Emblemes (1635) and Hieroglyphikes (1638) :: :: University of Virginia Library

O how my will is hurried to and fro,
And how my unresolv'd resolves do varies!
I know not where to fix; sometimes I goe
This way; then that; and then the quite contrary:
I like, dislike; lament for what I could not;
I doe; undoe; yet still do what I should not;
And at the selfe same instant; will the Thing I would not.

2

Thus are my weather-beaten Thoughts opprest
With th'earth-bred winds of my prodigious will;
Thus am I hourely tost from East to West
Upon the rouling streames of Good and Ill:
Thus am I driv'n upon these slipppry Sudds,
From reall Ills to false apparent Goods;
My life's a troubled sea, compos'd of Ebbs and Floods.

3

The curious Penman, having trim'd his Page
With the dead language of his dabled Quill,
Lets fall a heedlesse drop, then, in a Rage,
Cashieres the fruits of his unlucky skill;
Ev'n so my pregnant soule in th'infant bud
Of her best thoughts, showres down a Cole-black flood
Of unadvised Ills, and cancels all her Good.

4

Sometimes a sudden flash of sacred heat
Warmes my chill soule, and sets my thoughts in frame:
But soone that fire is shouldred from her seat
By lustfull Cupids much inferiour flame;
I feele two flames, and yet no flame, entire.
Thus are the Mungrill thought of mixt desire
Consum'd between that heav'nly and this earthly fire.

5

Sometimes my trash-disdaining thoughts out-passe
The common Period of terrene conceit;
O then, me thinks I scorne the Thing I was,
Whilst I stand ravisht at my new Estate:
But when th'Icarian wings of my desire
Feele but the warmth of their owne native fire,
O then they melt and plunge within their wonted mire.

6

I know the nature of my wav'ring mind;
I know the frailty of my fleshly will:
My Passion's Eagle-ey'd; my Judgement, blind;
I know what's good, but yet make choice of ill;
When the Ostrich wings of my desires shalbe
So dull, they cannot mount the least degree,
Yet grant my soule desire but of desiring Thee.

S. BERN. Med. 9.

My heart is a vaine, a vagabond, and instable heart; whilst it is led by its owne judgement, and wanting divine counsell, cannot subsist in it selfe, and whilst it divers ways seeks rest, finds none, but remaines miserable through labour, and void of peace: it agrees not with itselfe; it dissents from itselfe; it alters resolutions, changes the judgement, frames new thoughts, puls downe the old, and builds them up againe: It wils and wils not, and never remaines in the same state.

S. AUGUST. de Ver. Apost.

When it would it cannot, because when it might, it would not: Therefore, by an evill will man lost his good power.

EPIGRAM 1.

[My soule, how are thy thoughts disturb'd! confin'd]

My soule, how are thy thoughts disturb'd! confin'd,
Enlarg'd betwixt thy Members, and thy Mind!
Fix here, or there; Thy doubt-depending cause
Can nev'r expect one verdict, 'twixt two Lawes.

II. PSALMS CXIX. V.

O that my wayes were directed to keepe thy statutes.

1

Thus I, the object of the worlds disdaine,
With Pilgrim-pace, surround the weary earth;
I onely relish what the world counts vaine;
Her mirth's my griefe; her sullen Griefe, my mirth;
Her light, my darknesse; and her Truth, my Error;
Her freedome is my Jayle; and her delight my Terror.

2

Fond earth! Proportion not my seeming love
To my long stay; let not thy 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 doore, I walke about thee,
With thee I cannot live; I cannot live without thee.

3

The world's a Lab'rinth, whose anfractious wayes
Are all compos'd of Rubs, and crook'd Meanders;
No resting here; Hee's hurried back that stayes
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.

4

This gyring Lab'rinth is betrench'd about
On either hand, with streames of sulphrous fire,
Streames closely sliding, erring in and out,
But seeming pleasant to the fond descrier;
Where if his footsteps trust their owne Invention,
He fals without redresse, and sinks beyond Demension.

5

Where shall I seek a Guide? Where shall I meet
Some lucky hand to led my trembling paces?
What trusty Lanterne will direct my feet
To scape the danger of these dang'rous places?
What hopes have I to passe without a Guide?
Where one gets falsely through, a thousand fall beside.

6

An unrequested Starre did gently slide
Before the Wisemen, to a greater Light;
Back-sliding Isr'el found a double Guide;
A Pillar, and a Cloud; by day, by night:
Yet, in my desp'rate dangers, which be farre
More great than theirs, I have nor Pillar, Cloud, nor Starre.

7

O, that the pineons of a clipping Dove
Would cut my passage, through the empty Ayre;
Mine eyes being seeld, how would I mount above
The reach of danger, and forgotten Care!
My backward eyes should ne'r commit that fault,
Whose lasting Guilt should build a Monument of Salt.

8

Great God, that art the flowing Spring of Light,
Enrich mine eyes with thy refulgent Ray:
Thou art my Path; direct my steps aright;
I have no other Light, no other Way:
Ile trust my God, and him alone pursue;
His Law shalbe my Path; his heav'nly Light my Clue.

S. AUGUST. Soliloq. Cap. 4.

O Lord, who art the Light, the Way, the Truth, the Life; in whom there is no darknesse, The way without which there is wandring; The Truth, without which there is errour; Life, without which there is death; Say, Lord, let there be light, and I shall see light, and eschue darknesse; I shall see the way, and avoid wandring; I shall see the truth, and shun errour; I shall see life, and escape death; Illuminate. O illuminate my blind soule, which sits in darknesse and the shadow of death, and direct my feet in the way of peace.

EPIGRAM 2.

[Pilgrim trudge on: What makes thy soule complaine]

Pilgrim trudge on: What makes thy soule complaine,
Crownes thy complaint: The way to rest is paine:
The Road to Resolution lies by doubt:
The next way Home's the farthest way about.

III. PSALMS XVII. V.

Stay my steps in thy paths, that my feet do not slide.

1

When ere the Old Exchange of Profit rings
Her silver Saints-bell of uncertaine gaines,
My merchant soule can stretch both legs and wings:
How I can run, and take unwearied paines!
The Charmes of Profit are so strong, that I
Who wanted legs to go, find wings to fly.

2

If time-beguiling Pleasure but advance
Her lustfull Trump, and blow her bold Alarms,
O, how my sportfull soule can frisk and daunce,
And hug that Syren in her twined Armes!
The sprightly voice of sinew-strengthning Pleasure
Can lend my bedrid soule both legs and leisure.

3

If blazing Honour chance to fill my veines
With flattring warmth, and flash of Courtly fire,
My soule can take a pleasure in her paines;
My loftie strutting steps disdaine to tire:
My antick knees can turne upon the hinges
Of Complement, and skrue a thousand Cringes.

4

But when I come to Thee, my God, that art
The royall Mine of everlasting Treasure,
The reall Honour of my better part,
And living Fountaine of eternall pleasure,
How nervelesse are my limbs! how faint, and slow!
I have nor wings to flie, nor legs to go.

5

So when the streames of swift-foot Rhene convay
Her upland Riches to the Belgick shore;
The idle vessell slides the watry lay,
Without the blast, or tug, of wind, or Oare;
Her slippry keele divides the silver foame
With ease; So facile is the way from home.

6

But when the home-bound vessell turnes her sailes
Against the brest of the resisting streame,
O then she slugs; nor Saile, nor Oare prevailes;
The Streame is sturdy, and her Tides extreme:
Each stroke is losse, and ev'ry Tug is vaine;
A Boat-lengths purchase is a League of paine.

7

Great All in All, that art my Rest, my Home,
My way is tedious, and my steps are slow;
Reach forth thy helpfull hand, or bid me come;
I am thy child; O teach thy Child to go:
Conjoyne thy sweet commands to my desire,
And I will venture, though I fall or tire.

S. AUGUST. Ser. 15 de Verb. Apost.

Be alwayes displeased at what thou art, if thou desirest to attaine to what thou art not: For where thou hast pleas'd thy selfe, there thou abidest: But if thou sayest, I have enough, thou perishest: Alwayes add, alwayes walke, alwayes proceed; neither stand still, nor go backe, nor deviate: He that stands still, proceeds not; He goes back, that continues not: He deviates, that revolts: He goes better that creepes, in his way, than he that runs, out of his way.

EPIGRAM 3.

[Feare not, my soule, to lose for want of cunning]

Feare not, my soule, to lose for want of cunning;
Weepe not; heav'n is not alwayes got by running:
Thy thoughts are swift, although thy legs be slow;
True love will creepe, not having strength to go.

IV. PSALMS CXIX. CXX.

My flesh trembleth for feare of thee, and I am afraid of thy judgements.

Let others boast of Luck: and go their wayes
With their faire Game; Know, vengeance seldome playes,
To be too forward; but does wisely frame
Her backward Tables, for an After-Game:
She gives thee leave to venture many a blot;
And, for her owne advantage, hits thee not;
But when her pointed Tables are made faire,
That she be ready for thee, then beware;
Then, if a necessary blot be set,
She hits thee; wins the Game; perchance the Set:

If prosperous Chances make thy Casting high,
Be wisely temp'rate; cast a serious eye
On after-dangers, and keep back thy Game;
Too forward seed-times make thy Harvest lame:
If left-hand Fortune give thee left-hand chances,
Be wisely patient; let no envious glances
Repine to view thy Gamesters heape so faire;
The hindmost Hound takes oft the doubling Hare:
The worlds great Dice are false; sometimes they goe
Extremely high; sometimes, extremely low:
Of all her Gamesters, he that playes the least,
Lives most at ease; playes most secure, and best:
The way to win, is to play faire, and sweare
Thy selfe a servant to the Crowne of Feare:
Feare is the Primmer of a Gamsters skill;
Who feares not Bad, stands most unarm'd to Ill:
The Ill that's wisely fear'd, is halfe withstood;
And feare of Bad is the best foyle to Good:
True Feare's th'Elixar, which, in dayes of old,
Turn'd leaden Crosses into Crownes of Gold:
The World's the Table; Stakes, Eternall life;
The Gamesters, Heav'n and I; Unequall strife!
My Fortunes are my Dice, whereby I frame
My indisposed Life: This Life's the Game;
My sins are sev'rall Blots, the Lookers on
Are Angels; and in death, the Game is done:
Lord, I'm a Bungler, and my Game does grow
Still more and more unshap'd; my Dice run low:
The Stakes are great; my carelesse Blots are many;
And yet, thou passest by, and hitst not any:
Thou art too strong; And I have none to guide me
With the least Jogge; The lookers on deride me;
It is a Conquest, undeserving Thee,
To win a Stake from such Wormes as mee:
I have no more to lose; If we persever,
'Tis lost; and, that, once lost, I'm lost for ever.
Lord, wink at faults, and be not too severe,
And I will play my Game, ere Feare has past her date:
Whose blot being hit, then feares; feare's then, too late.

S. BERN. Ser. 54 in Cant.

There is nothing so effectuall to obtaine Grace, to retaine Grace, and to regaine Grace, as alwayes to be found before God not over-wise, but to feare: Happy art thou if thy heart be replenished with three feares, a feare for received Grace, a greater feare for lost Grace, a greatest feare to recover Grace.

S. AUGUST. super Psalm.

Present feare begets eternall security: Feare God, which above all, and no need to feare man at all.

EPIGRAM 4.

[Lord shall we grumble, when thy flames do scourge us?]

Lord shall we grumble, when thy flames do scourge us?
Our sinnes breath fire; that fire returnes to purge us:
Lord, what an Alchymist art thou, whose skill
Transmutes to perfect good, from perfect ill!

V. PSALMS CXIX. XXXVII.

Turne away mine eyes from regarding vanitie.

1

How like to threds of Flaxe
That touch the flame, are my inflam'd desires!
How like to yeelding Waxe,
My soule dissolves before these wanton fires!
The fire, but touch'd; the flame, but felt,
Like Flaxe, I burne; like Waxe, I melt.

2

O how this flesh does draw
My fetter'd soule to that deceitfull fire!
And how th'eternall Law
Is baffled by the law of my desire!
How truly bad, how seeming good
Are all the Lawes of Flesh and Blood!

3

O wretched state of Men,
The height of whose Ambition is to borrow
What must be paid agen,
With griping Int'rest of the next dayes sorrow!
How wild his Thoughts! How apt to range!
How apt to varie! Apt to change!

4

How intricate, and nice
Is mans perplexed way to mans desire!
Sometimes upon the Ice
He slips, and sometimnes fals into the fire;
His progresse is extreme and bold,
Or very hot, or very cold.

5

The common food, he doth
Sustaine his soule-tormenting thoughts withall,
Is honey, in his mouth,
To night; and in his heart, to morrow, Gall;
'Tis oftentimes, within an houre,
Both very sweet, and very sowre.

6

If sweet Corinna smile,
A heav'n of Joy breaks downe into his heart:
Corinna frownes a while?
Hels Torments are but Copies of his smart:
Within a lustfull heart does dwell
A seeming Heav'n; a very Hell.

7

Thus worthlesse, vaine and void
Of comforts, are the fruits of earths imployment;
Which, ere they be enjoyd,
Distract us; and destroy us in th'enjoyment;
These be the pleasures that are priz'd,
When heav'ns cheape pen'worth stands despis'd.

8

Lord, quench these hasty flashes,
Which dart as ligtning from the thundring skies;
And, ev'ry minit, dashes
Against the wanton windowes of mine eyes:
Lord, close the Casement, whilst I stand
Behind the curtaine of thy Hand.

S. AUGUST. Soliloq. Cap. 4.

O thou Sonne that illuminates 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 turne away their eyes that they will not behold thee: Woe be unto those that turne not away their eyes that they may behold vanity.

S. CHRYS. sup. Matth. 19

What is an evill woman but the enemy of friendship, an unavoidable paine, a necessary mischiefe, a naturall tentation, a desiderable calamity, a domestick danger, a delectable inconvenience, and the nature of evill painted over with the colour of good!

EPIGRAM 5.

['Tis vaine, great God, to close mine eyes from ill]

'Tis vaine, great God, to close mine eyes from ill
When I resolve to keep the old man still:
My rambling heart must cov'nant first with Thee,
Or none can passe betwixt mine eyes and me.

VI. ESTHER VII. III.

If I have found favour in thy sight, and if it please the King, let my life be given me at my petition.

Thou art the great Assuerus, whose command
Doth stretch from Pole to Pole; The World's thy land;
Rebellious Vashti's the corrupted Will,
Which being cal'd, refuses to fulfill
Thy just command: Hester, whose teares condole
The razed City's the Regen'rate Soule;
A captive maid, whom thou wilt please to grace
With nuptiall Honour in stout Vashti's place:
Her kinsman, whose unbended knee did thwart
Proud Hamans glory, is the Fleshly part:
The sober Eunuch, that recal'd to mind
The new-built Gibbet (Haman had divin'd
For his owne ruine) fifty Cubits high,
Is lustfull thought-controlling Chastity;
Insulting Haman is that fleshly lust
Whose red-hot fury, for a season, must
Triumph in Pride, and study how to tread
On Mordecay, till royall Hester plead:

Great King, my sent-for Vashti will not come;
O let the oyle o'th blessed Virgins wombe
Cleanse my poore Hester; look, O looke upon her
With gracious eyes; and let thy Beames of honour
So scoure her captive staines, that she may prove
A holy Object of thy heav'nly love:
Annoint her with the Spiknard of thy graces,
Then try the sweetnese of her chast embraces;
Make her the partner of thy nuptiall Bed,
And set thy royall Crowne upon her head:
If then, ambitious Haman chance to spend
His spleene on Mordecay, that scornes to bend
The wilfull stiffenesse of his stubborne knee,
Or basely crouch to any Lord but Thee;
If weeping Hester should preferre a Grone
Before the high Tribunall of thy Throne,
Hold forth thy golden Scepter, and afford
The gentle Audience of a gracious Lord:
And let thy royall Hester be possest
Of halfe thy kingdome, at her deare request;
Curbe lustfull Haman; him, that would disgrace,
Nay ravish thy faire Queene before thy face:
And as proud Haman was himselfe ensnar'd
On that selfe Gibbet, that himself prepar'd

So nayle my lust, both Punishment, and Guilt
On that deare Crosse that mine owne Lusts have built.

S. AUGUST. in Ep.

O holy Spirit, alwayes inspire me with holy works; constraine me, that I may doe: Counsell me that I may love thee: Confirme me, that I may hold thee; Conserve me that I may not lose thee.

S. AUGUST. sup. Ioan.

The Spirit rusts where the flesh rests: For as the flesh is nourished with sweet things, the Spirit is refreshed with sowre.

Ibid.

Wouldst thou that thy flesh obey thy Spirit? Then let thy Spirit obey thy God: Thou must be govern'd, that thou mayst governe.

EPIGRAM 6.

[Of Merc' and Justice is thy Kingdome built]

Of Merc' and Justice is thy Kingdome built;
This plagues my Sin; and that removes my guilt:
When ere I sue, Assuerus like decline
Thy Scepter; Lord, say, Halfe my kingdome's thine.

VII. CANTICLES VII. XI.

Come my beloved, let us goe forth into the fields, and let us remaine in the villages.

Christ. Soule.
Christ:
Come, come, my deare, and let us both retire
And whiffe the dainties of the fragrant fields:
Where warbling Phil'mel and the shrill-mouth'd Quire
Chaunt forth their raptures; where the Turtle builds
Her lonely nest; and where the new-borne Bryer
Breaths forth the sweetnesse that her Aprill yeelds:
Come, come, my lovely faire, and let us try
These rurall delicates; where thou and I
May melt in private flames, and feare no stander by.

Soule:
My hearts eternall Joy, in lieu of whom
The earth's a blast, and all the world, a Buble;
Our Citie-mansion is the fairer Home,
But Country-sweets are tang'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 Goe, or Tarie;
Ile stirre with Martha; or Ile stay with Marie:
Our hearts are firmly fixt, although our pleasures varie.

Christ:
Our Country-Mansion (situate on high)
With various Objects, still renewes delight;
Her arched Roofe's of unstain'd Ivory;
Her wals of fiery-sparkling Chrysolite;
Her pavement is of hardest Porphery;
Her spacious windowes are all glaz'd with bright
And flaming Carbuncles; no need require
Titans faint rayes, or Vulcans feeble fire;
And ev'ry Gate's a Pearle; and ev'ry Pearle, entire.

Soule:
Foole, that I was! how were my thought deceiv'd!
How falsly was my fond conceit possest!
I tooke it for an Hermitage, but pav'd
And daub'd with neighbring dirt, and thatch'd at best;
Alas, I nev'r expected more, nor crav'd;
A Turtle hop'd but for a Turtles nest:
Come, come, my deare, and let no idle stay
Neglect th'advantage of the head-strong day;
How pleasure grates, that feeles the Curb of dull delay!

Christ:

5

Come, then my Joy; let our divided paces
Conduct us to our fairest Territory;
O there wee'l twine our soules in sweet embraces;

Soule:
And in thine Armes Ile tell my passion story:

Christ:
O there Ile crowne thy head with all my Graces;

Soule:
And all those Graces shall reflect thy Glory;

Christ:
O there, Ile feed thee with celestiall Manna;
Ile be thy Elkanah.

Soule:
And I thy Hanna.

Christ:
Ile sound my Trump of Joy.

Soule:
And Ile resound Hosanna.

S. BERN.

O blessed Contemplation! The death of vices, and the life of virtues! Thee the Law and Prophets admire: Who ever attain'd perfection, if not by Thee! O blessed solitude, the Magazine of celestiall Treasure: by thee things earthly, and transitory, are chang'd into heavenly, and eternall.

S. BERN. in Ep.

Happy is that house, and blessed is that Congregation, where Martha still complaines of Mary.

EPIGRAM 7.

[Mechanick soule; thou must not only doe]

Mechanick soule; thou must not only doe
With Martha; but, with Mary, ponder too:
Happy's that house, where these faire sisters vary;
But most, when Martha's reconcil'd to Mary.

VIII. CANTICLES I. III.

Draw me; we will follow after thee by the savour of thy Oyntment.

Thus, like a lump of the corrupted Masse,
I lie secure; long lost, before I was:
And like a Block, beneath whose burthen lies
That undiscover'd Worme that never dies,
I have no will to rouze; I have no pow'r to rise.

Can stinking Lazarus compound, or strive
With deaths entangling Fetters, and revive?
Or can the water-buried Axe implore
A hand to raise it? or, it selfe, restore
And, from her sandy deepes, approach the dry-foot shore,

So hard's the task for sinfull flesh and Blood
To lend the smallest step to what is Good;
My God, I cannot move, the least degree;
Ah! If but onely those that active be
None should thy glory see, none should thy Glory see.

But if the Potter please t'informe the Clay;
Or some strong hand remove the Block away;
Their lowly fortunes soone are mounted higher,
That proves a vessell, which, before, was myre;
And this, being hewne, may serve for better use than fire.

And if that life-restoring voice command
Dead Laz'rus forth; or that great Prophets hand
Should charme the sullen waters, and begin
To beckon, or to dart a Stick but in,
Dead Laz'rus must revive, and th'Axe must float agin.

Lord, as I am, I have no pow'r at all
To heare thy voice, or Eccho to thy call;
The gloomy Clouds of mine owne Guilt benight me;
Thy glorious beames, nor dainty sweets invite me;
They neither can direct; nor these at all delight me.

See how my Sin-bemangled body lies,
Nor having pow'r, to will; nor will, to rise!
Shine home upon thy Creature, and inspire
My livelesse will with thy regen'rate fire;
The first degree to do, is onely to desire.

Give me the pow'r to will; the will, to doe;
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 meerely to resist;
O lend me strength to do; and then command thy List.

My Soule's a Clock, whose wheeles (for want of use
And winding up, being subject to th'abuse
Of eating Rust) wants vigour to fulfill
Her twelve houres task, and show her makers skill;
But idly sleepes unmoov'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 winde it up with thy soule-mooving kayes,
Her dusie wheeles shall serve thee all her dayes;
Her Hand shall point thy pow'r; her Hammer strike thy praise.

S. BERN. Serm. 21 in Cant.

Let us run: let us run, but in the savour of thy Oyntments, not in the confidence of our merits, nor in the greatnesse 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 wills, nor in him that runs, but in God that sheweth mercy: O let thy mercy returne, and we will run: Thou, like a Gyant, run'st by thy own power; We, unlesse thy oyntment breath upon us, cannot run.

EPIGRAM 8.

[Looke not, my Watch, being once repair'd, to stand]

Looke not, my Watch, being once repair'd, to stand
Expecting motion from thy Makers hand.
H'as wound thee up, and cleans'd thy Coggs with blood:
If now thy wheeles stand still; thou art not good.

IX. CANTICLES VIII. I.

O that thou wert as my brother, that sucked the brest of my mother, I would find thee without, and I would kisse thee.

1

Come, come my blessed Infant, and immure thee
Within the Temple of my sacred Armes;
Secure mine Armes; mine Armes shall, then, secure thee
From Herods fury, or the High Priests Harmes;
Or if thy danger'd life sustaine a losse,
My folded Armes shall turne they dying Crosse.

2

But, ah, what savage Tyrant can behold
The beauty of so sweet a face as this is,
And not himselfe, be, by himselfe, controld,
And change his fury to a thousand kisses?
One smile of thine is worth more mines of treasure
Than there by Myriads in the days of Caesar.

3

O, had the Tetrarch, as he knew thy birth,
So knowne thy Stock; he had not sought to paddle
In thy deare Blood; but, prostrate on the earth,
Had vayld his Crowne before thy royall Cradle,
And laid the Scepter of his Glory downe,
And beg'd a heav'nly for an earthly Crowne.

4

Illustrious Babe! How is thy Handmaid grac'd
With a rich Armefull! How doest thou decline
Thy Majesty, that wert, so late, embrac'd
In thy great Fathers Armes, and now, in mine!
How humbly gracious art thou, to refresh
Me with thy Spirit, and assume, my flesh.

5

But must the Treason of a Traitors Haile
Abuse the sweetnesse of these rubie lips?
Shall marble-hearted Cruelty assaile
These Alabaster sides with knotted whips?
And must these smiling Roses entertaine
The Blowes of scorne, and Flurts of base disdaine?

6

Ah! must these dainty little sprigs that twine
So fast about my neck, be pierc'd and torne
With ragged nailes? And must these Browes resigne
Their Crowne of Glory for Crowne of thorne?
Ah, must this blessed Infant tast the paine
Of deaths injurious pangs? nay worse; be slaine?

7

Sweet Babe! At what deare rates do wretched I
Commit a sin! Lord, ev'ry sin's a dart;
And ev'ry trespasse lets a javelin fly;
And ev'ry javelin wounds thy bleeding heart:
Pardon, sweet Babe, what I have done amisse,
And seale that granted pardon with a kisse.

BONAVENT. Soliloq. Cap. 1.

O sweet Jesu, I knew not that thy kisses were so sweet, nor thy society so delectable, nor thy Attraction so vertuous: For when I love thee, I am cleane: when I touch thee, I am chast; when I receive thee, I am a virgin: O most sweet Jesu, thy embraces defile not, but cleanse; thy attraction pollutes not, but sanctifies: O Jesu, the fountaine of universall sweetnesse, pardon me, that I believed so late, that so much sweetnesse is in thy embraces.

EPIGRAM 9.

[My burthen's greatest: Let not Atlas bost]

My burthen's greatest: Let not Atlas bost:
Impartiall Reader, judge, which beares the most:
He beares but Heav'n; My folded Armes sustaine
Heav'ns Maker; whom heav'ns heav'n cannot containe.

X. CANTICLES XXX. I.

In my bed, by night, I sought him, that my soule loved: I sought him, but I found him not.

The learned Cynick, 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 Cynick search'd not where he ought;
The thing he sought for was not where he sought:
The Wisemens taske seem'd harder to be done,
The Wisemen did, by Starre-light seeke the Son,
And found; the Wisemen search'd it where they ought;

The thing they hop'd to find, was where they sought:
One seeks his wishes where he should; but then
Perchance he seeks not where he should, nor when:
Another searches when he should, but there
He failes; not seeking as he should, nor where:
Whose soule desires the good it wants; and would
Obtaine, must seek Where, As, and When he should:
How often have my wilde Affections led
My wasted soule to this my widdow'd Bed,
To seeks my Lover, whom my soule desires!
(I speak not, Cupid, of thy wanton fyres;
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 has my unwitnest groanes lamented
Thy deares absence! Ah, how often vented
The bitter Tempests of despairing breath,
And tost my soule upon the waves of death!
How often has my melting heart made choice
Of silent teares, (teares lowder than a voice)
To plead my griefe, and woo thy absent eare!
And yet thou wilt not come; thou wilt not heare:
O is thy wonted love become so cold?
Or do mine eyes not seeks 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 where I should not:
Thou art not found in downy Beds of ease;
Alas, thy musick strikes on harder keyes:
Nor art thou found by that false, feeble light
Of Natures Candle; Our Aegyptian night
Is more than common darknesse; nor can we
Expect a morning, but what breaks from Thee.
Well may my empty Bed bewaile thy losse,
When thou art lodg'd upon thy shamefull Crosse:
If thou refuse to share a Bed with me;
Wee'l never part, Ile share a Crosse with Thee.

ANSELM. in Protolog. Cap. 1.

Lord, if thou art not present, where shall I seeke thee absent? If every where, why do I not see thee present? Thou dwellest in light inaccessible; and where is that inaccessible light? Or how shall I have accesse to light inaccessible? I beseech thee, Lord, teach me to seeke thee, and show thyselfe to the seeker, because I can neither seeke thee, unlesse thou teach me, nor find thee, unlesse thou show thyselfe to me: Let me seeke the, in desiring thee, and desire thee in seeking thee: Let me find thee in loving thee, and love thee in finding thee.

EPIGRAM 10.

[Where shouldst thou seek for rest, but in thy Bed?]

Where shouldst thou seek for rest, but in thy Bed?
But now thy Rest is gone; thy Rest is fled:
'Tis vaine to seeke him there; My soule, be wise;
Go ask thy sinnes; They'l tell thee where he lies.

XI. CANTICLES III. II.

I will rise, and go about the City, and will seeke him that my soule loveth: I sought him, but I found him not.

1

O how my disappointed soule's perplext!
How restlesse thoughts swarme in my troubled brest!
How vainly pleas'd with hopes; then crossly vext
With feares! 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 blest Angell shall my lips enquire
The undiscover'd way to that entire
And everlasting solace of my hearts desire!

2

Look how the stricken Hart, that wounded, flies
Ov'r hills and dales, and seeks the lower grounds
For running streames; the whil'st his weeping eyes
Beg silent mercy from the following Hounds,
At length, embost, he droopes, drops downe, and lies
Beneath the burthen of his bleeding wounds:
Ev'n so my gasping soule, dissolv'd in teares,
Doth search for thee, my God, whose deafned eares
Leave me th'unransom'd Prisner to my panick feares.

3

Where have my busie eyes not pry'd? O where,
Of whom hath not my thred-bare tongue demanded?
I search'd this glorious City; Hee's not here;
I sought the Countrey; She stands empty-handed:
I search'd the Court; He is a stranger there:
I ask'd the land; Hee's shipp'd: the sea; hee's landed:
I climb'd the ayre, my thoughts began t'aspire;
But, ah! the wings of my too bold desire,
Soaring too neare the Sun, were sing'd with sacred fire.

4

I moov'd the Merchants eare; alas, but he
Knew neither what I said, nor what to say:
I ask'd the Lawyer; He demands a Fee,
And then demurres me with a vaine delay:
I ask'd the Schoole-man; His advice was free,
But scor'd me out too intricate a way;
I ask'd the Watch-man (best of all the foure)
Whose gentle answer could resolve no more;
But that he lately left him at the Temple doore.

5

Thus having sought, and made my great Inquest
In ev'ry place, and search'd in ev'ry eare;
I threw me on my Bed; but ah! my rest
Was poyson'd with th'extreames of griefe and feare,
Where, looking downe into my troubled brest,
The Magazen of wounds, I found him there;
Let others hunt, and show their sportfull Art;
I wish to catch the Hare before the start,
As Potchers use to do; Heav'ns Form's a troubled heart.

S. AMBROS. Lib. 3 de Virg.

Christ is not in the market; not 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 idlenesse: Christ is Charity; in the market is slander: Christ is Faith; in the market is fraud: Let us not therefore seeke Christ, where we cannot find Christ.

S. HIEROM. Ep. 22 Eustoch.

Jesus is jealous: He will not have thy face seene: Let foolish virgins ramble abroad; seeke thou thy Love at home.

EPIGRAM 11.

[What lost thy Love? Will neither Bed nor Board]

What lost thy Love? Will neither Bed nor Board
Receive him? Not by teares to be implor'd
It is the Ship that mooves, and not the Coast;
I feare, I feare, my soule, 'tis thou art lost.

XII. CANTICLES III. III.

Have you seene him whom my soule loveth? When I had past a little from them, then I found him, I took hold on him, and left him not.

1

What secret corner? What unwonted way
Has scap'd the ransack of my rambling thoughts?
The Fox by night, nor the dull Owle, by day,
Have never search'd those places I have sought,
Whilst thy lamented absence taught my brest
The ready Road to Griefe, without request;
My day had neither comfort, nor my night had rest:

2

How has my unregarded language vented
The sad Tautologies of lavish passion?
How often have I languish'd, unlamented!
How oft have I complain'd without compassion!
I asked the Citie-Watch; but some deny'd me
The common streit, whilst others would misguide me;
Some would debarre me; some, divert me; some, deride me.

3

Mark, how the widow'd Turtle, having lost
The faithfull partner of her loyall Heart,
Stretches her feeble wings from Coast to Coast,
Haunts ev'ry path; thinks ev'ry shade does part
Her absent Love, and her; At length, unsped,
She re-betakes her to her lonely Bed,
And there bewailes her everlasting widow-head;

4

So when my soule had progrest ev'ry place,
That love and deare affection could contrive;
I threw me on my Couch, resolv'd t'embrace
A death for him, in whom I ceas'd to live:
But there injurious Hymen did present
His Landskip joyes; my pickled eyes did vent
Full streames of briny teares; teares never to be spent.

5

Whilst thus my sorrow-wasting soule was feeding
Upon the rad'call Humour of her thought,
Ev'n whilst mine eyes were blind, and heart was bleeding,
He that was sought, unfound, was found, unsought;
As if the Sun should dart his Orbe of light
Into the secrets of the black-brow'd night,
Ev'n so appear'd my Love, my sole, my soules delight.

6

O how mine eyes, now ravish'd at the sight
Of my bright Sun, shot flames of equall fire!
Ah! how my soule, dissolv'd with ov'r-delight,
To re-enjoy the Crowne of chaste desire!
How sov'raigne joy depos'd and dispossest
Rebellious griefe! And how my ravisht brest—
But who can presse those heights, that cannot be exprest?

7

O how these Armes, these greedy Arms did twine,
And strongly twist about his yeelding wast!
The sappy branches of the Thespian vine
Nev'r cling'd their lesse beloved Elme so fast;
Boast not thy flames, blind boy, nor feather'd shot;
Let Himens easie snarles be quite forgot:
Time cannot quench our fires, nor death dissolve our knot.

ORIG. Hom. 10 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 certaine 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.

BEDE in Cap. 3. Cant.

The longer I was in finding whom I sought, the more earnestly I held him being found.

EPIGRAM 12.

[What? found him out? Let strong embraces bind him]

What? found him out? Let strong embraces bind him;
Hee'l fly perchance, where teares can never find him:
New Sins will lose what old Repentance gaines:
Wisedome not onely gets, but got, retaines.

XIII. PSALMS LXXII. XXVIII.

It is good for me to draw neare to God; I have put my trust in the Lord God.

Where is that Good, which wise men please to call
The Chiefest? Does there any such befall
Within mans 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 higher;
Such Good must be the utter point of mans desire:

It is the Mark, to which all hearts must tend,
Can be desired for no other end,
Then for it selfe; on which, all other Goods depend:

What may this Exc'lence be? does it subsist
A royall Essence, clouded in the mist
Of curious Art, or cleare to ev'ry eye that list?

Or is't a tart Idea, to procure
An Edge, and keep the practick soule in ure,
Like that deare Chymick dust, or puzzling Quadrature?

Where shall I seek this Good? Where shall I find
This Cath'lick pleasure, whose extreames may bind
My thouhts, and fill the gulph of my insatiate mind?

Lies it in Treasure? In full heaps untold?
Does gowty Mammons griping hand infold
This secret Saint in sacred Shrines of sov'raigne Gold?

No, no; she lies not there; Wealth often sowrs
In keeping; makes us hers, in seeming ours;
She slides from heav'n indeed, but not in Danaes showrs.

Lives she in Honour? No. The royall Crowne
Builds up a Creature, and then batters downe:
Kings raise thee with a smile, and raze thee with a frowne.

In pleasure? No, Pleasure begins in rage;
Acts the fooles part on earths uncertaine Stage,
Begins the Play in Youth; and Epilogues in Age.

These, these are bastard-goods; the best of these
Torment the soule with pleasing it, and please,
Like water gulp'd in Fevers, with deceitfull ease.

Earths flattring dainties are but sweet distresses:
Mole-hils performe the mountaines she professes;
Alas, can earth confer more good than earth possesses?

Mount, mount my soule; and let thy thoughts casheire
Earths vaine delights, and make their full careire
At heav'ns eternall joyes, stop, stop thy Courser there.

There shall thy soule possesse uncarefull Treasure;
There shalt thou swim in never-fading pleasure;
And blaze in Honour farre above the frownes of Caesar.

Lord, if my hope dare let her Anchor fall
On thee, the chiefest Good, no need to call
For earths inferiour trash; Thou, thou art All in All.

S. AUGUST. Soliloq. Cap. 13.

I follow this thing, I pursue that; but am fill'd with nothing. But when I found thee, who art that immutable, individed, and onely good, in myselfe, what I obtained, I wanted not; for what I obtained not, I grieved not; with what I was possest, my whole desire was satisfied.

S. BERN. Ser. 9 sup. beati qui habent, &c.

Let others pretend merit: let him brag of the burthen of the day; let him boast of his Sabbath fasts, and let him glory 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.

EPIGRAM 13.

[Let Boreas blasts, and Neptunes waves be joyn'd]

Let Boreas blasts, and Neptunes waves be joyn'd,
Thy Eolus commands the waves, the wind:
Feare not the Rocks or worlds imperious waves:
Thou climbst a Rock (my soule) a Rock that saves.

XIV. CANTICLES II. III.

I sate under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.

1

Look how the sheep, whose rambling steps doe stray
From the safe blessing of her Shepheards eyes
Eftsoone, becomes the unprotected Prey
To the wing'd Squadron of beleagring flies;

Where, sweltred with the scorching beames of day,
She frisks from Bush to Brake; and wildly flies
From her owne selfe, ev'n of her selfe affraid;
She shrowds her troubled browes in ev'ry Glade,
And craves the mercy of the soft removing shade.

2

Ev'n so my wandring Soule, that has digrest
From her great Shepheard, is the hourely prey
Of all my Sinnes, These vultures in my Brest
Gripe my Promethian 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 burnes; her flames invade
My sweltring Soule: My soule has oft assaid
But she can find no shrowd, but she can feele no Shade.

3

I sought the Shades of Mirth, to weare away
My slow-pac'd houres of soule-consuming griefe;
I search'd the Shades of Sleepe, to case my day
Of griping sorrowes with a nights repriefe;
I sought the Shades of Death; thought, there, t'allay
My finall torments with a full reliefe;
But Mirth, nor Sleepe, nor Death can hide my howres
In the false Shades of their deceitfull Bowres;
The first distracts, the next disturbes, the last devoures.

4

Where shall I turne? To whom shall I apply me?
Are there no Streames where a faint soule may wade?
Thy Godhead, JESUS, are the flames that fry me;
Has thy All-glorious Deity nev'r a Shade,
Where I may sit, and vengeance never eye me,
Where I might sit refresht, or unaffraid?
Is there no Comfort? Is there no Refection?
Is there no Covert that will give Protection
T'a fainting soule, the subject of thy wraths reflexion?

5

Looke up, my soule; advance the lowly stature
Of thy sad Thoughts; advance thy humble eye:
See, here's a Shadow found; The humane nature
Is made th'Umbrella to the Deity,
To catch the Sun-beames of thy just Creator;
Beneath this Covert thou maist safely lie:
Permit thine eyes to climbe this fruitfull Tree,
As quick Zacheus did, and thou shalt see
A Cloud of dying flesh betwixt those Beames and thee.

GUILL. in Cap. 2 Cant.

Who can endure the fierce rayes of the Sun of Justice? Who shall not be consumed by his beames? Therefore the Sun of Justice took flesh, that through the conjunction of that Sun and this humane, body, a shadow may be made.

S. AUGUST. Med. Cap. 37.

Lord, let my soule 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 downe and rest.

EPIGRAM 14.

[Ah, treach'rous soule, would not thy Pleasures give]

Ah, treach'rous soule, would not thy Pleasures give
That Lord which made thee living, leave to live?
See, what thy sinnes have done: Thy sinnes have made
The Sun of Glory now become thy Shade.

XV. PSALMS CXXXXVII. IV.

How shall we sing a song of the Lord in a strange land?

Urge me no more: This Ayry 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 straines that are constrain'd, affoord no pleasure;
Musick's the Child of mirth: where griefs assaile
The troubled soule, both voice and fingers faile;
Let such as ravill out their lavish dayes
In honourable Ryot; that can raise
Dejected hearts, and conjure up a Sprite
Of madnesse by the Magick of delight;
Let those of Cupids Hospitall that lie
Impatient Patients to a smiling eye,
That cannot rest, untill vaine hope beguile
Their flatter'd Torments with a wanton smile;
Let such redeeme their peace, and salve the wrongs
Of froward Fortune with their frolick Songs:
My grief, my grief's too great for smiling eyes
To cure, or Counter-charmes to exercise;
The Ravens dismall Croakes; the midnight howles

Of empty Wolves, mixt with the screech of Owles;
The nine sad knowles of a dull Passing Bell,
With the loud language of a nighty knell,
And horrid out-cries of revenged Crimes,
Joyn'd in a Medley's Musick for these Times;
These are no Times to touch the merry string
Of Orpheus; No, these are no times to sing:
Can hide-bound Prisners, that have spent their soules
And famish'd Bodies in the noysome holes
Oh hell-black dungeons, apt their rougher throats,
Growne hoarse with begging Almes, to warble notes?
Can the sad Pilgrim, that has lost his way
In the vast desarts; there, condemn'd a Prey
To the wild Subject, or his Salvage King,
Rouze up his palsey-smitten spir'ts, and sing?
Can I a Pilgrim, and a Prisner too,
(Alas) where I am neither knowne, nor know
Ought but my Torments, an unransom'd stranger
In this strange Climat, in a land of danger,
O, can my voice be pleasant, or my hand,
Thus made a Prisner to a forreigne land?
How can my musick relish in your eares,
That cannot speake for sobs, nor sing for teares?
Ah, if my voice could, Orpheus-like, unspell
My poore Euridice, my soule, from hell
Of earths miscontru'd Heav'n, O then my brest
Should warble Ayres, whose Rapsodies should feast
The eares of Seraphims, and entertaine
Heav'ns highest Deity with their lofty straine,
A straine well drencht in the true Thespian Well:
Till then; earths Semiquaver, mirth, farewell.

S. AUGUST. Med. Cap. 33.

O infinitely happy are those heavenly virtues which are able to praise thee in holinese and purity, with excesssive sweetnesse and inutterable exultation! From thence they praise thee, from whence they rejoyce, for what they praise thee: But wee prest downe with this burthen of flesh, farre remov'd from thy countenance in this pilgrimage, and blowne up with worldly vanities, cannot worthily praise thee: We praise thee by faith; not face to face; but those Angelicall Spirits praise thee face to face, and not by faith.

EPIGRAM 15.

[Did I refuse to sing? Said I these times]

Did I refuse to sing? Said I these times
Were not for Songs? nor musick for thee Climes?
It was my Errour: Are not Groanes and teares
Harmonious Raptures in th'Almighties eares?