The Poetical Works of William Drummond of Hawthornden ::

Triumphant Arches, Statues crown'd with Bayes,
Proude Obeliskes, Tombes of the vastest frame,
Colosses, brasen Atlases of Fame,
Phanes vainelie builded to vaine Idoles praise;
States, which vnsatiate Mindes in blood doe raise,
From the Crosse-starres vnto the Articke Teame,
Alas! and what wee write to keepe our Name,
Like Spiders Caules are made the sport of Dayes:
All onely constant is in constant Change,
What done is, is vndone, and when vndone,
Into some other figure doeth it range;
Thus moues the restlesse World beneath the Moone:
Wherefore (my Minde) aboue Time, Motion, Place,
Thee raise, and Steppes, not reach'd by Nature trace.

[ii] [Humane Frailtie.]

A Good that neuer satisfies the Minde,
A Beautie fading like the Aprile flowres,
A Sweete with floodes of Gall that runnes combind,
A Pleasure passing ere in thought made ours,
A Honour that more fickle is than winde,
A Glorie at Opinions frowne that lowres,
A Treasurie which Bankrout Time deuoures,
A Knowledge than graue Ignorance more blind:
A vaine Delight our equalles to command,
A Stile of greatnesse, in effect a Dreame,
A fabulous Thought of holding Sea and Land,
A seruile Lot, deckt with a pompous Name,
Are the strange endes wee toyle for heere below,
Till wisest Death make vs our errores know.

[i] [The Permanencie of Life.]

Life a right shadow is,
For if it long appeare,
Then is it spent, and Deathes long Night drawes neare;
Shadowes are mouing, light,
And is there ought so mouing as is this?
When it is most in Sight,
It steales away, and none can tell how, where,
So neere our Cradles to our Coffines are.

[iii] [No Trust in Tyme.]

Looke how the Flowre, which lingringlie doth fade,
The Mornings Darling late, the Summers Queene,
Spoyl'd of that Iuice, which kept it fresh and greene,
As high as it did raise, bowes low the head:
Right so my Life. (Contentments beeing dead,
Or in their Contraries but onelie seene)
With swifter speede declines than earst it spred,
And (blasted) scarce now showes what it hath beene.
As doth the Pilgrime therefore whom the Night
By darknesse would imprison on his way,
Thinke on thy Home (my Soule) and thinke aright,
Of what yet restes thee of Lifes wasting Day:
Thy Sunne postes Westward, passed is thy Morne,
And twice it is not giuen thee to bee borne.

[iv] [Worldes Ioyes are Toyes.]

The wearie Mariner so fast not flies
An howling Tempest, Harbour to attaine,
Nor Sheepheard hastes, when frayes of Wolues arise,
So fast to Fold to saue his bleeting Traine:
As I (wing'd with Contempt and just Disdaine)
Now flie the World, and what it most doth prize,
And Sanctuarie seeke, free to remaine
From wounds of abject Times, and Enuies eyes.
Once did this World to mee seeme sweete and faire,
While Senses light Mindes prospectiue keept blind,
Now like imagin'd Landskip in the Aire,
And weeping Raine-bowes, her best Ioyes I finde:
Or if ought heere is had that praise should haue,
It is a Life obscure, and silent Graue.

[v] [Nature must yeelde to Grace.]

Too long I followed haue on fond Desire,
And too long painted on deluding Streames,
Too long refreshment sought in burning Fire,
Runne after Ioyes which to my Soule were Blames;
Ah! when I had what most I did admire,
And prou'd of Lifes delightes the last extreames,
I found all but a Rose hedg'd with a Bryer,
A nought, a thought, a show of golden Dreames.
Hence-foorth on Thee (mine onelie Good) I thinke,
For onelie Thou canst grant what I doe craue,
Thy Nailes my Pennes shall bee, thy Blood mine Inke,
Thy winding-sheete my Paper, Studie Graue:
And till that Soule from Bodie parted bee,
No hope I haue, but onelie onelie Thee.

[vi] [The Booke of the World.]

Of this faire Volumne which wee World doe name,
If wee the sheetes and leaues could turne with care,
Of Him who it correctes, and did it frame,
Wee cleare might read the Art and Wisedome rare?
Finde out his Power which wildest Pow'rs doth tame,
His Prouidence extending euerie-where,
His Iustice which proud Rebels doeth not spare,
In euerie Page, no, Period of the same:
But sillie wee (like foolish Children) rest
Well pleas'd with colour'd Velame, Leaues of Gold,
Faire dangling Ribbones, leauing what is best,
On the great Writers sense nee'r taking hold;
Or if by chance our Mindes doe muse on ought,
It is some Picture on the Margine wrought.

[vii] [The Miserable Estate of the World before the Incarnation of God.]

The Griefe was common, common were the Cryes,
Teares, Sobbes, and Groanes of that afflicted Traine,
Which of Gods chosen did the Summe containe,
And Earth rebounded with them, pierc'd were Skies;
All good had left the World, each Vice did raigne,
In the most hideous shapes Hell could deuise,
And all degrees, and each Estate did staine,
Nor further had to goe, whom to surprise:
The World beneath the Prince of Darknesse lay,
In euerie Phane who had himselfe install'd,
Was sacrifiz'd vnto, by Prayers call'd,
Responses gaue, which (Fooles) they did obey:
When (pittying Man) God of a Virgines wombe
Was borne, and those false Deities strooke dombe.

[viii] [The Angels for the Natiuitie of our Lord.]

Rvnne (Sheepheards) run where Bethleme blest appeares,
Wee bring the best of newes, bee not dismay'd,
A Sauiour there is borne, more olde than yeares,
Amidst Heauens rolling hights this Earth who stay'd;
In a poore Cotage Inn'd, a Virgine Maide
A weakling did him beare, who all vpbeares,
There is hee poorelie swadl'd, in Manger lai'd,
To whom too narrow Swadlings are our Spheares:
Runne (Sheepheards) runne, and solemnize his Birth,
This is that Night, no, Day growne great with Blisse,
In which the power of Sathan broken is,
In Heauen bee glorie, Peace vnto the Earth.
Thus singing through the Aire the Angels swame,
And Cope of Starres re-echoed the same.

[ix] [For the Natiuitie of our Lord.]

O than the fairest Day, thrice fairer Night!
Night to best Dayes in which a Sunne doth rise,
Of which that golden Eye, which cleares the Skies,
Is but a sparkling Ray, a Shadow light:
And blessed yee (in sillie Pastors sight)
Milde Creatures, in whose warme Cribe now lyes
That Heauen-sent Yongling, holie-Maide-borne Wight,
Midst, end, beginning of our Prophesies:
Blest Cotage that hath Flowres in Winter spred,
Though withered blessed Grasse, that hath the grace
To decke, and bee a Carpet to that Place.
Thus sang, vnto the Soundes of oaten Reed,
Before the Babe, the Sheepheards bow'd on knees,
And Springs ranne Nectar, Honey dropt from Trees.

[x] [Amazement at the Incarnation of God.]

To spread the azure Canopie of Heauen,
And make it twinkle with those spangs of Gold,
To stay this weightie masse of Earth so euen,
That it should all, and nought should it vp-hold;
To giue strange motions to the Planets seuen,
Or Ioue to make so meeke, or Mars so bold,
To temper what is moist, drie, hote, and cold,
Of all their Iarres that sweete accords are giuen:
Lord, to thy Wisedome nought is, nor thy Might;
But that thou shouldst (thy Glorie laid aside)
Come meanelie in mortalitie to bide,
And die for those deseru'd eternall plight,
A wonder is so farre aboue our wit,
That Angels stand amaz'd to muse on it.

[xi] [For the Baptiste.]

The last and greatest Herauld of Heauens King,
Girt with rough Skinnes, hyes to the Desarts wilde,
Among that sauage brood the Woods foorth bring,
Which hee than Man more harmlesse found and milde:
His food was Blossomes, and what yong doth spring,
With Honey that from virgine Hiues distil'd;
Parcht Bodie, hollow Eyes, some vncouth thing
Made him appeare, long since from Earth exilde.
There burst hee foorth; All yee, whose Hopes relye
On God, with mee amidst these Desarts mourne,
Repent, repent, and from olde errours turne.
Who listned to his voyce, obey'd his crye?
Onelie the Ecchoes which hee made relent,
Rung from their Marble Caues, repent, repent.

[xii] [For the Magdalene.]

These Eyes (deare Lord) once Brandons of Desire,
Fraile Scoutes betraying what they had to keepe,
Which their owne heart, then others set on fire,
Their traitrous blacke before thee heere out-weepe:
These Lockes, of blushing deedes the faire attire,
Smooth-frizled Waues, sad Shelfes which shadow deepe,
Soule-stinging Serpents in gilt curles which creepe,
To touch thy sacred Feete doe now aspire.
In Seas of Care behold a sinking Barke,
By windes of sharpe Remorse vnto thee driuen,
O let mee not expos'd be Ruines marke,
My faults confest (Lord) say they are forgiuen.
Thus sigh'd to Iesvs the Bethanian faire,
His teare-wet Feete still drying with her Haire.

[xiii] [For the Prodigall.]

I countries chang'd, new pleasures out to finde,
But Ah! for pleasure new I found new paine,
Enchanting pleasure so did Reason blind,
That Fathers loue, and wordes I scorn'd as vaine:
For Tables rich, for bed, for frequent traine
Of carefull seruants to obserue my Minde,
These Heardes I keepe my fellowes are assign'd,
My Bed a Rocke is, Hearbes my Life sustaine.
Now while I famine feele, feare worser harmes,
Father and Lord I turne, thy Loue (yet great)
My faults will pardon, pitty mine estate.
This, where an aged Oake had spread its Armes,
Thought the lost Child, while as the Heardes hee led,
Not farre off on the ackornes wilde them fed.

[xiv] [For the Passion.]

If that the World doth in a maze remaine,
To heare in what a sad deploring mood,
The Pelican powres from her brest her Blood,
To bring to life her younglinges backe again?
How should wee wonder of that soueraigne Good,
Who from that Serpents sting (that had vs slaine)
To saue our liues, shed his Lifes purple flood,
And turn'd in endlesse Ioy our endlesse Paine?
Vngratefull Soule, that charm'd with false Delight,
Hast long long wandr'd in Sinnes flowrie Path,
And didst not thinke at all, or thoughtst not right
On this thy Pelicanes great Loue and Death,
Heere pause, and let (though Earth it scorne) Heauen see
Thee powre forth teares to him powr'd Blood for thee.

[i] [An Hymne of the Passion.]

If , when farre in the East yee doe behold
Foorth from his Christall Bed the Sunne to rise,
With rosie Robes and Crowne of flaming Gold?
If gazing on that Empresse of the Skies,
That takes so many Formes, and those faire Brands,
Which blaze in Heauens high Vault, Nights watchfull eyes?
If Seeing how the Seas tumultuous Bands
Of bellowing Billowes haue their course confin'd,
How vnsustain'd the Earth still steadfast stands:
Poore mortall Wights, yee e're found in your Minde
A thought, that some great King did sit aboue,
Who had such Lawes and Rites to them assign'd;
A King who fix'd the Poles made Spheares to moue,
All Wisedome, purenesse, Excellence, and Might,
All Goodnesse, Greatnesse, Iustice, Beauty, Loue?
With feare and wonder hither turne your Sight,
See, see (alas) Him now, not in that State
Thought could fore-cast Him into Reasons light.
Now Eyes with teares, now Hearts with griefe make great,
Bemoane this cruell Death and dreary case,
If euer plaints iust Woe could aggrauate?
From Sinne and Hell to saue vs, humaine Race,
See this great King naill'd to an abiect Tree,
An obiect of reproach and sad disgrace.
O vnheard Pitty, Loue in strange degree!
Hee his owne Life doth giue, his Blood doth shed,
For Wormelings base such Excellence to see.
Poore Wightes, behold His Visage pale as Lead,
His Head bow'd to His Brest, Lockes sadlie rent,
Like a cropt Rose that languishing doth fade.

Weake Nature weepe, astonish'd World lament,
Lament, yee Windes, you Heauen that all containes,
And thou (my Soule) let nought thy Griefe relent.
Those Hands, those sacred Hands which hold the raines
Of this great All, and kept from mutuall warres
The Elements, beare rent for thee their Veines:
Those feete which once must trade on golden Starres,
For thee with nailes would bee pierc'd through and torne,
For thee Heauens King from Heauen himselfe debarres.
This great heart-quaking Dolour waile and mourne,
Yee that long since Him saw by might of Faith,
Yee now that are, and yee yet to bee borne.
Not to behold his great Creators Death,
The Sunne from sinfull eyes hath vail'd his light,
And faintly iourneyes up Heauens saphire Path.
And, cutting from her Browes her Tresses bright,
The Moone doth keepe her Lords sad Obsequies,
Impearling with her Teares this Robe of Night.
All staggering and lazie lowre the Skies,
The Earth and elemental Stages quake,
The long since dead from bursted Graues arise.
And can things wanting sense yet sorrow take,
And beare a Part with him who all them wrought?
And Man (though borne with cries) shall pitty lacke?
Thinke what had beene your state, had hee not brought
To these sharpe Pangs himselfe, and priz'd so hie
Your Soules, that with his Life them life Hee bought.
What Woes doe you attend, if still yee lie
Plung'd in your wonted ordures, wretched Brood,
Shall for your sake againe GOD euer die?
O leaue deluding shewes, embrace true good,
Hee on you calles, forgoe Sinnes shamefull trade,
With Prayers now seeke Heauen, and not with Blood.
Let not the Lambes more from their Dames bee had,
Nor Altars blush for Sinne; liue euery thing,
That long time long'd-for sacrifice is made.

All that is from you crau'd by this great King
Is to beleeue, a pure Heart Incense is,
What gift (alas) can wee him meaner bring?
Haste sinne-sicke Soules, this season doe not misse,
Now while remorselesse time doth grant you space,
And GOD inuites you to your only Blisse.
Hee who you calles will not denie you Grace,
But low-deepe burie faults, so yee repent,
His armes (loe) stretched are you to embrace.
When Dayes are done, and Lifes small sparke is spent,
So yee accept what freely here is giuen,
Like brood of Angels, deathlesse, all-content,
Yee shall for euer liue with him in Heauen.

[xv] [To the Angels for the Passion.]

Come forth, come forth yee blest triumphing Bands,
Faire Citizens of that immortall Towne,
Come see that King which all this All commands,
Now (ouercharg'd with Loue) die for his owne;
Looke on those Nailes which pierce his Feete and Hands,
What a sharpe Diademe his Browes doth crowne?
Behold his pallid Face, his Eyes which sowne,
And what a Throng of Theeues him mocking stands.
Come forth yee empyrean Troupes, come forth,
Preserue this sacred Blood that Earth adornes,
Those liquid Roses gather off his Thornes,
O! to bee lost they bee of too much worth:
For streams, Iuice, Balm they are, which quẽch, kils, charms
Of God, Death, Hel, the wrath, the life, the harmes.

[ii] [Faith aboue Reason.]

Soule , which to Hell wast thrall,
Hee, Hee for thine offence,
Did suffer Death, who could not die at all.
O soueraigne Excellence,
O Life of all that liues,
Eternall Bounty which each good thing giues,
How could Death mount so hie?
No wit this hight can reach,
Faith only doth vs teach,
For vs Hee died, at all who could not dye.

[xvi] [Vpon the Sepulcher of our Lord.]

Life to giue life depriued is of Life,
And Death displai'd hath ensigne against Death;
So violent the Rigour was of Death,
That nought could daunt it but the Life of Life:
No Power had Pow'r to thrall Lifes pow'r to Death,
But willingly Life hath abandon'd Life,
Loue gaue the wound which wrought this work of Death,
His Bow and Shafts were of the Tree of Life.
Now quakes the Author of eternall Death,
To finde that they whom earst he reft of Life
Shall fill his Roome aboue the listes of Death:
Now all reioyce in Death who hope for Life.
Dead Iesvs lies, who Death hath kill'd by Death,
His Tombe no Tombe is, but new Source of Life.

[ii] [An Hymne of the Resurrection.]

Rise from those fragrant Climes thee now embrace,
Vnto this world of ours O haste thy Race,
Faire Sunne, and though contrary-wayes all yeare
Thou hold thy course, now with the highest Spheare
Ioyne thy swift Wheeles, to hasten time that lowres,
And lazie Minutes turne in perfect Houres;
The Night and Death too long a league haue made,
To stow the world in Horrors vgly shade.
Shake from thy Lockes a Day with saffron Rayes
So faire, that it out shine all other dayes;
And yet doe not presume (great Eye of light)
To be that which this Day shall make so bright:
See, an eternall Sunne hastes to arise,
Not from the Easterne blushing Seas or Skies,
Or any stranger Worlds Heauens Concaues haue,
But from the Darknesse of an hollow Graue:
And this is that all-powerfull Sunne aboue,
That crownd thy Browes with Rayes, first made thee moue.
Lights Trumpetters, yee neede not from your Bowres
Proclaime this Day, this the angelike Powres
Haue done for you; But now an opall hew
Bepaintes Heauens Christall, to the longing view
Earths late hid Colours glance, Light doth adorne
The World, and (weeping Ioy) foorth comes the Morne;
And with her, as from a Lethargicke Transe
Breath (com'd againe) that Bodie doth aduance,
Which two sad Nights in rocke lay coffin'd dead,
And with an iron Guard inuironed,
Life out of Death, Light out of Darknesse springs,
From a base Iaile foorth comes the King of kings;
What late was mortall, thrall'd to euery woe,
That lackeyes life, or vpon sence doth grow,

Immortall is, of an eternall Stampe,
Farre brighter beaming than the morning Lampe.
So from a blacke Ecclipse out-peeres the Sunne:
Such [when a huge of Dayes haue on her runne,
In a farre forest in the pearly East,
And shee her selfe hath burnt and spicie Nest]
The lonlie Bird with youthfull Pennes and Combe,
Doth soare from out her Cradle and her Tombe:
So a Small seede that in the Earth lies hidde
And dies, reuiuing burstes her cloddie Side,
Adorn'd with yellow Lockes, of new is borne,
And doth become a Mother great with Corne;
Of Graines brings hundreths with it, which when old
Enrich the Furrowes with a Sea of Gold.

Haile holy Victor, greatest Victor haile,
That Hell dost ransacke, against Death preuaile,
O how thou long'd for comes! with Iubeling cries,
The all-triumphing Palladines of Skies
Salute thy rising; Earth would Ioyes no more
Beare, if thou rising didst them not restore:
A silly Tombe should not his flesh enclose,
Who did Heauens trembling Tarasses dispose;
No Monument should such a Iewell hold,
No Rocke, though Rubye, Diamond, and Gold.
Thou onely pittie didst vs, humane Race,
Bestowing on vs of thy free giuen Grace
More than wee forfaited and loosed first,
In Edens Rebell when wee were accurst.
Then Earth our portion was, Earths Ioyes but giuen,
Earth and Earths Blisse thou hast exchang'd with Heauen.
O what a hight of good vpon us streames
From the great splendor of thy Bounties Beames!
When wee deseru'd shame, horrour, flames of wrath,
Thou bled our wounds, and suffer didst our Death;

But Fathers Iustice pleas'd, Hell, Death o'rcome,
In triumph now thou risest from thy Tombe,
With Glories which past Sorrowes contervaile,
Haile holy Victor, greatest Victor haile

Hence humble sense, and hence yee Guides of sense,
Wee now reach Heauen, your weake intelligence
And searching Pow'rs, were in a flash made dim,
To learne from all eternitie, that him
The Father bred, then that hee heere did come
(His Bearers Parent) in a Virgins Wombe;
But then when sold, betray'd, scourg'd, crown'd with Thorne,
Naill'd to a Tree, all breathlesse, bloodlesse, torne,
Entomb'd, him rising from a Graue to finde,
Confounds your Cunning, turnes like Moles you blinde.
Death, thou that heretofore still barren wast,
Nay, didst each other Birth eate vp and waste,
Imperious, hatefull, pittilesse, vniust,
Vnpartiall Equaller of all with dust,
Sterne Executioner of heauenly doome,
Made fruitfull, now Lifes Mother art become,
A sweete releife of cares, the Soule molest,
An Harbinger to Glory, Peace and Rest,
Put off thy mourning Weedes, yeeld all thy Gall
To daylie sinning Life, proud of thy fall,
Assemble thy Captiues; bid all hast to rise,
And euerie Corse in Earth-quakes where it lies,
Sound from each flowrie Graue, and rockie Iaile,
Haile holy Victor, greatest Victor haile.

The World, that wanning late and faint did lie,
Applauding to our ioyes thy Victorie,
To a yong Prime essayes to turne againe,
And as ere soyl'd with Sinne yet to remaine,
Her chilling Agues shee beginnes to misse,

All Blisse returning with the Lord of Blisse.
With greater light Heauens Temples opened shine,
Mornes smiling rise, Euens blushing doe decline,
Cloudes dappled glister, boisterous Windes are calme,
Soft Zephires doe the Fields with sighes embalme,
In ammell blew the Sea hath husht his Roares,
And with enamour'd Curles doth kisse the Shoares.
All-bearing Earth, like a new-married Queene,
Her Beauties hightenes, in a Gowne of Greene
Perfumes the Aire, Her Meades are wrought with Flowres,
In colours various, figures, smelling, powres;
Trees wanton in the Groues with leauie Lockes,
Her Hilles empampred stand, the Vales, the Rockes
Ring Peales of ioy, her Floods her christall Brookes
(The Meadowes tongues) with many maz-like Crookes,
And whispering murmures, sound unto the Maine,
That Worlds pure Age returned is againe.
The honny People leaue their golden Bowres,
And innocently pray on budding Flowres;
In gloomy Shades, pearcht on the tender Sprayes,
The painted Singers fill the Aire with Layes:
Seas, Floods, Earth, Aire, all diuerslie doe sound,
Yet all their diuerse Notes haue but one ground,
Re-ecchoed here downe from Heauens azure Vaile,
Haile holy Victor, greatest Victor haile.

O Day! on which Deathes Adamantine Chaine
The Lord did breake, ransacking Satans Raigne,
And in triumphing Pompe his Trophees rear'd,
Bee thou blest euer, hence-foorth still endear'd
With Name of his owne Day; the Law to Grace,

Types to their Substance yeelde, to Thee giue place
The olde New-Moones, with all festiuall Dayes,
And what aboue the rest deserueth praise
The reuerent Saboth; what could else they bee,
Than golden Heraulds, telling what by thee
Wee should enjoy? Shades past, now shine thou cleare,
And hence-foorth bee thou Empresse of the Yeare;
This Glorie of thy Sisters sex to winne,
From worke on thee, as other Dayes from sinne,
That Man-kind shall forbeare, in euerie place
The Prince of Planets warmeth in his race;
And farre beyond his Pathes in frozen Climes:
And may thou bee so blest to out-date Times,
That when Heauens Quire shall blaze in accents lowd,
The manie mercies of their soueraigne Good,
How hee on thee did sinne, Death, Hell destroy,
It may bee aye the Antheme of their Ioy.

[iii] [An Hymne of the Ascension.]

Bright Portalles of the Skie,
Emboss'd with sparkling Starres,
Doores of Eternitie,
With diamantine barres,
Your Arras rich vp-hold,
Loose all your bolts and Springs,
Ope wyde your Leaues of gold;
That in your Roofes may come the King of kings.
Scarff'd in a rosie Cloud,
Hee doth ascend the Aire,
Straight doth the Moone him shrowd
With her resplendant Haire;
The next enchristall'd Light

Submits to him its Beames,
And hee doth trace the hight
Of that faire Lamp which flames of beautie streames.
Hee towers those golden Bounds
Hee did to Sunne bequeath,
The higher wandring Rounds
Are found his Feete beneath;
The milkie-way comes neare,
Heauens Axell seemes to bend,
Aboue each turning Spheare
That roab'd in Glorie Heauens King may ascend.
O Well-spring of this All,
Thy Fathers Image viue,
Word, that from nought did call
What is, doth reason, liue;
The Soules eternall Foode,
Earths Ioy, Delight of Heauen;
All Truth, Loue, Beautie, Good,
To Thee, to Thee bee praises euer giuen.
What was dismarshall'd late
In this thy noble Frame,
And lost the prime estate,
Hath re-obtain'd the same,
Is now most perfect seene;
Streames which diuerted were
(And troubled strayed vncleene)
From their first Source, by Thee home turned are.
By Thee that blemish old,
Of Edens leprous Prince,
Which on his Race tooke hold,
And him exyl'd from thence,
Now put away is farre;
With Sword, in irefull guise,
No Cherub more shall barre
Poore man the Entries into Paradise.
By Thee those Spirits pure,
First Children of the Light,

Now fixed stand and sure,
In their eternall Right;
Now humane Companies
Renew their ruin'd Wall,
Fall'n man as thou makst rise,
Thou giu'st to Angels that they shall not fall.
By Thee that Prince of Sinne,
That doth with mischiefe swell,
Hath lost what hee did winne,
And shall endungeon'd dwell;
His spoyles are made thy pray,
His Phanes are sackt and torne,
His Altars raz'd away,
And what ador'd was late, now lyes a Scorne.
These Mansions pure and cleare,
Which are not made by hands,
Which once by him joy'd were,
And his (then not stain'd) Bands
(Now forefait'd, dispossest,
And head-long from them throwne)
Shall Adams Heires make blest,
By Thee their great Redeemer made their owne.
O Well-spring of this All,
Thy Fathers Image viue,
Word, that from nought did call,
What is, doth Reason, liue;
Whose worke is, but to will,
Gods coeternall Sonne,
Great Banisher of ill,
By none but Thee could these great Deedes bee done.
Now each etheriall Gate,
To him hath opened bin;
And glories King in state,
His Pallace enters in;
Now com'd is this high Prest,
In the most holie Place,

Not without Blood addrest,
With Glorie Heauen the Earth to crowne with Grace.
Starres which all Eyes were late,
And did with wonder burne,
His Name to celebrate,
In flaming Tongues them turne;
Their orbye Christales moue
More actiue than before,
And entheate from aboue,
Their Soueraigne Prince laude, glorifie, adore.
The Quires of happie Soules,
Wakt with that Musicke sweete,
Whose Descant Care controules,
Their Lord in Triumph meete;
The spotlesse Sprightes of light,
His Trophees doe extole,
And archt in Squadrons bright,
Greet their great victor in his Capitole.
O Glorie of the Heauen,
O sole Delight of Earth,
To Thee all power bee giuen,
Gods vncreated Birth;
Of Man-kind louer true,
Indeerer of his wrong,
Who dost the world renew,
Still bee thou our Saluation and our Song.
From Top of Oliuet such notes did rise,
When mans Redeemer did transcend the Skies.

[xvii] [Mans Knowledge, Ignorance in the Misteries of God.]

Beneath a sable vaile, and Shadowes deepe,
Of Vnaccessible and dimming light,
In Silence ebane Clouds more blacke than Night,
The Worlds great King his secrets hidde doth keepe:
Through those Thicke Mistes when any Mortall Wight
Aspires, with halting pace, and Eyes that weepe,
To pore, and in his Misteries to creepe,
With Thunders hee and Lightnings blastes their Sight.
O Sunne invisible, that dost abide
Within thy bright abysmes, most faire, most darke,
Where with thy proper Rayes thou dost thee hide;
O euer-shining, neuer full seene marke,
To guide mee in Lifes Night, thy light mee show,
The more I search of thee, The lesse I know.

[xviii] [Contemplation of Inuisible Excellencies aboue, by the Visible below.]

If with such passing Beautie, choise Delights,
The Architect of this great Round did frame
This Pallace visible (short listes of Fame,
And sillie Mansion but of dying Wights)
How many Wonders, what amazing Lights
Must that triumphing Seat of Glorie clame,
That doth transcend all this great Alls vaste hights,
Of whose bright Sunne ours heere is but a Beame?
O blest abod! O happie dwelling-place!
Where visiblie th' Invisible doth raigne,
Blest People which doe see true Beauties Face,
With whose farre Dawnings scarce he Earth doth daigne:
All Ioy is but Annoy, all Concord Strife,
Match'd with your endlesse Blisse and happie life.

[iii] [The Difference betweene Earthlie and Heauenlie Loue.]

Loue which is heere a Care,
That Wit and Will doth marre,
Vncertaine Truce, and a most certaine Warre;
A shrill tempestuous Winde,
Which doth disturbe the minde,
And like wilde Waues our designes all commoue:
Among those Powres aboue,
Which see their Makers Face,
It a contentment is, a quiet Peace,
A Pleasure voide of Griefe, a constant Rest,
Eternall Ioy, which nothing can molest.

[xix] [Earth and all on it Changeable.]

That space, where raging Waues doe now diuide
From the great Continent our happie Isle,
Was some-time Land, and where tall Shippes doe glide,
Once with deare Arte the crooked Plough did tyle:
Once those faire Bounds stretcht out so farre and wide,
Where Townes, no, Shires enwall'd, endeare each mile,
Were all ignoble Sea, and marish vile
Where Proteus Flockes danc'd measures to the Tyde.
So Age transforming all still forward runnes,
No wonder though the Earth doth change her face,
New Manners, Pleasures new, turne with new Sunnes,
Lockes now like Gold grow to an hoarie grace;
Nay, Mindes rare shape doth change, that lyes despis'd
Which was so deare of late and highlie pris'd.

[iv] [The World a Game.]

This world a Hunting is,
The Pray poore Man, the Nimrod fierce is Death,
His speedie Grei-hounds are,
Lust, sicknesse, Enuie, Care,
Strife that neere falles amisse,
With all those ills which haunt vs while wee breath.
Now, if (by chance) wee flie
Of these the eager Chase,
Old Age with stealing Pace,
Castes vp his Nets, and there wee panting die.

[xx] [The Court of True Honour.]

Why (worldlings) do ye trust fraile honours dreams?
And leane to guilted Glories which decay?
Why doe yee toyle to registrate your Names
On ycie Pillars, which soone melt away?
True Honour is not heere, that place it clames,
Where blacke-brow'd Night doth not exile the Day,
Nor no farre-shining Lamp diues in the Sea,
But an eternall Sunne spreades lasting Beames:
There it attendeth you, where spotlesse Bands
Of Spirits, stand gazing on their Soueraigne Blisse,
Where yeeres not hold it in their canckring hands,
But who once noble, euer noble is.
Looke home, lest hee your weakned Wit make thrall,
Who Edens foolish Gardner earst made fall.

[xxi] [Against Hypocrisie.]

As are those Apples, pleasant to the Eye,
But full of Smoke within, which vse to grow
Neere that strange Lake, where God powr'd from the Skie
Huge showres of Flames, worse flames to ouer-throw:
Such are their workes that with a glaring Show
Of humble Holinesse, in Vertues dye,
Would colour Mischiefe, while within they glow
With coales of Sinne, though none the Smoake descrie.
Ill is that Angell which earst fell from Heauen,
But not more ill than hee, nor in worse case,
Who hides a traitrous Minde with smiling face,
And with a Doues white feathers maskes a Rauen:
Each Sinne some colour hath it to adorne,
Hypocrisie All-mighty God doth scorne.

[v] [Change should breede Change.]

New doth the Sunne appeare,
The Mountaines Snowes decay,
Crown'd with fraile Flowres foorth comes the Babye yeare.
My Soule, Time postes away,
And thou yet in that Frost
Which Flowre and fruit hath lost,
As if all heere immortall were, dost stay:
For shame thy Powers awake,
Looke to that Heauen which neuer Night makes blacke,
And there, at that immortall Sunnes bright Rayes,
Decke thee with Flowers which feare not rage of Dayes.

[xxii] [The Praise of a Solitarie Life.]

Thrice happie hee, who by some shadie Groue,
Farre from the clamorous World, doth liue his owne,
Though solitarie, who is not alone,
But doth conuerse with that Eternall Loue:
O! how more sweete is Birds harmonious Moane,
Or the hoarse Sobbings of the widow'd Doue;
Than those smooth whisperings neere a Princes Throne,
Which Good make doubtfull, doe the euill approue?
O! how more sweet is Zephires wholesome Breath,
And Sighes embalm'd, which new-borne Flowrs vnfold,
Than that applause vaine Honour doth bequeath?
How sweete are Streames to poison drunke in Gold?
The World is full of Horrours, Troubles, Slights,
Woods harmelesse Shades haue only true Delightes.

[xxiii] [To a Nightingale.]

Sweet Bird, that sing'st away the early Howres,
Of Winters past or comming void of Care,
Well pleased with Delights which Present are,
Faire Seasones, budding Sprayes, sweet-smelling Flowers:
To Rocks, to Springs, to Rils, from leauy Bowres
Thou thy Creators Goodnesse dost declare,
And what deare Gifts on thee hee did not spare,
A Staine to humane sence in sinne that lowres.
What Soule can be so sicke, which by thy Songs
(Attir'd in sweetnesse) sweetly is not driuen
Quite to forget Earths turmoiles, spights, and wrongs,
And lift a reuerend Eye and Thought to Heauen?
Sweet Artlesse Songstarre, thou my Minde dost raise
To Ayres of Spheares, yes, and to Angels Layes.

[xxiv] [Content and Resolute.]

As when it hapneth that some louely Towne
Vnto a barbarous Besieger falles,
Who there by Sword and Flame himselfe enstalles,
And (Cruell) it in Teares and Blood doth drowne;
Her Beauty spoyl'd, her Citizens made Thralles,
His spight yet so cannot her all throw downe,
But that some Statue, Arch, Phan of renowne,
Yet lurkes vnmaym'd within her weeping walles:
So after all the Spoile, Disgrace, and Wrake,
That Time, the World, and Death could bring combind,
Amidst that Masse of Ruines they did make,
Safe and all scarre-lesse yet remaines my Minde:
From this so high transcending Rapture springes,
That I, all else defac'd, not enuie Kinges.

[xxv] [Deathes Last-Will.]

More oft than once, Death whisper'd in mine Eare,
Graue what thou heares in Diamond and Gold,
I am that Monarch whom all Monarches feare,
Who hath in Dust their farre-stretch'd Pride vproll'd.
All all is mine beneath Moones siluer Spheare,
And nought, saue Vertue, Can my power with-hold:
This (not belieu'd) Experience true Thee told,
By Danger late when I to Thee came neare.
As Bugbeare then my Visage I did show,
That of my Horrours thou right Vse mightst make,
And a more sacred Path of liuing take:
Now still walke armed for my ruthlesse Blow,
Trust flattering Life no more, Redeeme Time past,
And Liue each Day as if it were thy Last.

[xxvi] [The Blessednesse of Faithfull Soules by Death.]

Let vs each day enure our selues to dye,
If this (and not our Feares) be truely Death;
Aboue the Circles both of Hope and Faith
With faire immortall pinniones to flie?
If this be Death our best Part to vntie
(By ruining the Iaile) from Lust and Wrath,
And euery drowsie languor heere beneath,
It turning deniz'd Citizen of Skie?
To haue, more knowledge than all Bookes containe,
All Pleasures euen surmounting wishing Powre,
The fellowship of Gods immortall Traine,
And these that Time nor force shall er'e deuoure?
If this be Death? what Ioy, what golden care
Of Life, can with Deaths ouglinesse compare?

[iv] [An Hymne of True Happinesse.]

Amidst the azure cleare
Of Iordans sacred Streames,
Iordan of Libanon the of-spring deare;
When Zephires Flowers vnclose,
And Sunne shines with new Beames,
With graue and stately Grace a Nimphe arose.
Vpon her Head she ware
Of Amaranthes a Crowne,
Her left hand Palmes, her right a Brandon bare,
Vnvail'd Skinnes whitenesse lay,
Gold haires in Curles hang downe,
Eyes sparkled Ioy, more bright than Starre of Day.
The Flood a Throne her rear'd
Of Waues, most like that Heauen
Where beaming Starres in Glorie turne ensphear'd;
The Aire stood calme and cleare,
No Sigh by Windes was giuen,
Birdes left to sing, Heards feed, her voyce to heare.
World-wandring sorrie Wights,
Whom nothing can content
Within those varying listes of Dayes and Nights,
Whose life (ere knowne amisse)
In glittering Griefes is spent,
Come learne (said shee) what is your choisest Blisse.
From Toyle and pressing Cares
How yee may respit finde,
A Sanctuarie from Soule-thralling Snares,
A Port to harboure sure
In spight of waues and winde,
Which shall when Times Houre-glasse is runne endure.
Not happie is that Life
Which yee as happie hold,

No, but a Sea of feares, a field of Strife,
Charg'd on a Throne to sit
With Diadems of Gold,
Preseru'd by Force, and still obseru'd by Wit:
Huge Treasures to enioy,
Of all her Gemmes spoyle Inde,
All Seres silke in Garments to imploy,
Deliciously to feed,
The Phenix plumes to finde
To rest vpon, or decke your purple Bed.
Fraile Beautie to abuse,
And (wanton Sybarites)
On past or present touch of sense to muse;
Neuer to heare of Noise
But what the Eare delites,
Sweet musicks Charmes, or charming Flatterers voice.
Nor can it Blisse you bring,
Hidde Natures Depthes to know,
Why Matter changeth, whence each Forme doth spring;
Nor that your Fame should range,
And after-Worlds it blow
From Tänäis to Nile, from Nile to Gange.
All these haue not the Powre
To free the Minde from feares,
Nor hideous horror can allay one howre,
When Death in steele doth glance,
In Sicknesse lurke or yeares,
And wakes the Soule from out her mortall Trance.
No, but blest Life is this,
With chaste and pure desire,
To turne vnto the Load-starre of all Blisse,
On GOD the Minde to rest,
Burnt vp with sacred Fire,
Possessing him, to bee by him possest.
When to the baulmie East
Sunne doth his light impart,

Or When hee diueth in the lowlie West,
And rauisheth the Day,
With spotlesse Hands and Hart
Him chearefully to praise and to him pray.
To heed each action so,
As euer in his sight,
More fearing doing ill than passiue woe;
Not to seeme other thing
Than what yee are aright,
Neuer to doe what may Repentance bring:
Not to bee blowne with Pride,
Nor mou'd at Glories breath,
Which Shadow-like on wings of Time doth glide;
So Malice to disarme,
And conquere hastie Wrath,
As to doe good to those that Worke your harme:
To hatch no base Desires
Or Gold or Land to gaine,
Well pleas'd with what by Vertue one acquires,
To haue the Wit and Will
Consorting in one Straine,
Than what is good to haue no higher skill.
Neuer on Neighbours well,
With Cocatrices Eye
To looke, and make an others Heauen your Hell;
Not to be Beauties Thrall,
All fruitlesse Loue to flie,
Yet louing still a Loue transcending all.
A Loue which while it burnes
The Soule with fairest Beames,
In that vncreated Sunne the Soule it turnes,
And makes such Beautie proue,
That (if Sense saw her Gleames?)
All lookers on would pine and die for loue.
Who such a life doth liue,

Yee happie euen may call,
Ere ruthlesse Death a wished end him giue,
And after then when giuen,
More happie by his fall,
For Humanes, Earth, enioying Angels, Heauen.
Swift is your mortall Race,
And glassie is the Field,
Vaste are Desires not limited by Grace;
Life a weake Tapper is,
Then while it light doth yeeld
Leaue flying ioyes, embrace this lasting Blisse.
This when the Nimph had said,
Shee diu'd within the Flood,
Whose Face with smyling Curles long after staid.
Then Sighes did Zephyres presse,
Birdes sang from euery Wood,
And Ecchoes rang, this was true Happinesse.

[v] AN HYMNE OF THE FAIREST FAIRE.

[An Hymne of the Nature, Atributes, and Workes of God.]

I feele my Bosome glow with wontlesse Fires,
Rais'd from the vulgar prease my Mind aspires
(Wing'd with high Thoghts) vnto his praise to clime,
From deepe Eternitie who call'd foorth Time;
That Essence which not mou'd makes each thing moue,
Vncreat'd Beautie all-creating Loue:
But by so great an object, radient light,
My Heart appall'd, enfeebled restes my Sight,
Thicke Cloudes benighte my labouring Ingine,
And at my high Attempts my Wits repine.
If thou in mee this sacred Rapture wrought,
My Knowledge sharpen, Sarcells lend my thought;
Grant mee (Times Father, world-containing King)
A Pow'r, of Thee in pow'rfull Layes to sing,
That as thy Beautie in Earth liues, Heauen shines,
So it may dawne, or shadow in my Lines.

As farre beyond the starrie walles of Heauen,
As is the loftiest of the Planets seuen

Sequestred from this Earth, in purest light,
Out-shining ours, as ours doth sable Night,
Thou, All-sufficient, Omnipotent,
Thou euer-glorious, most excellent,
GOD various in Names, in Essence one,
High art enstalled on a golden Throne,
Out-reaching Heauens wide Vastes, the Bounds of nought,
Transcending all the Circles of our Thought:
With diamantine Scepter in thy Hand,
There thou giu'st Lawes, and dost this World command,
This world of Concords rais'd vnliklie-sweete,
Which like a Ball lyes prostrate to thy Feete.

If so wee may well say (and what wee say,
Heere wrapt in flesh, led by dimme Reasons ray,
To show by earthlie Beauties which wee see
That spirituall Excellence that shines in Thee,
Good Lord forgiue) not farre from thy right Side,
With curled Lockes Youth euer doth abide;
Rose-cheeked Youth, who garlanded with Flowres,
Still blooming, ceasleslie vnto thee powres
Immortall Nectar, in a Cuppe of Gold,
That by no darts of Ages Thou grow old,
And as ends and beginnings Thee not clame,
Successionlesse that Thou bee still the same.

Neare to thy other side resistlesse Might,
From Head to Foote in burnisht Armour dight,
That ringes about him, with a wauing Brand,
And watchfull Eye, great Sentinell doth stand;
That neither Time nor force in ought impaire
Thy workmanshippe, nor harme thine Empire faire,
Soone to giue Death to all againe that would
Sterne Discord raise which thou destroy'd of old;
Discord that Foe to order, Nurse of Warre,
By which the noblest things dimolisht are:
But (Catife) Shee no Treason doth deuise,

When Might to nought doth bring her enterprise,
Thy All-vpholding Might her Malice raines,
And her in Hell throwes bound in iron Chaines.

With Lockes in waues of Gold that ebbe and flow
On yuorie necke, in Robes more white than Snow,
Truth stedfastlie before thee holdes a Glasse,
Indent'd with Gemmes, where shineth all that was,
That is, or shall bee: heere, ere ought was wrought,
Thou knew all that thy Pow'r with Time forth-brought,
And more, Things numberlesse which thou couldst make,
That actuallie shall neuer beeing take:
Heere, thou beholdst thy selfe, and (strange) dost proue,
At once the Beautie, Louer and the Loue.

With Faces two (like Sisters) sweetlie faire,
Whose Blossomes no rough Autumne can impaire,
Stands Prouidence, and doth her lookes disperse
Through euerie Corner of this Vniuerse:
Thy Prouidence at once which generall Things
And singulare doth rule, as Empires Kings;
Without whose care this world (lost) would remaine,
As Shippe without a Maister in the Maine,
As Chariot alone, as Bodies proue
Depriu'd of Soules by which they bee, liue, moue.

But who are They which shine thy Throne so neare?
With sacred countenance, and looke seuere,
This in one hand a pondrous Sword doth hold,
Her left stayes charg'd with Ballances of Gold;
That with Browes girt with Bayes, sweete-smiling Face,
Doth beare a Brandon, with a babish grace
Two milke-white Winges him easilie doe moue,
O Shee thy Iustice is, and this thy Loue!
By this thou brought this Engine great to light,
By that it fram'd in Number, Measure, Weight,
That destine doth reward to ill and good;
But Sway of Iustice is by Loue with-stood,

Which did it not relent and mildlie stay,
This World ere now had had its funerall Day.

What Bands (enclustred) neare to these abide,
Which into vaste Infinitie them hide?
Infinitie that neither doth admit,
Place, Time, nor Number to encroach on it:
Heere Bountie sparkleth, heere doth Beautie shine,
Simplicitie, more white than Gelsemine,
Mercie with open wings, ay-varied Blisse,
Glorie, and Ioy, that Blesses darling is.

Ineffable, All-pow'rfull GOD, All-free,
Thou onelie liu'st, and each thing liues by Thee,
No Ioy, no, nor Perfection to Thee came
By the contriuing of this Worlds great Frame;
Ere Sunne, Moone, Starres beganne their restlesse race,
Ere paint'd with purple Light was Heauens round Face,
Ere Aire had Clouds, ere Clouds weept down their showrs,
Ere Sea embraced Earth, ere Earth bare Flowres,
Thou happie liu'd; World nought to Thee supply'd,
All in thy selfe thy selfe thou satisfy'd:
Of Good no slender Shadow doth appeare,
No age-worne tracke, in Thee which shin'd not cleare;
Perfections Summe, prime-cause of euerie Cause,
Midst, end, beginning, where all good doth pause.
Hence of thy Substance, differing in nought
Thou in Eternitie thy Sonne foorth brought,
The onelie Birth of thy vnchanging Minde,
Thine Image, Paterne-like that euer shin'd,
Light out of Light, begotten not by Will,
But Nature, all and that same Essence still
Which thou thy selfe; for thou dost nought possesse
Which hee hath not, in ought nor is hee lesse
Than Thou his great Begetter; of this Light,

Eternall, double, kindled was thy Spright
Eternallie, who is with Thee the same,
All-holie Gift, Embassadour, Knot, Flame:
Most sacred, Triade, O most holie One,
Vnprocreat'd Father, euer-procreat'd Sonne,
Ghost breath'd from both, you were, are, aye shall bee
(Most blessed) Three in One, and One in Three,
Vncomprehensible by reachlesse Hight,
And vnperceiued by excessiue Light.
So in our Soules, three and yet one are still,
The Vnderstanding, Memorie, and Will;
So (though vnlike) the Planet of the Dayes,
So soone as hee was made begate his Rayes,
Which are his Of-spring, and from both was hurl'd
The rosie Light which comfort doth the World,
And none fore-went an other: so the Spring,
The Well-head, and the Streame which they foorth bring,
Are but one selfe-same Essence, nor in ought
Doe differ, saue in order, and our Thought
No Chime of time discernes in them to fall,
But three distinctlie bide one Essence all.
But these expresse not Thee; who can declare
Thy beeing? Men and Angels dazel'd are:
Who force this Eden would with wit or sence,
A Cherubin shall finde to barre him thence.

Alls Architect, Lord of this Uniuerse,
Wit is ingulph'd that would thy greatnesse pierce;
Ah! as a Pilgrime who the Alpes doth passe,
Or Atlas Temples crown'd with winters glasse,
The ayrie Caucasus, the Apennine,
Pyrenès cliftes where Sunne doth neuer shine,
When hee some heapes of Hilles hath ouer-went,
Beginnes to thinke on rest, his Iourney spent,

Till mounting some tall Mountaine hee doe finde,
More hights before him than hee left behinde:
With halting pace, so while I would mee raise
To the vnbounded Circüits of thy praise,
Some part of way I thought to haue o're-runne,
But now I see how scarce I haue begunne,
With wonders new my Spirits range possest,
And wandring waylesse in a maze them rest.

In those vaste Fieldes of Light, etheriall Plaines,
Thou art attended by immortall Traines
Of Intellectuall Pow'rs, which thou brought forth
To praise thy Goodnesse, and admire thy Worth;
In numbers passing other Creatures farre,
Since most in number noblest Creatures are,
Which doe in Knowledge vs no lesse out-runne,
Than Moone doth Starres in light, or Moone the Sunne;
Vnlike, in Orders rang'd and manie a Band,
(If Beautie in Disparitie doth stand?)
Arch-Angels, Angels, Cherubes, Seraphines,
And what with name of Thrones amongst them shines,
Large-ruling Princes, Dominations, Powres,
All-acting Vertues of those flaming Towres:
These fred of Vmbrage, these of Labour free,
Rest rauished with still beholding Thee,
Inflam'd with Beames which sparkle from thy Face,
They can no more desire, farre lesse embrace.

Low vnder them, with slow and staggering pace
Thy hand-Maide Nature thy great Steppes doth trace,
The Source of second Causes, golden Chaine
That linkes this Frame, as thou it doth ordaine;
Nature gaz'd on with such a curious Eye
That Earthlings oft her deem'd a Deitye.

By Nature led those Bodies faire and greate
Which faint not in their Course, nor change their State,
Vnintermixt, which no disorder proue,
Though aye and contrarie they alwayes moue;
The Organes of thy Prouidence diuine,
Bookes euer open, Signes that clearelie shine,
Times purpled Maskers, then doe them aduance,
As by sweete Musicke in a measur'd Dance.
Starres, Hoste of heauen, yee Firmaments bright Flowrs,
Cleare Lampes which ouer-hang this Stage of ours,
Yee turne not there to decke the Weeds of Night,
Nor Pageant-like to please the vulgare Sight,
Great Causes sure yee must bring great Effectes,
But who can descant right your graue Aspects?
Hee onlie who You made deciphere can
Your Notes, Heauens Eyes, yee blinde the Eyes of Man.

Amidst these saphire farre-extending Hights,
The neuer-twinkling euer-wandring Lights
Their fixed Motions keepe; one drye and cold,
Deep-leaden colour'd, slowlie there is roll'd,
With Rule and Line for times steppes measur'd euen,
In twice three Lustres hee but turnes his Heauen.
With temperate qualities and Countenance faire,
Still mildelie smiling sweetlie debonnaire,
An other cheares the World, and way doth make
In twice sixe Autumnes through the Zodiacke.
But hote and drye with flaming lockes and Browes
Enrag'd, this in his red Pauillion glowes:
Together running with like speede if space,
Two equallie in hands atchieue their race;
With blushing Face this oft doth bring the Day,
And vsheres oft to statelie Starres the way,
That various in vertue, changing, light,

With his small Flame engemmes the vaile of Night.
Prince of this Court, the Sunne in triumph rides,
With the yeare Snake-like in her selfe that glides;
Times Dispensator, faire life-giuing Source,
Through Skies twelue Posts as hee doth runne his course,
Heart of this All, of what is knowne to Sence
The likest to his Makers Excellence:
In whose diurnall motion doth appeare
A Shadow, no, true pourtrait of the yeare.
The Moone moues lowest, siluer Sunne of Night,
Dispersing through the World her borrow'd light,
Who in three formes her head abroad doth range,
And onelie constant is in constant Change.

Sad Queene of Silence, I neere see thy Face,
To waxe, or waine, or shine with a full grace,
But straight (amaz'd) on Man I thinke, each Day
His state who changeth, or if hee find Stay,
It is in drearie anguish, cares, and paines,
And of his Labours Death is all the Gaines.
Immortall Monarch, can so fond a Thought
Lodge in my brest? as to trust thou first brought
Heere in Earths shadie Cloister wretched Man,
To sucke the Aire of woe, to spend Lifes span
Midst Sighes and plaints, a stranger vnto Mirth,
To giue himselfe his Death rebuking Birth?
By sense and wit of Creatures Made King,
By sense and wit to liue their Vnderling?
And what is worst, haue Eaglets eyes to see
His owne disgrace, and know an high degree
Of Blisse, the Place, if thereto hee might clime,
And not liue thrallèd to imperious Time?
Or (dotard) shall I so from Reason swerue,
To deeme those Lights which to our vse doe serue,
(For thou dost not them need) more noblie fram'd
Than vs, that know their course, and haue them nam'd?

No, I neere thinke but wee did them surpasse
As farre, as they doe Asterismes of Glasse,
When thou vs made; by Treason high defil'd,
Thrust from our first estate wee liue exil'd,
Wandring this Earth, which is of Death the Lot,
Where he doth vse the Pow'r which he hath got,
Indifferent Umpire vnto Clownes and Kings,
The supreame Monarch of all mortall things.

When first this flowrie Orbe was to vs giuen
It but in place disualu'd was to Heauen,
These Creatures which now our Soueraignes are,
And as to Rebelles doe denounce vs warre,
Then were our Uassalles, no tumultuous Storme,
No Thunders, Quakings, did her Forme deforme,
The Seas in tumbling Mountaines did not roare,
But like moist Christall whispered on the Shoare,
No Snake did met her Meads, nor ambusht lowre
In azure Curles beneath the sweet-Spring Flowre;
The Nightshade, Henbane, Naple, Aconite,
Her Bowels then not bare, with Death to smite
Her guiltlesse Brood; thy Messengers of Grace,
As their high Rounds did haunte this lower Place:
O Ioy of Ioyes! with our first Parents Thou
To commune then didst daigne, as Friends doe now:
Against thee wee rebell'd, and iustly thus,
Each Creature rebelled against vs,
Earth, reft of what did chiefe in her excell,
To all became a Iaile, to most a Hell,
In Times full Terme vntill thy Sonne was giuen,
Who Man with Thee, Earth reconcil'd with Heauen.

Whole and entire all in thy Selfe thou art,
All-where diffus'd, yet of this All no part,
For infinite, in making this faire Frame,
(Great without quantitie) in all thou came,
And filling all, how can thy State admit,
Or Place or Substance to be voide of it?

Were Worlds as many, as the Raies which streame
From Heauens bright Eyes, or madding Wits do dreame,
They would not reele in nought, nor wandring stray,
But draw to Thee, who could their Centers stay;
Were but one houre this World disioyn'd from Thee,
It in one houre to nought reduc'd should bee,
For it thy shaddow is, and can they last,
If seuer'd from the Substances them cast?
O only blest, and Author of all blisse,
No Blisse it selfe, that all-where wished is,
Efficient, exemplarie, finall Good,
Of thine owne Selfe but onely vnderstood;
Light is thy Curtaine, thou art Light of Light,
An euer-waking Eye still shining bright,
In-looking all, exempt of passiue powre,
And change, in change since Deaths pale shade doth lowre.
All Times to thee are one, that which hath runne,
And that which is not brought yet by the Sunne,
To thee are present, who dost alwayes see
In present act, what past is or to bee.
Day-liuers wee rememberance doe losse
Of Ages worne, so Miseries vs tosse,
(Blinde and lethargicke of thy heauenly Grace,
Which sinne in our first Parents did deface,
And euen while Embryones curst by iustest doome)
That wee neglect what gone is, or to come:
But thou in thy great Archieues scrolled hast
In parts and whole, what euer yet hath past,
Since first the marble wheeles of Time were roll'd,
As euer liuing, neuer waxing old,
Still is the same thy Day and Yesterday,
An vn-diuided Now, a constant Ay.

O King, whose Greatnesse none can comprehend,
Whose boundlesse Goodnesse doth to all extend,
Light of all Beautie, Ocean without ground,
That standing flowest, giuing dost abound,

Rich palace, and Indweller euer blest,
Neuer not working euer yet in Rest;
What wit cannot conceiue, words say of Thee,
Heere where as in a Mirrour wee but see,
Shadowes of shadowes, Atomes of thy Might,
Still owlie eyed when staring on thy Light,
Grant that released from this earthly Iaile,
And fred of Clouds which heere our Knowledge vaile,
In Heauens high Temples, where thy Praises ring,
I may in sweeter Notes heare Angels sing.

[vi] [A Prayer for Mankinde.]

Great GOD, whom wee with humble Thoughts adore,
Eternall, infinite, Almightie King,
Whose Dwellings Heauen transcend, whose Throne before
Archangells serue, and Seraphines doe sing;
Of nought who wrought all that With wondring Eyes
Wee doe behold within this spacious Round,
Who makes the Rockes to rocke, to stand the Skies,
At whose command Clouds dreadfull Thunders sound:
Ah! spare vs Wormes, weigh not how wee (alas!)
(Euill to our selues) against thy Lawes rebell,
Wash of those Spots which still in Mindes cleare Glasse
(Though wee be loath to looke) wee see to well.
Deseru'd Reuenge, O doe not doe not take,
Doe thou reuenge what shall abide thy blow?
Passe shall this World, this World which thou didst make,
Which should not perish till thy Trumpet blow.

What Soule is found whom Parents Crime not staines?
Or what with its owne Sinne destaind is not?
Though Iustice Rigor threaten (ah) her Raines
Let Mercy guide, and neuer bee forgot.

Lesse are our Faults farre farre than is thy Loue,
O What can better seeme thy Grace diuine,
Than They that plagues deserue thy Bounty proue,
And where thou showre mayst Vengeance faire to shine?
Then looke and pittie, pittying forgiue
Vs guiltie Slaues, or Seruants, now in thrall,
Slaues, if (alas) thou looke how wee doe liue;
Or doing ill Or doing nought at all?
Of an vngratefull Minde a foule Effect!
But if thy Giftes which amplie heretofore
Thou hast vpon vs powr'd thou dost respect,
Wee are thy Seruants, nay, than Seruants more;
Thy Children, yes, and Children dearely bought,
But what strange Chance vs of this Lot bereaues,
Poore worthles Wights how lowlie are wee brought,
Whom Grace made Children Sinne hath turned Slaues?
Sinne hath turn'd Slaues, but let those Bands Grace breake,
That in our Wrongs thy Mercies may appeare,
Thy Wisedome not so meane is, Pow'r so weake,
But thousand wayes they can make Worlds thee feare.

O Wisedome boundlesse! O miraculous Grace!
Grace, Wisedome which make winke dimme Reasons Eye,
And could Heauens King bring from his placelesse Place,
On this ignoble Stage of Care to die:
To dye our Death, and with the sacred Streame
Of Bloud and Water, guishing from his Side,
To put away each odious act and Blame,
By vs contriu'd, or our first Parents Pride.
Thus thy great Loue and Pitty (heauenly King)

Loue, Pitty, which so well our Losse preuent,
Of Euill it selfe (loe!) could all Goodnesse bring,
And sad Beginning cheare with glad Euent.
O Loue and Pitty! ill-knowne of these Times.
O Loue and Pittie! carefull of our neede,
O Bounties! Which our execrable Crimes
(Now numberlesse) contend neere to exceed.
Make this excessiue Ardour of thy Loue,
So warme our Coldnesse, so our Lifes renew,
That wee from sinne, Sinne may from vs remoue,
Wit may our will, Faith may our Wit subdue.
Let thy pure Loue burne vp all worldly Lust,
Hells pleasant Poison killing our best part,
Which makes vs ioye in Toyes, adore fraile Dust
In stead of Thee, in Temple of our Heart.

Grant when at last our Soules these Bodies leaue,
Their loathsome Shops of Sinne, and Mansions blinde,
And Doome before thy royall Seat receaue,
They may a Sauiour, not a Iudge thee finde.

[vii] THE SHADOW OF THE IVDGEMENT

[An Essay of the Great and Generall Iudgement of the World.]

Aboue those boundlesse Bounds where Starrs do moue,
The Seeling of the christall Round aboue,
And Raine-bow-sparkling Arch of Diamond cleare,
Which crownes the azure of each vnder Spheare,
In a rich Mansion radiant with light,
To which the Sunne is scarce a Taper bright,
Which, though a Bodie, yet so pure is fram'd,
That almost spirituall it may bee nam'd;
Where Blisse aboundeth, and a lasting May
All Pleasures heightning flourisheth for ay,
The King of Ages dwells. About his Throne
(Like to those Beames Days golden Lamp hath on)
Angelike Splendors glance, more swift than ought
Reueal'd to sence, nay, than the winged Thought,
His will to practise: here doe Seraphines
Burne with immortall loue, there Cherubines
With other noble people of the Light,
As Eaglets in the Sunne, delight their Sight:
Heauens ancient Denizones, pure actiue Powres,
Which (fred of death) that Cloister high embowres,

Etheriall Princes, euer-conquering Bandes,
Blest Subjectes acting what their King commandes;
Sweet Quiristers, by whose melodious Straines
Skies dance, and Earth vntyr'd their Brawle sustaines.
Mixed among whose sacred legiones deare
The spotlesse Soules of Humanes doe appeare,
Deuesting Bodies which did Cares deuest,
And there liue happie in eternall Rest.

Hither, sure-charg'd with griefe, fraught with Annoy,
(Sad Spectacle into that place of Ioy)
Her Haire disordered dangling o're her Face,
Which had of pallid Violets the grace,
The Crimsin Mantle wont her to adorne
Cast loose about, and in large peeces torne,
Sighes breathing forth, and from her heauie Eyne
Along her Cheekes distilling christall Brine,
Which downe-wards to her yuorie Brest was driuen,
And had bedewed the milkie-Way of Heauen,
Came Pietie: at her left hand neare by
A wailing Woman bare her Company,
Whose tender Babes her snowie Necke did clip,
And now hang on her Pappe now by her Lip:
Flames glanc'd her Head aboue, which once did glow,
But late looke pale (a Poore and ruthfull Show!)
Shee sobbing shrunke the Throne of God before,
And thus beganne her Case to him deplore.

Forlorne, wretch'd, desolate, to whom should I
My Refuge haue, below or in the Skie,
But vnto thee? see (all beholding King)
That Seruant, no, that Darling thou didst bring
On Earth, lost Man to saue from Hells Abisme,
And raise vnto these Regiones aboue Tyme;
Who made thy Name so truelie bee implor'd,
And by the reuerent Soule so long ador'd,
Her banisht now see from these lower Boundes,
Behold her Garments Shreedes her Bodies woundes;

Looke how her Sister Charitie there standes,
Proscrib'd on Earth, all maim'd by wicked Handes:
Mischeefe there mountes to such an high degree,
That there, now none is left who cares for mee.
There dwelles Idolatrie, there Atheisme raignes,
There Man in dombe, yet roaring, sinnes him staines;
So foolish, that hee Puppets will adore
Of Mettall, Stone, and Birds, Beastes, Trees, before
Hee once will to thy hollie seruice bow,
And yeelde the Homage: Ah alas! yee now
To those black Sprightes which thou dost keepe in chaines
Hee vowes Obedience, and with shamefull paines
Infernall Horroures courtes; Case fond and strange!
To Bane than Blisse desiring more the Change.
Thy Charitie of Graces once the Cheife,
Did long tyme find in Hospitalls reliefe;
Which now lye leuell'd with the lowest Ground,
Where sad memorialls scarce are of them found.
Then (Vagabounding) Temples her receau'd,
Where my Poore Cells afforded what she crau'd;
But now thy Temples raz'd are, humane Blood
Those Places staines, late where thy Altares stood:
Tymes are so horrid, to implore thy Name,
That it is held now on the Earth a Blame.
Now doth the Warriour with his Dart and Sword
Write lawes in blood, and vent them for thy word;
Relligion, Faith pretending to make knowne,
All haue all Faith, Religion quite o'rthrowne,
Men awlesse, lawlesse liue (most woefull case!)
Men, no more men, a GOD-contemning Race.

Scarce had shee said, when from the neither World,
(Like to a Lightning through the Welken hurl'd,
That scores with Flames the way, and euerie eye
With Terrour dazelles as it swimmeth by)
Came Iustice: to whom Angels did make place,

And Truth her flying foote-steppes straight did trace.
Her Sword was lost, the precious Weights shee bare,
Their Beame had torne, Scales rudlie bruised were:
From off her head was reft her golden Crowne,
In ragges her Vaile was rent and starre-spangl'd Gowne,
Her teare-wette Lockes hange o're her Face, which made
Betweene her and the mightie King a Shade.
Iust wrath had rais'd her colour (like the Morne
Portending Clouds moist Embryones to bee borne)
Of which shee taking leaue, with Heart swollen great,
Thus stroue to plaine before the Throne of State.

Is not the Earth thy worke-man-ship (great King)
Didst Thou not all this All from nought once bring
To this rich Beautie which doth on it shine:
Bestowing on each Creature of thine
Some Shadow of thy Bountie? Is not Man
Thy Vassall, plac'd to spend his lifes short Span
To doe Thee Homage: and then didst not Thou
A Queene installe mee there, to whom should bow
Thy Earths Endwellers, and to this effect
Put in my hand thy Sword? O high Neglect!
Now wretched Earthlings, to thy great disgrace,
Peruerted haue my Pow'r, and doe deface
All reuerent trackes of Iustice; now the Earth,
Is but a Frame of Shame, a funerall Harth,
Where euerie Vertue hath consumed beene,
And nought (no not their dust) restes to bee seene
Long hath it mee abhor'd, long chased mee,
Expelled last, heere I haue fled to Thee,
And foorth-with rather would to Hell repaire,
Than Earth, sith Iustice execute is there.
All liue on Earth by Spoyle, the Host his Guest
Betrayes, the Man of her lyes in his Brest
Is not assured; the Sonne the Fathers death
Attempts, and Kinred Kinred reaue of Breath

By lurking meanes, of such Age few makes sicke,
Since Hell disgorg'd her banefull Arsenicke.
Whom Murthers, foule Assasinates defile,
Most who the harmelesse Innocent beguile,
Who most can rauage, robe, ransacke, blasphame,
Is held most vertuous, hath a Worthies name;
So on emboldned Malice they relye,
That (madding) thy great Puissance they defye:
Earst man resembl'd thy Pourtrait soyl'd by Smooke,
Now like thy Creature hardlie doth hee looke.
Olde Nature heere (Shee pointed where there stood
An aged Ladie in a heauie Mood)
Doth breake her Staffe, denying humane Race
To come of Her, Things borne to her disgrace!
The Doue the Doue, the Swan doth loue the Swan,
Nought so relentlesse vnto man as Man.
O! if thou madst this World, gouern'st it all,
Deserued vengeance on the Earth let fall;
The Periode of her standing perfect is,
Her Houre-glasse not a Minute short doth misse.
The End (O Lord) is come, then let no more
Mischiefe still triumph, Bad the Good deuoure,
But of thy Word sith Constant, true, Thou art,
Giue Good their Guerdon, wicked due Desart.

Shee said: Through out the shining Palace went
A Murmure soft, such as a farre is sent
By musked Zephires Sighes along the Maine,
Or when they curle some flowrie Lea and Plaine;
One was their Thought, one their Intention, Will,
Nor could they erre Truth there residing still:
All (mou'd with zeale) as one with cryes did pray,
Hasten (O Lord) O hasten the last Day.

Looke how a generous Prince, when hee doth heare,
Some louing Citie and to him most deare,
Which wont with Giftes, and Showes him intertaine
(And as a Fathers did obey his Raigne)

A rout of Slaues and rascall foes to wracke,
Her Buildings ouer-throw, her Richesse sacke,
Feeles vengefull Flames within his bosome burne,
And a just rage all Respects ouer-turne:
So seeing Earth, of Angels once the Inne,
Mansion of Saintes, deflowred all by sinne,
And quite confus'd, by wretches heere beneath,
The worlds great Soueraigne moued was to Wrath.
Thrice did hee rouse himselfe, thrice from his Face,
Flames sparkle did throughout the heauenlie place.
The Starres, though fixed, in their Rounds did quake,
The Earth, and Earth-embracing Sea did shake:
Carmell and Hæmus felt it, Athos Topes
Affrighted shrunke, and neare the Æthiopes
Atlas, the Pyrenèes, the Appennine,
And loftie Grampius, which with Snow doth shine.
Then to the Synode of the Sprights hee swore,
Mans care should end, and Tyme should bee no more;
By his owne Selfe hee swore of perfect worth,
Straight to performe his word sent Angels forth.

There lyes an Island, where the radiant Sunne,
When hee doth to the northerne Tropicke runne,
Of sex long Monethes makes one tedious Day,
And when through southerne Signes he holds his way,
Sex Monethes turneth in one loathsome Night
(Night neither heere is faire, nor Day hote-bright,
But halfe white and halfe More) where sadlie cleare
Still coldlie glance the Beames of either Beare,
The frostie Groen-land. On the lonlie Shore
The Ocean in Mountaines hoarse doth roare,
And ouer-tumbling, tumbling ouer Rockes,
Castes various Raine-bowes, which in Froth he choakes;
Gulfes all about are shrunke most strangelie steepe,
Then Nilus Cataractes more vaste and deepe.
To the wilde Land beneath to make a shade,
A Mountaine lifteth vp his crested Head:

His Lockes are yce-sheekles, his Browes are Snow,
Yet, from his burning Bowelles deepe below,
Cometes, farre-flaming Pyramides are driuen
And pitchie Meteores, to the Cope of Heauen.
No Summer heere the loulie Grasse forth bringes,
Nor Trees, no, not the deadlie Cypresse springes.
Caue-louing Eccho Daughter of the Aire,
By humane voyce was neuer wakned heere:
In stead of nights blake Birdes, and plaintfull Owle,
Infernall Furies heere doe yell and howle.
A Mouth yawnes in this Hight so blacke obscure
With vapours, that no eye it can endure:
Great Ætnas Cauernes neuer yet did make
Such sable dampes, though they bee hideous blacke,
Sterne Horroures heere eternallie doe dwell,
And this Gulfe destine for a Gate to Hell.
Forth from this place of dread (Earth to appall)
Three Furies rushed at the Angels call.
One with long Tresses doth her Visage maske,
Her Temples clouding in a horrid Caske,
Her right Hand swinges a Brandon in the Aire,
Which Flames and Terrour hurleth euery where;
Ponderous with Darts, her left doth beare a Shield,
Where Gorgones Head lookes grimme in sable Field:
Her eyes blaze Fire and Blood, each haire stilles Blood,
Blood trilles from either pappe, and where shee stood
Bloods liquid Corrall sprang her feete beneath,
Where shee doth streach her Arme is Blood & Death.
Her stygian Head no sooner shee vpreares,
When Earth of Swords Helmes Lances straight appeares
To bee deliuered, and from out her Wombe
In Flame-wing'd Thunderes Artellerie doth come,
Floodes siluer streames doe take a blushing Dye,
The Plaines with breathlesse Bodies buried lye;
Rage, Wronge, Rapte, Sacriledge doe her attend,
Feare, Discorde, Wracke, & Woes which haue none end:

Towne is by Towne, and Prince by Prince with-stood,
Earth turnes an hideous Shambles a Lake of Blood.

The next with Eyes, sunke hollow in her Braines,
Lane face, snarl'd haire, with blacke and emptie Veines,
Her dry'd-vp Bones scarce couered with her Skinne,
Bewraying that strange structure built within,
Thigh-Bellilesse, most gastlie to the sight,
A wasted Skeliton resembleth right.
Where shee doeth roame in Aire faint doe the Birdes,
Yawne doe Earths ruthlesse brood & harmelesse Heards,
The Woods wilde Forragers doe howle and roare,
The humid Swimmers dye along the shoare;
In Townes, the liuing doe the dead vp-eate,
Then dye themselues, Alas! and wanting meate,
Mothers not spare the Birth of their owne Wombes,
But turne those Nestes of life to fatall Tombes.

Last did a saffron-colour'd Hagge come out,
With vncomb'd Haire, Browes banded all about
With duskie cloudes, in ragged Mantle cled,
Her breath with stinking Fumes the Aire be-spred,
In either Hand shee held a Whip, whose Wyres,
Still'd poyson, blaz'd with phlegethontall Fyres.
(Relentlesse) Shee each state, sex, age defiles,
Earth streames with goares, burnes with inuenom'd Biles;
Where Shee repaires, Townes doe in Desartes turne,
The liuing haue no pause the dead to mourne,
The friend (Ah!) dares not locke the dying Eyes
Of his belou'd, the Wyfe the Husband flies;
Men Basiliskes to men proue, and by Breath,
Then Lead or Steale, bring worse and swifter Death:
No Cypresse, Obsequies, no Tombe they haue,
The sad Heauen mostlie serues them for a Graue.

These ouer Earth tumultuouslie doe runne,
South, North, from rising to the setting Sunne;
They some time parte, yet than the windes more fleete,

Forth-with together in one place they meete.
Great Quinzai yee it know, Susanias pride,
And you Where statelie Tibers streames doe glide,
Memphis, Parthenopè yee too it know,
And where Euripus seuen-folde Tyde doth flow:
Yee know it Empresses on Tames, Rosne, Seine,
And yee faire Queenes by Tagus Danube Reine.
Though they doe scoure the Earth, roame farre & large,
Not thus content the Angels leaue their Charge:
Wee of her wracke these slender Signes may name,
By greater they the Iudgement doe proclame.

This Centers Center with a mightie Blow
One bruiseth, whose crackt Concaues lowder low,
And rumbel, than if all the Artellerie
On Earth discharg'd at once were in the Skie;
Her Surface shakes, her Mountaines in the Maine
Turne topsiturnie, of Heights making plaine:
Townes them ingulfe, and late where Towres did stand,
Now nought remaineth but a waste of Sand.
With turning Eddyes Seas sinke vnder Ground,
And in their floting Depthes are Valleyes found;
Late where with foamie Crestes waues tilted waues,
Now fishie Bottomes shine and mossie Caues.
The Mariner castes an amazed eye
On his wing'd Firres, which bedded hee findes lye,
Yet can hee see no Shore; but whilst hee thinkes,
What hideous Creuesse that hudge Current drinkes,
The Streames rush backe againe with storming Tyde,
And now his Shippes on cristall mountaines glyde;
Till they bee hurl'd farre beyond Seas and Hope,
And setle on some Hill or Palace Tope:
Or by triumphant Surges ouer-driuen,
Show Earth their Entrailles and their Keeles the Heauen.

Skies clowdie Tables some doe paint, with Fights
Of armed Squadrones, justling Steedes and Knights,
With shining Crosses, Iudge, and saphire Throne;

Arraigned Criminelles to howle and groane,
And plaintes send forth are heard: New-worlds seeme shine,
With other Sunnes and Moones, false Starres decline,
And diue in Seas; red Comets warme the Aire,
And blaze, as other Worlds were judged there.
Others the heauenlie Bodies doe displace,
Make Sunne his Sisters stranger Steppes to trace;
Beyond the course of Spheares hee driues his Coach,
And neare the cold Arcturus doth approach;
The Scythian amaz'd is at such Beames,
The Mauritanian to see ycie Streames;
The Shadow which ere-while turn'd to the West,
Now wheeles about, then reeleth to the East:
New starres aboue the eight Heauen sparkle cleare,
Mars chopes with Saturne, Ioue claimes Marses spheare,
Shrunke nearer Earth, all blackned now and Broone,
In Maske of weeping Cloudes appeares the Moone.
There are noe Seasons, Autumne, Summer, Spring,
Are all sterne Winter, and no birth forth bring:
Red turnes the Skies blew Curtaine o're this Globe,
As to propine the Iudge with purple Robe.

At first (entraunc'd) with sad and curious Eyes
Earths Pilgrimes stare on those strange Prodigies:
The Starre-gazer this Round findes truely moue
In partes and whole, yet by no Skill can proue
The Firmaments stay'd firmenesse. They which dreame
An euerlastingnesse in worlds vaste Frame,
Thinke well some Region where they dwell may wracke,
But that the whole nor Time nor Force can shake;

Yet (franticke) muse to see Heauens statly Lights,
Like Drunkards, waylesse reele amidst their Heights.
Such as doe Nationes gouerne, and Command
Vastes of the Sea and Emperies of Land,
Repine to see their Countries ouer-throwne,
And find no Foe their Furie to make knowne:
Alas (say they) what bootes our toyles and Paines,
Of Care on earth is this the furthest Gaines?
No Richesse now can bribe our angrye Fate,
O no! to blaste our Pride the Heauenes do threate:
In dust now must our Greatnesse buried lye,
Yet is it comfort with the World to dye.
As more and more the warning Signes encrease,
Wild dread depriues lost Adames Race of Peace;
From out their Grandame Earth They faine would flie,
But whither know not, Heauens are farre and hie;
Each would bewaile and mourne his owne Distresse,
But publicke Cryes doe priuate Teares suppresse,
Lamentes plaintes shreekes of woe disturbe all Eares,
And Feare is equall to the Paine it feares.

Amidst this Masse of Crueltie and Slights,
This Galley full of God-despising Wights,
This Iaile of Sinne and Shame, this filthie Stage
Where all act folly miserie and rage;
Amidst those Throngs of old prepar'd for Hell,
Those Numbers which no Archimede can tell,
A silly Crue did lurke, a harmelesse Rout
Wandring the Earth, which God had chosen out
To liue with Him (Few Roses which did blow
Among those Weedes Earthes Garden ouer-grow;
A deaw of Gold still'd on Earths sandy Mine,
Small Diamondes in Worlds rough Rocks which shine)
By purple Tyrants which persued and chas'd,
Liu'd Recluses, in lonlie Islands plac'd;
Or did the Mountaines haunte, and Forests wild,
Which they than Townes more harmelesse found and mild:
Where many an Hymne they to their Makers praise

Teacht Groues and Rocks, which did resound their Layes.
Nor Sword nor Famine nor Plague poisoning Aire,
Nor Prodigies appearing euery where,
Nor all the sad Disorder of this All,
Could this small handfull of the World appall;
But as the Flowre, which during winters Cold
Runnes to the Roote, and lurkes in Sap vp-rol'd,
So soone as the great Planet of the Yeare
Beginnes the Twinnes deare Mansion to cleare,
Liftes vp its fragrant Head, and to the Field
A Spring of Beauty and Delight doth yeeld:
So at those Signes and Apparitiones strange
Their thoughts lookes gestures did beginne to change,
Ioy makes their Hands to clap, their Hearts to dance,
In Voice turnes Musicke in their Eyes doth glance.

What can (say They) these Changes else portend
Of this great Frame saue the approaching End?
Past are the Signes, all is perform'd of old
Which the Almighties Heraulds vs fore-told.
Heauen now no longer shall of Gods great Power
A turning Temple be, but fixed Tower,
Burne shall this mortall Masse amidst the Aire,
Of diuine Iustice turn'd a Trophee faire;
Neare is the last of Dayes, whose light enbalmes
Past Griefes, and all our stormy Cares becalmes.
O happy Day! O chearefull holy Day!
Which Nights sad Sables shall not take away!
Farewell Complaintes, and yee yet doubtfull Thought,
Crown now your Hopes with comforts long time sought;
Wypt from our Eyes now shall be euerie Teare,
Sighes stopt; since our Saluation is so neare.
What long wee long'd for, God at last hath giuen
Earths chosen Bands to ioyne with those of Heauen;
Now noble Soules a Guerdon just shall finde,

And Rest and Glorie bee in one combinde,
Now, more than in a Mirrour, by these Eyne
Euen Face to face our Maker shall be seene;
O Welcome Wonder of the Soule and Sight!
O Welcome Obiect of all true Delight!
Thy Triumphes and Returne wee did expect,
Of all past Toyles to reape the deare Effect:
Since thou art iust, performe thy holy Word,
O come still hop'd for, come long Wish'd for Lord.

While thus They pray, the Heauens in Flames appeare,
As if they shew Fires elementall Spheare,
The Earth seemes in the Sunne, the Welken gone,
Wonder all hushes; straight the Aire doth grone
With Trumpets, which thrice-lowder Sounds doe yeeld
Than deafening Thunders in the airie Field.
Created Nature at the Clangor quakes,
Immur'd with Flames Earth in a Palsey Shakes,
And from her wombe the Dust in seuerall Heapes
Takes life, and mustereth into humane Shapes:
Hell burstes, and the foule prisoners there bound
Come howling to the Day, with Serpentes crown'd.
Milliones of Angels in the loftie Hight,
Cled in pure Gold and the Electar bright,
Ushering the way still where the Iudge should moue,
In radiant Raine-bowes vaulte the Skies aboue;
Which quickly open, like a Curtaine driuen,
And beaming Glorie show the King of Heaven.

What Persian Prince, Assirian most renown'd,
What Scythian with conquering Squadrones Crown'd,
Entring a breached Citie, where conspire
Fire to drie Blood, and Blood to quench out Fire;
Where cutted Carcasses quicke Members reele,
And by their ruine blunte the reeking Steele,
Resembleth now the euer-liuing King?
What Face of Troy which doth with yelling ring,

And grecian Flames transported in the aire,
What dreadfull Spectacle of Carthage faire?
What Picture of rich Corinthes tragicke wracke,
Or of Numantia the hideous sacke,
Or These together showne, the Image, Face
Can represent of Earth, and plaintfull case;
Which must lye smoaking in the Worlds vast Wombe,
And to it Selfe both fewell be and Tombe?

Neare to that sweet and odoriferous Clime,
Where the all-cheering Emperour of Tyme
Makes spring the Casia, Narde, and fragrant Balmes,
And euerie Hill, and Collin Crownes with Palmes;
Where Incense sweats, where weeps the precious Mirre,
And Cedars ouer-tope the Pine and Firre;
Neare where the aged Phœnix, ty'rd of Breath
Doth build her Nest, and takes new life in Death:
A Valley into wide and open Feildes
Farre it extendeth,

[_]

The rest is desired.

[OMITTED]

University of Virginia Library

FLOWRES OF SION:

OR SPIRITVALL POEMES,

[i] [The Instabilitie of Mortall Glorie.]