking trees To wrap their trembling limbs in suits of mossy freeze. Our wasted taper now has brought her light To the next door to-night ; Her sprightless flame, grown great with snuff, doth turn Sad as her neighb'ring urn : Her slender inch, that yet unspent remains, Lights but to further pains ; And, in a silent language, bids her guest Prepare his weary hmbs to take eternal rest. Now careful age hath pitch'd her painful plough Upon the furrow'd brow j And snowy blasts of discontented care Have blanch'^d the falling hair : Suspicious envy, mix'd with jealous spite. Disturbs his weary night : He threatens youth with age ; and now, alas ! He owns not what he is, but vaunts the man he was. F F 434 HIEROGLYPHICS OF Gray hairs, peruse thy days ; and let thy past Read lectures to thy last : Those hasty wings, that hurried them away, Will give these days no day : The constant wheels of nature scorn to tire Until her works expire : That blast that nipp'd thy youth, will ruin thee ; That hand that shook the branch, will quickly strike the tree. S. Chrys. Gray hairs are honourable, when the behaviour suits with gray hairs : but when an ancient man hath childish manners, he becometh more ridiculous than a child. Ben. Thou art in vain attained to old years, that repeatest thy youth fulness. Epig. 14. TO THE YOUTH. Sees thou this good old man ? He represents Thy future, thou his preterperfect tense : Thou goest to labour, he prepares to rest : Thou break'st thy fast, he sups ; now which is best ? THE LIFE OF :MAN, 435 Piuirbem in lerram. The sun now sets ; all hopes of life are fled ; And to the earth we sink like weights of lead. PSALM XC. 10. The days of our years are threescore years and ten, SO have I seen th' illustrious prince of light Rising in glory from his crocean bed, And trampling down the horrid shades of night, Advancing more and more his conq'ring head ; Pause first, decline, at length begin to shroud His fainting brows within a coa -black cloud. 436 HIE'xlOGLYPHICS OF So have I seen a well-built castle stand Upon the tip-toes of a lofty hill, Whose active powder commands both sea and land, And curbs the pride of the beleaguerers' w^ill : At length her ag'd foundation fails her trust. And lays her tott'ring ruins in the dust. So have I seen the blazing taper shoot Her golden head into the feeble air ; Whose shadow-gilding ray, spread round about, Makes the foul face of black-brow'd darkness fair : Till at the length her wasting glory fades, And leaves the night to her invet'rate shades. E'en so this little world of living clay, The pride of nature, glorified by art. Whom earth adores, and all her hosts obey, Allied to Heaven by his diviner part, Triumphs a while, then droops, and then decays j And, worn by age, death cancels all his days. That glorious sun, that whilom shone so bright, Is now 6'en ravish'd from our darkened eyes : That sturdy castle, mannM with so much might, Lies now a mon'ment of her own disguise : That blazing taper, that disdainM the pufF Of troubled air, scarce owns the name of snufF. Poor bedrid man ! where is that glory now. Thy youth so vaunted ? where that majesty Which sat enthroned upon thy manly brow ? Where, where that braving arm ? that daring eye ? Those buxom tunes ? those Bacchanalian tones ? Those swelling veins ? those marrow-flaming bones ? Thy drooping glory^s blurr'd, and prostrate lies, Grov'ling in dust : and frightful horror, now, Sharpens the glances of thy gashful eyes ; Whilst fear perplexes thy distracted brow : THE LIFE OF MAX. 437 Thy panting breast vents all her breath by groans, And death enerves thy marrow-wasted bones. Thus man that ^s born of woman can remain But a short time : his days are full of sorrow ; His life ^s a penance, and his death 's a pain ; Springs like a flower to-day, and fades to-morrow : His breath ^s a bubble, and his day 's a span ; 'Tis glorious misery to be born a man ! Cypr. When eyes are dim, ears deaf, visage pale, teeth decayed, skin withered, breath tainted, pipes furred, knees trembling, hands fumbling, feet failing ; the sudden downfall of thy house is near at hand. S. August. All vices wax old by age : covetousness alone groweth young. Epig. 15. TO THE INFANT. What he doth spend in groans, thou spend'st in tears : Judgment and strength 's alike in both your years ; He 's helpless ; so art thou ; what difPrence then? He 's an old infant ; thou, a young old man. Printed by GEORGE Watson, s, Kirby Street, Haiion Garden.