University of Virginia Library

Charitie and Pride, both feede the poore, in the Den.
Charitie to praise God, Pride to get praise of men:
True Charitie in midst of dangers winnes
Safety: shee covers multitudes of sins.
Love is the Chaine of Grace, love without spot,
which ties all Vertues, in Loves true-love knot,
Three thousand Soules, the heav'nly weeper gain'd
constant till death, by Charity obtain'd:
Not words, but good works, must man's Faith approve,
Charitie, ever is the life of love,
Patience House-keeper, rich & bountiful,
No Grimfac'd grumbling giver slothfull:
Deale liberally thine Almes, chearfull Almes-giving,
increase Mens stares, decreases no man's living.

True Love ne'r Envies this, nor that Man's good,
The low descent, nor High-borne Noble blood,
Ne're makes her boast of giving, never braggs,
Nor seeks revenge by Hell-affected Raggs,
Surpassing this, or that proud neighbours state,
(Causes of mischeife, malice, and much hate,)
But is all excellent sweetnesse, noble pitty.
Faire Honours soule, cloath'd in humility!
What Eye on Earth sheads for his sinne a teare?
What Eare delights Heav'ns Holy Word to heare?
What Tongue triumphs to speake th' Almighti's praise?
What Heart affected stands to holy waies?
Wer't not for Charity; she is the Queene,
In whom all Graces of the soule are seene!
Prophesies shall faile, Tongues cease, & knowledge vanish
But Charity never; she from soules can banish
Lust, Avarices and Pride, with all the Rabble
Of sinnes, which make Men truely miserable!
“O, when we want the gift of Charitie
“We all are subject to impietie.
“The Devill laies his stumbling blocks within
“Our waies of wickednesse, our daies of sinne,
“Lures us to strumpets, such as Sampson tride,
“To mighty Nabuchadnezers swolne pride,
“Like Acban, and Gebezi, daily He,
“Tempts Man, to covetuous Idolatrie;
Snares soules to Envie like accursed Caine,
To Herods Selfe-love, Nabals churlish-vaine
Sinne heapt on sinne, all those blacke soules to stifle,
That thinke Adult'rie sweet, true love a trifle,
If rich, Heav'n wills us from our plenteous store,
To yeeld Truths cherefull succoure to the poore,
And that by sundry Statutes God commands,
Vpon the forfeiture of life and Lands,
Confirming still, the poore man to have part
In the Rich man's Estate; if any heart
Dares doubt this Truth; the Scripture must denie,
“None but an Atheist wrongs that pietie!
What a large extreeme folly 'tis to see
Man (like the Wolfe for prey) how earnestly,
He hunts for meanes; as if the onely honie,
Of soule and body did consist in monie,
Meate, drinke, and cloathes; Men sicke, still pray for health,
Readie to be undone, for paltry wealth,
Freedome and safety, and with shamelesse faces,
Forget to begg of God spirituall Graces.
Many men, pray but he the glory winnes,
That prayes to be disburthen'd of his sinnes,
And viewes the poore Mans labour with the eye.
Of sweet reliefe; ther's noble Charitie!
The heart of such a man may sometimes shrinke
Vnder temptations weight, but never sinke.
“God makes man here Lord steward of that store
“He deales so chearefully among the poore,
“Gives him the Grace to thinke, when to his fight
A poore wretch comes to begge of him a mite,
He might have beene that begger, his estate
Transferr'd on him, and begging at his gate,
Or in the streete in Ragges, opprest with griefe
Glad to beseech him for some poore reliefe:
Wealth's the worlds Witch, desir'd of most, all know it,
Yet I have read, wise Codrus a poore Poet,
And his Wife Procula, they knew it was
Farre greater happinesse, their dayes to passe
After long life unto a quiet end,
Then change their poorenesse, proudly to ascend
King Ninus Throne; be wonder'd at and seene
T'out shine Semyramis; wealths wicked Queene.
Thus Heathens learne us Christians what to doe,
Greedy desire of wealth, workes endlesse woe!
As wise Vlysses serv'd his Syren Witches,
Passe-by the worlds pelfe; seeke celestiall Riches,
“Be rich or poore, unlesse a beast thou be,
“Seeke Heav'nly wealth, or ne're looke heav'n to see.
Man backward goes, takes all the care he can,
Not to be godly first, but a rich man,
Takes care for health, long life, Physicks the blood
But last of all, least care, to become good.
Cleane opposite to the faire rule of Truth,
Truth instructs crooked Age, and stiffe-neckt youth.
First to seeke Godlinesse, Riches and health
Will follow next; godlinesse is great wealth.
What though the world frowne, must we straight repine,
Has not Heav'n sent us reason to define
Twixt good and evill? ought not thou and I,
Ev'ry one strive to live contentedly
With our estates? certaine it should be so,
Did not sinne blind us, did we but truly know,
That which the world so scoffes at, Poverty
God onely sends to trie our honestie,
Or dishonestie; poverty is sent
“For Vertues triall; Vices punishment:

He that in peace enjoyes the quiet calmes
Of flourishing plenty; yet gives no Almes,
But like insatiate Hell greedy of more,
Belies his wealthy state to rob the poore
Of their just Intrest, disabling himselfe
(Base miser like) to save his dirty pelfe,
Such falshood, cries for flaming vengeance still
To persecute a Wretch so vile, so ill.
'Tis not the Rich nor Poore can pleade excuse,
Where want of Charity speakes Man's abuse.
Dost thou want meanes to give, Truth is thy friend,
Truth at all times instructs thee to extend
Thy Almes in lib'rall manner; not to pine
In parting with thy pence, for love divine.
Admitt thou art unable to disburse
Least peece of Coine, yet let thy empty purse,
Be full exprest in a Compassionate groane,
A sigh, a prayer for him that makes his moane,
And in the Holy Name of the most High,
Beggs some reliefe to succour penurie.
God ever stands, more on the givers mind,
Then the gift given; if God but truely find
A cup of water, (in his sacred name)
Given to the poore, God gratifies the same.
“The Widdowes Mite, one Farthing pleased more
“The Lord of Heav'n, then all the Rich Man's store,
“There is no Vertue Constant without love,
“Nor no love perfect but from Heav'ns above.
Witnesse Truths sacred Text; Heav'ns love to Man
Amply exprest in the poore Publican.
His humble Eyes, sighes, cries, and bruised breast,
Forc'd ope the Gates of Mercy, gave him rest.
With Spittle, Clay, least word that did proceed
From Mercies never failing Master freed
The Blind, the Lame, the Sicke, the Dead from grave,
Heav'ns All-Commanding Maker all can save;
O let us then in holy love betake us
To Christian Charity; Now good God make us
Gratiously willing, for thy owne sweet sake
(That suffer'd on the Crosse; made hell to quake)
Fashion our wills to thine; Lord, make us know
It is our sinnes, our sinnes makes God our Foe.