The Minor Poems of Joseph Beaumont ... Edited from the autograph manuscript with introduction and notes by Eloise Robinson |
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Jesus inter Ubera Maria
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 | The Minor Poems of Joseph Beaumont |  |
16
Jesus inter Ubera Maria
In ye coolnesse of ye day
The old Worlds Even, God all undrest went downe
Without His Roab, without His Crowne,
Into His private garden, there to lay
On spicey Bed
His Sweeter Head.
The old Worlds Even, God all undrest went downe
Without His Roab, without His Crowne,
Into His private garden, there to lay
On spicey Bed
His Sweeter Head.
There He found two Beds of Spice,
A double Mount of Lillies, in whose Top
Two milkie Fountaines bubled up.
He soon resolv'd: & well I like, He cries,
My table spread
Upon my Bed.
A double Mount of Lillies, in whose Top
Two milkie Fountaines bubled up.
He soon resolv'd: & well I like, He cries,
My table spread
Upon my Bed.
Scarcely had He 'gun to feed,
When troops of Cherubs hover'd round about;
And on their golden Wings they brought
All Edens flowers. But We cry'd out; No need
Of flowers heere;
Sweet Spirits, forbeare.
When troops of Cherubs hover'd round about;
And on their golden Wings they brought
All Edens flowers. But We cry'd out; No need
Of flowers heere;
Sweet Spirits, forbeare.
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True, He needs no Sweets, say They,
But Sweets have need of Him, to keep them so.
Now Paradise springs new with you,
Old Edens Beautie's all inclin'd this way;
And We are come
To bring them home.
But Sweets have need of Him, to keep them so.
Now Paradise springs new with you,
Old Edens Beautie's all inclin'd this way;
And We are come
To bring them home.
Paradise springs new with you,
Where 'twixt those Beds of Lillies you may see
Of Life ye Everlasting Tree.
Sweet is your reason, then said Wee, come strow
Your pious showres
Of Easterne Flowres.
Where 'twixt those Beds of Lillies you may see
Of Life ye Everlasting Tree.
Sweet is your reason, then said Wee, come strow
Your pious showres
Of Easterne Flowres.
Chorus
Winds awake, & with soft Gale
Awake ye Odours of our Garden too;
By wch your selv's perfumed goe
Through every Quarter of your World, that All
Your sound may heare,
And breathe your Aire.
Awake ye Odours of our Garden too;
By wch your selv's perfumed goe
Through every Quarter of your World, that All
Your sound may heare,
And breathe your Aire.
| The Minor Poems of Joseph Beaumont | |