Poems Sacred And Satyricall :: :: University of Virginia Library

TO THE RIGHT VVORTHY AND NOBLY DISPOSED Thomas Soame Esquire, Alderman, and one of the Burgesses of Parliament for the Honorable City of LONDON.

THE AUTHOR.

N o man so high but er'e he die may fall,
A ll Flesh is fraile, all subject unto thrall,
T her's no content on Earth, none certaine bred,
H ealthfull to day we live; to morow dead.
A rt, nor Promotion, meuds not each Man's state,
N or are the Greatest, truly fortunate.
A dvanc'ments but a Breath, delight a Toy,
E ach glitt'ring Pompe each soule-seducing joy
L ike Hell-bred poyson, workes the soules annoy.

R eject all lewd, all vaine affecting pleasure,
I ntend thy future good, Celestiall treasure.
C ontest with sinne, still strive, the conquest weare
H e that will conquer, patiently must beare.
A t such rare Combats, aide from Heav'n is sent
R especting Man, sinnes danger to prevent,
D eare is the Love of God, in him delight,
S eeke Heavenly joyes, those comforts infinite.

Prayers Paradise.

All-Potent Scatt'rer of Man's o'r rancke state,
Thou that dost raise the humble, the proud hate
Soule-saving God, joy to the best of men,
Great terrour to the damned, guide my Pen,
Head, hand, heart, all, apply my soule to win
Soules to thy glory; let the sence of sin,
(Companion still to misery) affright,
Times scoffing Idiots from the lewd delight
Of soule confounding sinne, make us to pray
With ardency of soule, great God of day,

Fashion our wills to thine, let each proud eye,
Humbled with teares, admire thy Majestie.
The spirit of Prayer must amend us all,
(So writes the Churches Atlas, holy Paul,)
We shipwrack else; soules that will Heav'n inherit,
Must pray, and pray with confidence of Spirit;
Pray for our King, pray for the blest event,
Of this our Englands present Parliament:
Have we not cause; do's not this Nation know,
Warre and the Plague so threats our overthrow;
We soone were lost, did not sweet mercy yet
Protect our Peace? let us not then forget
To fast and pray, (Lord) make us all inclin'd
To praise thy Name, Eternally to mind
Thy mighty favours, unto this Realme more
Then all the World, for Peace and plenties store:
While neighbouring Nations perish by the sword,
Fierce Fire and Famine, wanting the sacred word
To solace soules; this Nation lives at peace,
And might continue, did our murmuring cease.

We heare the word preach't, have our recreations,
Walking abroad, our peacefull preservations,
Our streets have seene no Rider and his horse
O're whelm'd in bloud, nor have we seene what's worse
Big-belli'd women ript, the infants braines
Dasht in their Fathers faces; nor whole lanes
Of Armies in the field wheltering in bloud,
Nor thousands famish't in our streets for food.
Our blessed time of Peace did never spie
Cities a fire, poore people's dismall crie:
Age torne by th' haire o'th' head, Virgins defil'd,
Dainty Dames ravish't, and the tender child
Stab'd in the Mothers Armes; God grant such fights
May never fill our Land, with like affrights:
Importune Heav'n, on God alone rely,
True prayer to God, is what? Nuncius Cœli
Mercies sweet messenger, that sweetly beares
To Heav'ns bright Majesty mans trickling teares
Wrapt up in sighes, hearts griefe, sorrowes sad face
Wrinkled with cares for sinne, which conquers grace;

What humble soule mounts heav'ns celestiall Ayre
In up-flying fervent purity of Prayer,
But God sends downe a pardon; Age and Youth,
Through ardent prayer, prove the sons of truth.
Fear'st thou stearne War, Fire, Sword, Times, deare yeares dearth?
Pray fervently, cease not till Heav'n and Earth
Eccho the Spirit of thy Supplications,
Teares of contrition, holy meditations:
So shall no Devills ruling in the Ayre,
Nor difficult passage stop zealous Prayer.
“The want of prayer, proves the soules decay,
“Men cease to prosper, when they cease to pray.
We all are sinners: sinne raises such a storme
In our base blood, reason can ne're reforme.
Vrge reason to us, it will doe no good,
Fervent Prayer onely masters flesh and blood.
Tis Clavis cœli, which unlockes Gods treasure,
“Fervent prayer opens and shuts Heav'n at pleasure,
The Elements, Fire, Water, Earth, and Ayre,
Are all at the command of fervent Prayer.

Elijah prayed that fier might descend
From Heaven, and heav'n alone did him befriend.
Elijah pray'd, it rain'd not for the space
Of three yeares and sixe moneths on the earths face.
Fervent prayer never did true solace lacke;
Moses he prayed, and the Red-sea fled backe.
The prayers of the faithfull never fail'd;
Moses and Aarons fervent prayers prevail'd
Gainst Korah, Dathan, and Abirams sinne,
Earth open'd, swallow'd them, with all their kinne.
Earnest prayer truely is (Heav'ns truth to say)
From man to God, from God to man the way.
“Prayer maugre all Earths Villanous entices,
“Makes man at peace with God, at war with vices.
O Text of Truth never to be denide,
Celestiall prayer quells Luciferiall Pride.
Cooles raging lust, tames the Malicious,
Envie, Wrath, Gluttony, cures the Covetous,
Heav'ns in that prayer when (circl'd round with vice)
Man conquers sinne, that's Prayers paradice.

Firme Prayer steeres soules to each soule-saving motion,
Sighes, Teares, repentance, and to all devotion.

As the true skill of a Pilote is unknowne
But in a Tempest; (or a Captaine prone
To noble deeds) his valour is unseene
But in a battell (where the field hath beene
His mount of Honour) so the rare worth
Of a true Christian, can be ne'r set forth,
Nor ever of th' All-viewing eye discern'd,
Till like the Hebrewes Gen'rall he has learn'd
Heav'ns pleasing science, the Celestiall Art
Of fervent Prayer; that's the true Christians pare.
When the Hearts tooke with a delight to pray,
Soules clearely see, finde a compendious way
To know Heav'n savingly, to curbe offence,
And burne in ravishing joy, truth's Excellence.
Such sweet content, all mortalls Mundane wit,
(Humane delights,) can never equall it
“The fixing of our hearts on heav'n by prayer,
“Heales sinnes deepe festering wounds, kills killing care,

Cures the distracted minde, proves soules defence,
Mercies subduer, sacred conference.
O thou Ens Enriam, sempeternall light,
Give me the spirit to pray, to pray aright;
Lest Tempest-tost with cares, thinking to shunne
Sinnes gulfe, on ruines Rocke my soule's undone:
“Pray then, O pray; he that prayes willingly,
“Be rich or poore, can ne'r live wickedly.
Prayer is the wing by which the soule do's flie
To Heav'n; and meditation is the eye
Wherewith we see God: by prayer we talke,
And by our Charity with God we walke,
Soules that will mount, gaine a Celistiall Crowne,
Must pray with ardency, looke up, not downe,
Like times too many mumblers that doe fall
To pray, on the halfe knee, or none at all,
Nor desperately like such, as thinke no sinne
To come to Church, till Sermon time beginne;
Entring (O most abhorr'd) so sneakingly,
So rude in rev'rence, pray so peakingly,

As doth amaze religious fortitude,
To see lewd Mortalls base ingratitude
To their Redeemer; he that dreads heav'ns Rod,
Prayes ardently t'appease the wrath of God.
Else like the sickles edge, or Razor keene,
Heav'ns wrath works worldlings quick dispatch unseene,
Sharpe Vengeance undiscernd full swift do's fall,
Leaves not a life uncut; but mowes downe all,
All grumbling Nations for their sinnes excesse,
Pride to the poore, and rude unthankfulnesse,
All Sects, all Schismes, that dare by booke maintaine,
And for their owne base ends, their godlesse gaine,
“Make Scripture fight with Scripture: fatall ill,
“Sanctity save Kingdomes from such cursed skill.
O the deepe folly that on man attends!
Our flesh and bloud are to our selves salfe friends.
We aske, and pray, but both amisse, and why?
We neither aske nor pray with fervency,
Our mindes at randome runne, this way, and that,
Vpon a world of vanities; Idle chat,

Fashions, and fooleries; heav'n pardon sinne:
We oft are out in Prayer, seldome in.
Sinne like a whirlewind circles feeble prayer,
Snatches it up, then whirles it into ayre,
Infections ayre, whose fatall poyson spreads,
Powers downe hot vengeance, misery on our heads,
Crosses, continuall cares, perpetuall paine,
Weake Prayer makes bitter still the fruit of gaine,
Converts the key of kindnes into lust,
Carelesse prayer makes the life of love unjust,
Dulls noble wisedome, over-rules all reason,
To the forgetfull soules Eternall Treason.
“We pray to heav'n, yet mind not heav'nly things,
“O foule ingratitude to the King of Kings.
“Mans mingling prayer with Earths cold cogitation,
“Merits swift vengeance; cloath'd in blacke damnation.
Think on thy God then, in thy dayes of youth,
Search in the Morning of thy yeares for truth;
Early betimes, before the evill day
Of sinne, and Satan, that does ev'ry way

Stops mans Celestiall journey, scatters snares
In every place; we are not safe at Prayers:
No sooner man to heaven divine thoughts reare,
But straight the Devill whispers in his eare,
Thinke on the world, thy wealth, thy poore estate,
Meanes must be had; thinke on thy neighbours hate:
Thinke on revenge, thinke on thy change, thy crosses,
Thy law-suites, ships at sea, thy land, thy losses;
Away with Prayer; puzzell not thy braine,
Mind thou what's present, what's to come refraine.
Thus speakes the subtile Fiend, of purpose bent,
To put us out of practise to repent.
Like a false Sexton, he sets backe the Clocke
To delay time, makes that our stumbling blocke;
Makes Time our Bawd, with flat'rie to betray,
And put us quite, out of the mind to pray:
With glorious outside, and deceitfull riches,
Satan fooles mortalls, wisest men bewitches.
Note but the whore-like minde of mans condition,
(So generally in all) when they petition

Their earthly King; (Lord) what a stirre we keepe,
The busie braine's in labour, cannot sleepe,
Nor take it's naturall rest, the carefull minde
Is totally tooke up, wholly inclin'd
To give each word his weight; for to relieve
Our wants, to sue for pardon, or repreive,
Profit or gaine; then head, hand, heart and all,
Knees that ne'r bend at Hean's high will, can fall
Prostrate in all obsequiousnes for place,
Lofty preferment, and a Princes Grace,
Then tongue and heart both jumpe in one agree,
Minde nothing but his Earthly Majestie;
Beg, kneele, implore, we fervently importune
Pardon for some foule fact, some brittle fortune.
This we can doe, we can with hot pursuite
To compasse our vaine ends, ne'r cease sinnes suite;
The trot, the amble, and the full cariere,
No speede is wanting, nor no paines too deare
To purchase sinnes Exchequer, riches store,
Ambitious aymes, Times glory, Beauties whore.

This too too many can, and in that way,
Eager like hungry hounds, soone sent sinnes prey;
But to the King of those Eternall fires
That spangle Heav'n, luke warme in their desires,
“Impudent in all Vice, in basenesse bold,
“Christians halfe coddl'd, neither hot nor cold,
“O Hell of hells; Man to'th' Celestiall Race
“Do's seldome runne, but with a Iade-like pace,
Never considering how the mind that's wrapt
In wilfull wickednesse, is ever apt.
To pine at Princes, snarle at pious lawes,
Scold people on to fight Religions cause.
When truth and all true Christians know Religion
Consists in true obedience, not Rebellion;
“Men that give way to ill, t'increase their good,
“Bring famine on a land, fierce fire and blood.
“All villages in a Kingdome, Sinne do's delude,
“Leaves it a prey to'th' law-lesse Multitude.

In true obedience then, with humble knee,
Eye, head, hand, heart, pray to Eternity.

Throw from thy minde all worldly cares, temptations,
All wandring, idle, vaine imaginations.
Abandon flaring pride, close fisted bribes,
And like the Father of twelve potent Tribes,
Tugge with Almighty God, still strive to winne
Pardon for each foule fact, times uggly sinne.
“Like Arts rare engin's Excellent's defence,
“Gainst fires in Cities which (to cleare offence)
Raises from Earth so sweet a watery showre,
As slacks the furious flame, extincts her powre:
So let the Art of fervent prayer raise
Our watery teares to Heav'n, to Heav'n that paies
In the descent, mans penitent desires,
With plenitude of grace, to quench sinnes fires.

God made the eare to heare the happinesse
We have from him, the tongue still to expresse
The glory of his name; the eye to see
The workes of his divine Integrity.
Eye, head, hand, heart, God the whole man did frame,
All to rejoyce in his All-Sacred name.

Happie the soule that prayes with sincere sorrow,
Repent to day, deferre not till to morrow.
And when you pray, thinke unto whom you pray;
T'is to the Worlds great builder, Lord of day,
Mercies bright Majestie, th' Almighty strong,
Iust grand decider of each poore mans wrong,
That tumbles downe the mighty, only can
Make the most Potent Prince, the poorest man;
The peace of Kingdomes in a breath disjoynt,
Spit all Earth's Children on warrs Rapiers point;
Turne fruitfull fields to yron, burne the grasse,
And for our sinnes, convert the Heav'ns to brasse;
Swell surging seas, the dreadfull deepes with waves,
Stormes, famine, fire and sword, to dig our graves.
How dare proud mortalls then ne'r take to minde
Heav's sacred eye-sight? shall darke deedes so blinde
Mans Machivilian mischiefe, as to thinke
Rais'd on Ambitions top, he cannot sinke?
He must, he must; bad states-men ne'r so big
Fall of themselves in time, breake like a twig,

As one naile drives another out of place,
So time cleares truth, drives flat'rie to disgrace:
Flatt'rers are fearefull Fiends, bright honours sting,
Serpents, the worst of Traitors to a King;
Court-Eare-wiggs, nimbly wrigling in the Eares
Of greatnesse, mighty profits, madnesse, feares,
So painted o're, shaddow'd for sound advice,
“A good King cannot knowes vertue from vice,
Till Heav'n (that brings the darkest deedes to light)
Produce in time the truth, twixt wrong and right.
Man whosoe're thou art, take this advice,
'Tis Angels counsell, Prayers Paradise.
“Walke after Gods way in the day of light.
“Or end thy journey in the darkest night.

Ther's but one universall remedy
For all our ills, each soules extremity,
And that is fervent prayer, all must resort
To Prayer, or perish; there is no safe port
(In this worlds Mare Mortuum) for man
To put into, but prayer; prayer only can

Powr'd out in fervency of soule prevent
Plagues, famine, bloud, and death, warr's dire event,
Bred by seditious subjects, whose desires
Are still the fuell unto popular fires.
Prayer shall confound, dead all the divellish deedes
Of forraigne foes, all home-corrupted seedes:
Dissembling Hypocrites, by hells aide appointed
To stifle truth, and grieve the Lords annointed.
Prayer like to hastie powder fir'd shall choake,
Flame viperous Rebels to a sudden smoake.

Pray then, through fervent prayer imitate
Moses and Iacob, wrestle with blessed fate,
Subdue thy sinnes, 'gainst sinfull flesh and bloud,
“Importune heaven, and heaven will doe thee good.
“Gods promise is, if fervently we pray,
“And use our best indeavours ev'ry day
“To fly from sinne, resolving to betake us
“To holy meanes, he never will forsake us.
“Never did any doe their faire endeavour
“To pray to God, that ever lost his labour.

“Nay more, if God but see thy inclination
“To pray, he will prevent thy supplication,
Answer thy full desire, e're thou canst crave,
Grant that, thy heart did never hope to have:
Witnesse good heaven 'tis true; ther's no deniall,
For I have found th' experimentall triall,
And were for ever like a soule in hell
Worthy to burne; should I forget to tell,
In midst of dangers, how I call'd on thee,
Mercifull God; and thou did'st set me free.
At home, abroad, at Sea, upon the land,
Here, there, and ev'ry where, thou Lord did'st stand
My sure protector 'gainst griefes infinite,
Times flatt'ring ruine, and the worlds despite,
Sicknesse, sad discontent, when I and care,
Shooke hands with sorrowes Minion deepe despaire.
That very hower, in heavinesse lockt up
Beyond all hope of health; then mercies Cup
I freely tasted; blessed be thy name,
To me my Gracious God, prove still the same.

Circle me round thou All-Eternall health,
Gainst all enticements, Honour, Beauty, Wealth,
Those fatall flies of sinne; which though best men
Do ne're so much flap off, flie on agen:
Arme,, a me good heaven, Times Microcosme in me,
Through Faith, Hope, Love, enable me to be
Truths Champion; Troopes of Furies to withstand,
And stave Hells Tempter off, dead sinnes command.
“Times expert faithfull souldier is a Iewell,
“Fit for a King, to fight a Kingdomes Duell.
“Valour and honesty are Princely twinnes,
“Ther's nothing makes a Coward, but his sinnes.
Lord, let a watchfull Centinell within
My weake mortality, so keepe out sinne,
That when so e're we meet, Morne, Noone, or Night,
I with my good sword Faith, may in thy sight,
Heavens Saint-like Souldier prove, subdue and winne
At truths close constant fight, conquest o're sinne.
Heare me my God, mount thoughts with admiration,
Vpon the highest step of contemplation,

Irradiate (Lord) my mind, past sinnes controle
Conari Sancta; Angelize my soule.
Give what thou dost command great God, and then,
Command even what thou wilt; Amen, Amen.

Earnest prayer, and the committing of sinne,
Will never lodge together in one Inne.
For sure if prayer cannot make thee cease
From sinne; sinnes sure to rob thy soule of peace,
And make thee leave off praying; God's all Eye,
Let our petitions then with fervency
Flie unto him, whose Majesty is such,
It comprehends all power; do but touch,
Trie, and then trust, petition but his name
In ardency of soule, you'le find a flame
All-heav'nly holy, thrill through thy vitall blood
To quell corruption, turne all ill to good.
O that the Soules of Mortall's to the life
Would Act this part, subdue sinnes stormy strife
Through fervent prayer; and in that swift course runne,
Firme as the golden taper of the sunne

Which hourely sailes the Circuit of the Skie,
That, were excelling heav'nly harmonie.
'Twould make this Globe on Earth whereon we tread,
Times glorious Theater; the rich stage spread
And hung all-round with silver shining starres
Prickt full of holy thoughts; in them no jarres
Of times discording musicke dare appeare,
The Musick-roome of concord being there;
There Truths faire Actor, where so e're he turnes
His penitent Eye, with holy raptures burnes,
Sees the All-sole Spectator, Three in one
Seated in gloryes Gallery; where none
But his Omniscient blest beatitude,
Sits the sole Iudge of soules Ingratitude,
Actors, and Action; mans good part, and his ill,
Th' unworthy Actors, dull, imperfect skill
Bred by distemper, grosse neglect in studdy;
Carelesse Rehearsalls, and a skull so muddy,
As never minds th' infinite paines and Art,
Penn'd, to advance and fit him with a part

That might immortalize; inflame desire,
Ravish his sinne-sicke sence; his soule inspire
With sacred extasie; high apprehension,
Seraphicall love, divine affection.
Heav'ns gracious Actor makes this pretious use
Of his faire Part; ne'r turnes it to abuse,
Nor wrongs the writer; but amaz'd with wonder,
As one shot through and through with holy thunder
At pious lines; whose powerfull Energie,
(In Noble spirits frustrates miserie,)
Tames Pride, cooles lust, makes the wise Actor see
His soule in danger; circl'd with sinnes, that He,
In all meeke Humblenesse of soule prepares him,
Not rashly hot (like some that goe to swimme,)
But takes a time to coole by meditation,
Ponders with sweet celestiall affectation
On his soule-pleasing Part, dares not venter
To tread Times Stage; nor unadvis'd to enter

Till perfect in that part, whose excellence
Gaines grace, sinnes pardon, Mercies Audience.

Then like a bold and able Musketeire
Arm'd with a world of valour, trampling feare
Vnder his valiant foot, set's bravely on
The front of danger, where destruction
In fiery flames, threatens to scourge his errour,
With never-failing death; yet scorning terrour
He in his good cause, still opposing all,
Horrours and terrours what e're can befall,
Mounted on valours wings never retires,
Still he winnes ground; his ready nimble fires
Play thicke upon the foe, adde flame on flame,
Vndanted stands, to'th honour of his name.
And ne're forsakes the furie of the fight,
Till conquest Crownes him in his Countries right.

So fares it with Truth's Actor, when his Part
Enters him on the Stage a Pious heart.
Then with clutch'd heav'd up hands above his head,
Eyes drown'd in Teares, and Armes divinely spread

To meete with mercy, fervently beginnes
So to bewaile the whirle-poole of his sinnes,
Thar to gaine pardon, rid away all feares,
Sighes swimme in Sobs, deepe groanes in flouds of teares
Importunes heav'n, good Actions ne'r gives ore,
Till he hath quit the world, and clear'd sinnes score,
That like to Ariadne crown'd with starrs,
The soule in glory shines, all ill debarrs.

Admit at first, thou canst not frame thy selfe
For Cares, and Crosses, Lust and worldly pelfe
To pray to God aright; yet still endeavour,
Combate with sinne; for victory persevere:
What though to pray thou sind'st thy selfe unapt,
Dull, heavie, sad, easie to be intrapt?
Start from the Devill that ensnares thee so,
With sloth's lewd lullaby for endlesse woe.
Let me beseech thee to be heavenly wise,
Rub drowsie dulnesse from thy tender eyes.
Retire unto thy chamber, shut the doore,

There wringing of thy hands fall downe, implore
Heav'ns sacred aide, on thy dejected knees,
Pray to that glorious Majestie which sees
The depth of darkest secrets; beate thy breast,
Till teares for sinne arise ne'r give it rest.
Strike, strike the stonie ent'rance of thy heart,
Act to the life, the Publicans true part,
Knocke, and knocke hard; make Vertues hammer felt
On thy hearts flinty Anvile; till it melt
To soft compassion; when that spring appeares,
Eyes turne to pearly drops, to flouds of teares,
Such streaming pearles of pittie, being shed
For sinne in thee; as shall when thou art dead,
Mount thy triumphing soule on Angells wings
To live for ever; Crown'd by the King of Kings:
Great is the power of fervent Prayer, that can
Conquer the All-Creator, ravish man;
Fervent prayer, makes the crooked conscience even;
Prayers, are those scaling laders set to heav'n

That lay long siege unto the throne of God,
Surround divinity, keepe in his Rod.
And never will depart, nor raise the siege,
Till they compell Natures Celestiall Liege
To grant what they doe come for; faine would have,
To shield sad soules from the infernall Grave.

THE WORLD.

Vaine is this World, this Strumpet World that can
Yeild nothing constant; Love 'twixt man & man,
Which next his Maker should be most respected,
Is soonest broke, and most of all neglected,
Misse-led by ev'ry vaine phantastick toy,
To forget God; bewitcht with carnall joy,
Bundles of Baubles, imbecillitie,
Biles of Apparell, Botch Nobilitie,
Lordships, Ladyships, Fool'ries, and Fashions,
Lust-panting Humours, ten thousand passions.
Rich men, the more to blame, as this Age goes,
Debarre House-keeping to maintaine gay Cloathes.
A rich Caroach, three hundred pound a Gowne,
Thirty pound a Smocke, or their wives will frowne,

There is no living with them; they must ride,
Where, when, and how they lift in glitt'ring pride,
High flashing burning Braverie, blind eyes,
Flint Hearts, dull Eares, deafe to the poore mans cries.
Such is the dullnesse of mortalitie,
And such the worlds cold Hospitalitie.
“Brave Cloathes, full feeding, pride, ease, and laughter,
“Are peoples sinnes, that breed a peoples slaughter.
“Times maw-wormes, muck-wormes, cancker-wormes of sinne
“Ruines our Peace without, our Peace within.
“Each dustie Magistrate with Brib'rie fed,
“One robs the Living, another robs the dead,
“A third the Arch-theefe playes by cunning stealth,
“Knave Knights, by Patent rob the Common-wealth,
“Ioyne with much, too much ill Injustice, he
“Sodomiticall letcher for a greedy Fee
“Dares license Iust, glad if he may prevaile
“(Suck wealth from prostitute Harlots,) never faile.

Mans mind, which most his maker should respect,
(With feare and trembling, and that true respect

Belongs to his high Majestie) the net
Of sinne so snares, we worth-lesse wormes forget
Gods thunder-darting Vengeance, glorious state,
Still forget God, forget to contemplate
With ravishing Love, true Love, pure heart, pure eyes,
That's the defect, makes hourely mischiefs rise,
“Ambitious Lords attir'd in Anticke shape.
“Joy in the waies of Lust, Murther, and rape.
“Ladies, with charmes, trickes, humours, that they have,
“Abuse their Lords, dispatch 'em to the grave.
“The jealous Husband, mischievous in ill,
“Through vaine suspect, his constant wife to kill.
“The carelesse-Clergy-man in his degree
“Satan corrupts; makes for a golden fee
“The greedy Lawyer, (fed by Clients strife)
“Brib'd Angells take, for the the true Angell life.
Just Judge, the unjust dustie Magistrate,
Father the sonne, the sonne the Father hate;
Brother, the brother prosecute to death,
Quarrell for toyes; stop one anothers breath.

The World do's hour'ly tempt fooles worldly wise,
The deceitfull Trades-man that seemes precise,
And is an arrant Knave; to thinke the honie,
And only blessed life, still to get monie,
Mockes at the poore mans vertue, and in pride,
Stiles him a vertuous Foole; thus Knaves deride
The poverty of men, which do's as farre
(In Heav'nly wealth) transcend them, as a starre
The richest Gemme on Earth; But 'tis not so
With the World's wealthy worldlings; they say no,
Rich enough, honest enough; all they can
Aymes at the outward, not the inward man.
“Poverty made a scoffe, a scorne, a winde,
“Gold smothers Vertue, blackest actions blinde.
“Gold got in Gods name, with an honest face,
“Comes slow; but in the Devills name apace.
Such is the Worlds condition, Good Mens thrall,
On Earth ther's no true comfort, none at all.
The honest minded Scholler shall ne'r lack
“Sorrowes, nor want of meanes to breake his back.

“The pittifull Souldier in his greatest neede
“Ha's his throat cut; he shall be sure to bleede.
“The faire Gamester, for his milde square play,
“Is soonest cozen'd, sure to lose ev'ry day.
“The faithfull Lover oft is paid with hate,
“The more in Love, the more unfortunate,
Be rich or poore, in high or low estate,
I'th' mod'rate meane, or fully fortunate,
Vnsatiate mankind, ever discontent,
Desires to live, yet never lives content,
In scarcity of corne, for plenty cry,
In plenty, straight forget God instantly.
Such is mans erring soule, which ought to know,
“Life's but a long sad Pilgrimage of woe,
“An Arke of travell, shop of vanity,
“Store-house of trifles, inhumanity.
“A field of stones, a path of thornie prickes,
“Meadow of Scorpions, Grove of Basilickes.
The World's unquiet rest is all Mans foe,
Dangers attend us where so e're we goe.

Mischievous Deceits, Brawles, Quarrells, Fightings,
False-hearted Neighbour-hood, base back-bitings.
Friendships, so faithlesse ripe, full blowne with evill,
A friend to day, the next, for gaine proves Devill.
The World's condition right; 'tis slave to sinne,
Beware of it; the world's a cunning ginne,
'Twill entrap soules; call then to God for grace,
Let griefe for worldly crosses ne'r take place.
Never let sorrow runne into extreames
Vnlesse for sinne; so shall Celestiall Beames
Glorifie thy soule; make it immortall,
Free it from ills what ever can befall
In this false promising world; this Maze of woe,
Where wretched worldlings know not where to goe
To winde them out; such are the various waies
Of life-oppressing yeares, Moneths, Weekes and dayes.
As Prose ill read, abide too much missusing
Or vertuous verse, when Rogues have the perusing,
So fares it with the faire and flourishing line
Of that sweet Heavenly straine, Poesie Divine,

Basely neglected, by the monstre Crew,
“Of Puff-Past-Muddie-Mindes, that pish, and mew,
“Make a wry Close-stoole-face, a squint ey'd glance
“At Vertuous verse, (whose sad mischance
“Is to goe unregarded) when the crime,
“Of a Lascivious bastard Ballad-rime,
“(If baudy enough) though ner'e so unfit,
“Winns favour, profit, and the praise of wit.
“Reade with delight, and much, too much requir'd,
“Coppies sought after, greedily desir'd,
“When perfect Poetrie, (Musicke to the soule,
“Truths firme opposer, 'gainst crymes filthy foule)
“If read, most read for fashion, small delight,
“No, comfort, no respect, but scornefull slight.
“And such is Vertues Foe; the Worlds proud Minion,
“In whom ther's no true love, no perfect Vnion.

O Divine Poesie I lament thy state,
To see thy beauty disproportionate,
So poorely in esteeme, ther's few I see,
Or none at all, take true delight in thee.

This wanton World farre sooner will approve,
Ioy in Pot-Poets lousie Ryming love,
Or want on Ovids straine, to itch the eare,
And stirre the bloud to Lust; rather then heare
The Sempeternall Aime of Noble verse
Which points at Heav'n; and tells us of that fierce
All-threatning Thunderer; he that descries
Our secret deeds; our blackest Actions spies,
At which; amaz'd my Muse stands wrapt in wonder,
Beggs mercy, mercy, O thou God of Thunder,
Or we shall shipwrack all; All, too too blame,
Farre too unmindfull of Gods sacred name,
His blessings day by day; his great mercy,
Long suffering, and excelling safety.
Why should we worries stand precious in Heavens sight
And nor be damn'd to everlasting-Night
For our foule-erring sinnes; sinnes that excell:
Ingratitude to Heav'n, picks open Hell.
Hell; that this instant Gapes to seize this world,
Which deserves eu'ry moment to be hurld

To endlesse Flames; but for the Excellence
Of OVR FATHER'S wonderfull patience.
O for the Pen of pure perfection,
To Character mans imperfection,
Open the blind excessive sinners Eyes,
(Force teares for sinne) make him, himselfe despise,
Teare ope his eyes, that All-amaz'd with Horrour,
Trembling, he may behold his dreadfull Errour
Live; as in sulphurous Flames, see his evill,
See the Grand Devill, and cease to be a Devill.
Holla commanding Empresse of my Braine,
Whither thus flings my Muse, divert thy straine.
The Worlds a Racke, Times Tenter-hooke to catch
At mindes most honest, makes a man a wretch,
Thousands in want, finding no way to cure it,
Hazard the Gallowes, rather then endure it.
Mis'ry of Miseri's, when Coyne growes scant,
Mans fortunes Foot-ball, ther's no woe to want.
It dulls brave witts, when nothing else can doe it;
Tames, & makes desp'rate, when Tyme brings men to it.

Want makes a man turne slave, unto a slave,
Scof't, scorn'd, and flouted at by ev'ry knave,
By ev'ry silken sodden-headed Foole,
That never felt Heav'ns rod, nor Mis'ries schoole.
Want breatheth mischeifs never thought upon,
Makes too many dainty Dames turne wanton.
Want (like a Mad-man) makes men sweare and dice;
Forget their God, turne Vertue into Vice.
Husband and wife, the sister, and the Brother,
Compell'd through want, devoure one another.
Merchants, Lawyers, yea, some Divines will fall,
When want doth soundly gripe, 'twill trie 'em all.
And therefore (as an Antidote) be sure,
Strive to please God first; that's the onely cure
'Gainst Wolvish want; then let thy present state,
Thinke on some honest meanes; 'twill new create
Thy understanding; put thee on a way
With rev'rent Soule, on bended knees each day
To serve thy God aright; so he from falling
Proves thy Protector; gives thee a Vertuous calling.

Heav'n grant, the honest mind may never knowe
The fierce assaults of wants; that hell of woe,
Torture of minde, murd'rer of modestie,
High-way to Theft, Cut-throate of chastitie,
The key of whoredome, Bane of that true love,
Which many boast; but few did ever prove:
Many vow Love, for ever to be true,
Yet, when want comes, whores are not more untrue,
How sweetly did that Sacred Psalmist sing,
And runne Times true Division on the string
Of Misery, when he of God did crave
Nor want, nor too much wealth, least in the Grave
Of damn'd Despaire, much want might hale him in,
And riches mount him to the highest sinne;
Lackey his way to lewdnesse, to mistrust
Gods mercies, and to practise waies unjust,
A holy feare, seiz'd on that Sacred King
To dread wants dangrous Dart, proud riches sting.
May the good Man, still thirst for mercies Cup,
Clymbe Jacobs sacred Ladder, and mount up

Into a fiery Chariot, burning zeale,
Live a bright Angell, in Heav'ns common-weale,
Free from this world, whose pompe and bravery,
Is but a Land of Dirt, meere slavery.

Mundus domus ampla malorum,
Ac scelerum Patria est.

THE FLESH.

The Flesh unto the Soul's a bitter Pill,
Sweet gilded poyson, Candide o're to kill,
Hurrid, Caroacht in Pride, with glitt'ring showe
Of swelling pompe, whose sweet effect, is woe.
Fleshly delights begets much misery,
Makes couples married unadvisedly,
Thinking Love tittle tattles, can feede their wishes,
Love soone growes cold, where there is empty dishes.
Of all the sinnes that are, when nothing can
Ruine the soule; the Flesh prevailes with man.
Mans eyes no sooner on devotion waite,
But in steps Carnall concupiscence straight,
Shee's at his Elbow still, to itch him on,
Th' unhappie path to his confusion.

Chast Wives are Saints, women that wantonize,
Witches, all poyson, hell is in their eyes,
In which, as in a wildernesse of woe,
In striving to get out, on mad men goe,
Starke mad, past sense, spight of all bookes & Schooles
Ruine their Fortunes; prove the slaves to Fooles
For an alluring minutes trifling joy
Insatiate Licorish longing, a meere toy.
The flesh (false Traytor like) strives to betray
The soule to Hell, as Heav'ns just cast-away.
Fleshly delight in Man, feares want of breath
More then his God; sinne, or Eternall death.
When just Plagues come, then sin-sicke sots can tremble,
Make knowne to all the world, how they dissemble;
Pray with the Lip, (not heart) wrest sacred Text
To serve their owne ends first; and then Gods next,
Provide to live, in pestilent Times beginne,
Take greater care to fly from death, then sinne.
Ther's nothing in our Flesh but wickednesse,
Desire to live, and obscene wantonnesse.

O vaine desire of mortalls, can there be
In flight or Physick crue 'gainst heav'ns decree?
No, no, ther's no escape; no way to this:
Mans good life onely, meets with mercies kisse.
We forget now that dreadfull dismall chance,
The terrible Arrow of Gods vengeance,
When death buried farre more, then the earth could swallow,
And no man to the Grave his friend durst follow.
O why should Mortalls wish long life to live?
What comfort? what true joy do's this live give?
Ther's nothing, not one thought that do's us good,
But it is strangl'd straight, by flesh and blood.
Holy Saint Paul, finding the flesh rebell,
Desir'd to be dissolv'd, proud flesh to quell:
And Sacred Symeon sung 'gainst sinnes increase;
Lord let thy servant now depart in peace.
Shall such soule sweenting preparations be
Forgotten quite; O blind securitie.
What is it, we behold in this vaine life?
But daily dangers soule-bewitching strife,

The Flesh is full of dagger; (never quiet)
'Mong fullfed dishes, and Luxurious diet.
When my Soule-Erring Eyes, staring behold
A dang'rous strumpet, flame in glittering gold
(And murd'ring beauty; sparkling from her Eye
Burning temptation;) then, me thinkes I spie
My most apparent mischeife, plainely see,
How I ne'r strive to please my God, as shee
Strives to please men; such is the flaming pride
Of the vaine flesh, it hurts on ev'ry side.
Ther's nothing constant in us, if to day
Vertue we love, to morrow Vice obey.
What a notorious Coxcombe unto sinne;
Lust makes of Man, slave to a whores soft skinne.
What's a delicious Harlot? but a cheater,
A poyson'd Marmalad Box, that rots the eater,
A Harlot, Man most fitly may compare
To Quicksilver; whose Mettall (like asnare)
When er'e it meets with gold, does evermore
Mingle it selfe; so commonly a whore.

'Tis not the Man, but money she respects,
And mingling with the one, she both infects,
Drinks deepe in Taverns, Swaggers, Sweares, and raves,
Gets gold from fooles, to spend it upon knaves.
The cheife praise of a good wife do's not lie
In outward shew; but inward pietie:
If Vertue rules her bloud, she merits love,
If not, I will assure thee shee will prove
Like a deceitfull glasse; where man may see,
Hee's meerly cheated in her; O miserie,
Man makes lewd women proud with looking at,
And wondrous wanton to, beleeve that.
The onely cure, Lust's raging flames to quench
Is Aqua Lachrymarum; that will stench
The wounds proud women so delight to make
On the poore soule of Man; make him to quake,
A fear'd to stand on that false rocke of Ice
Idlenesse feeder of foule carnall Vice.
Nurse of blacke thoughts, south-Fogg, which rots the minde
Leapours the soule, and is the Northerne winde

The cause of all sinnes stormes; that dang'rous flood
Lusts surging Ocean swelling in Mans blood.
O Devill desire of Lust, me, me forsake,
I charge thee hence, by him that made hell quake.
By that Almighty One, in sacred Trine,
All holy spells, and Charmes, Magick Divine;
By that sweet Excellent Sacred Puritie
(Sister of Angells) Virgin Chastity,
Fly from me all base thoughts, be just mine eyes,
And be your selves; hate wantons Witcheries.

Jmpendet periculum omnibus.

THE IESVITE.

Not like that Masse-Priest, he whose mouth is cram'd
With words that speake all Protestants are damn'd.
Him nor his flocke, I dare not censure so,
Nor meane to write more then I justly know
To be most true; in which knowne Path I finde,
Counterfeit Catholiques, so grossely blinde,
They dare outface Heav'ns Truth, forg'd lies maintaine
To Cloake the cunning Iesuites subtile Braine,
He that do's Theefe-like waite for vertues fall,
Lives in perpetuall watch, to blow up all.
The President, recorded stands for ever,
In this Realmes safety; which hell's Plot can never
Wipe from Rememb'rance; never shall the Evill
Of that close Secretary, to the Devill,

That Iesuite Garnet, live forgot while I,
Have Pen, or Hand, to write his Tragedy,
(That Myne of Murther, Mischiefes Master-vice,
Lodg'd in the Politicque skull of Avarice)
His desp'rate Soule was such, he durst to swimme,
A Sea of Vice, be rackt in ev'ry limme.
All tortures suffer, rather then reveale
The Treason, his Religion bids conceale.
Witnesse thou Ghost of Garnet, this is true,
He that han'gd, drawne, and quarter'd, had his due.
To him was knowne, the powder pitchie Treason,
Never to be forgot, he knew the season
When, where, and how, that suddaine bloudie blow,
(Black, Hell-bread, Thunder, flaming, overthrow,)
Should have beene given, knew the Times short space,
When no soule should have time to pray for Grace,
Or cry, God helpe; The Treason was so foule,
The Traitors would have damn'd both body and Soule
If in their power; and ev'ry soule i'th Ayre
Tost up, sent unprepar'd of heav'nly prayer,

With all their sinnes; O horrid, horrid Act,
All this the Iesuite knew; conceal'd the fact,
And rather then disclose, least warning give,
King, Prince, and Nobles, not a soule should liue,
Here was a Villaine; yet I've knowne in Spaine,
The Traitors death so moan'd, such Credit gaine,
(Though here he dyde, for Treasons just complaint)
There Monster Iesuites, make a Martyr'd Saint.
Mischievous Masse-Priests to his meriting fame,
At the high Altar in a spacious frame,
Advance to him, as to a Saint most blest,
His Body-mangled Picture, thus exprest:

Garnets Picture.

Bare Head, white Beard, Lookes sober, in his Gowne,
“Him over head, Angels with Laurell Crowne.
“About his Neck, a long large Halter tide,
“Hangs, (as befitting such) downe the Left side.
“His Belly ript, bloud seeming open straw,
“Holding in his righ hand, his pictur'd draw.
“Beneath his right side, flames a Heart in fire,
‘'Bove his left, Limmes quarter'd, Treasons hire,

“Presented on a Tower; which Pictur'd storie,
Straw-sainted set up to'th Arch-Traitors Glory,
Invites each eye, yea all the world to see
Iesuites, Protectors of all Villany.
“Poys'ning of Princes, held as trifling things,
“With them, 'tis meritorious to kill Kings.
Can this Religion be, they thinke it pure,
But man ne'r knew Religion more impure,
Their Church, is but their Cloake, bad deeds to further,
The only sanctuary for bloud and murther.
Plots, Practizes, hellish abomination,
Pardons for Treason, holy approbation
Of that ill-Sainted wretch (his cursed fault)
That Father to Faux, the Divill i'th vault.

Such Iudas-Iesuites ever Traitors prove
To King, and Prince; disloyall in their love.
“Yet outward fawning seeme on bended knee
“Low as the earth; O true hypocrisie,
“Vnder the mild aspect of Reverence,
“In duty, and submisse obedience,

“With Oylie Eloquence, best pleasing Phrase,
“Catching Orations, full of flatt'ring praise,
“When in the heart abides no spot of good,
“All treach'rous thoughts; all thirsting after bloud,
“The fall of Princes, changes, alteration,
“The Protestants Religion's desolation,
“Such is the Iesuites dive'list disposition,
“The nature of the Beast, his true condition,
“He that can temporize, by booke maintaine
“To serve his ends; and glut his God-lesse gaine.
“Be what he least seemes, cold in devotion,
Envious, at one anothers Promotion,
“Not lowly minded, but proud Ambitious,
“In tongue a Saint, in heart a slave vicious.
“Preach divine patience, when himselfe shall be,
“The waspish Image of all Tyrannie.
“Spleenative, choll'ricke, and who so offends,
“Is so farre off from ever being friends,
All-bee't he seeme a Calme, yet if he live,
Hee'll be reveng'd, be sure ne'r to forgive,

Such is the Iesuite, such his double Face,
And such his charitable signe of Grace.

He that dares awe his Countrey, King and State,
Smile, and yet be a villaine, all men hate,
Set Princes at debate, befoole the times,
Poyson the world, with irreligious Crymes,
Swell Battles, Murthers, make whole Kingdomes shake,
Shed Innocent bloud, all for Religions sake,
To defend Religion, what Religion's this,
To seeme devoute, and doe so much amisse?
“Colour Religion, with meere gullerie,
“Wrest sacred Text, to maintaine Roguerie,
“(As if Religion were a formall Law,
“Religion onely to keepe fooles in awe,)
Defend Controversies; woe to those dayes,
Woe to such Serpent-snarling Church-Mens wayes,
“Sinne ne'r triumphes, strikes a more fatall stroake,
“Then when 'tis cove'rd with Religions Cloake.

That Iesuite, he, who speaks divinely faire,
Yet hath a wicked life; I may compare

To fire, stand off, doe not come too neare it,
You then may safely warme; neede not feare it,
But if thou unadvisedly presume,
Approach too nigh, thee it will burne, consume,
So the deceitfull Priest, come not neare him,
Shun his acquaintance, you neede not feare him.
Flie his dissembling sight, his blacke life spurne,
If lodg'd within your bosome, he will burne,
With shew of holinesse burne and scorch,
Waste thee, in thy Estate, like a spent Tortch.
Ther's not a Gentleman of meanes do's die,
But with his Heire, the Jesuite presently
Shares in his land; with shew of Reverence,
(Winning of Soules) covers concupiscence.
Commits with all he like, any Mans wife,
Makes her beleeve, 'tis to preserve his life.
Perswading Letch'rie, with their Ghostly Father,
No sinne, but a deede of charity rather.
Sad-sicknesse to prevent, to scowre the veines,
To mundifie, and for to purge the Reines.

Ergo plena, Charitatis; An Act
Of meere Commiseration, such a Fact,
As to denie it, (were a damned sinne)
Pulls curse on curse, which hath for ever binne
Iustly inflicted; punishing all those
Repugnant Natures, with the worst of woes,
Dispaire, assur'd confusion, dismall horrour,
Sudden destruction, Death, infernall terrour,
Hell, and the Devill; for that high offence
Of Stubborne refusall, disobedience,
A sinne, impossible to be forgiv'n,
Such is the Iesuites charge; of purpose giv'n,
To please his Lust; makes that, a gainefull trade,
Lies with this Lady, and that Chamber-Maide.
Here gives a Pardon, there denounceth Curses,
So betwixt both, sure to picke all their Purses.
The Nimble Slaves Church-knaverie can strip,
And fetch your greatest Lady o're the hip.
With a religious show', put tricks upon her,
Rob the beleeving Foole, first of her honour,

Then pardon Sinne; and then he may enthrall,
Rob her of Coyne, Plate, Iewels, Smocke and all,
Doe, and undoe, Her Charity's soone drawne
For baudie Iesuites, her best Smocke to pawne,
Their thread of Doctrine 'mong women spun,
Is to whore all, be she the chastest Nun,
If she denie to yeeld, Murther and Rape,
Shall Wolfe-like seize that prey, there's no escape,
Such is the Murd'ring Minde of him we call,
Natures Monster, Priest Iesuiticall.

Noli gloriari quod lingua bene dicis,
Si vita male dicis.

THE DEVILL.

Search all the Earth, you ev'ry where shall see
Satan most busie; from the Church not free,
The very Pulpit haunts, and being vext,
Seekes how to put the Preacher from his Text.
Such as teach others, yet themselves neglect,
And with sinnes Cassocke, hide their owne defect;
From Pew, to Pew, unseene; Hell's Fiend do's creepe,
To dull the Hearers Eares, Ioggs some asleepe,
Some to vaine prattle, others still to prie,
With wanton lookes, for a bewitching Eye,
Some greedily imployes, to spie out fashions,
To glut the humours of proud womens passions,
Makes muddie Mortalls, at each other looke,
More then on Heav'n, or Gods all Sacred Booke.

And such is Satans craft, continuall motion,
To draw mankind from heav'n, and all devotion.
Tempts some to Hate, Ambition, some to slide
The sliprie sleights of Pompe, unpai'd for pride.
Others to swimme the Sea, Lust pleasing vice
Some wet damnation, most men Avarice
Servants to Satan; Satan which do's strive,
Man of all heav'nly solace to deprive.
God (for our sinnes) no sooner ang'ry growes,
But straight the roaring, sudden Devill throwes
His Pawes on us; and like himselfe beginnes
(For numbers numberlesse of desperate sinnes)
To seize the soule, made an eternall prey.
To burne in Hell; as Heav'ns just cast away:
Such is the Fate of soules, casnar'd within
Satans command; beware the Twigge of sinne,
Least touch will take the Pris'ner, Hellish guiles
Prove like the perilous paths of Crocodiles,
Who with their slimie tongues (lickt or'e) prepare
To murther Mortals, by a slip'rie snare.

Man is a Tree, whose root, is certaine evill,
Bad deeds the Body, yeelding to the Devill.
The Armes, ten proud aspiring discontents,
Breakers of all the ten Commandements.
The Branches are, our pronenesse unto ill,
The Leafes Pleasure, the faire fruit sinne, which still
With sweetest show of sweetnesse tempts, us on,
To feed and follow our destruction.
“There is feare above us, feare still beneath us,
“Feare round about, and yet no feare within us:
Satan like Dalilah, suffers not men
For to see danger; is't not fitting then,
By holy violence, we seize the sword
Of th' Omnipotents, Omnipotent word
To slaughter sinne in us, O shall not we
(That professe Sacred Christianitie,)
Conquer our crymes; thinke on the life to come,
The rising of the dead; the Day of Doome,
That dreadfull day; let us then never winke,
At our base follies; never forget to thinke:

When this vast Orbe of Earth shall blasing burne,
And all the world in Funerall flames shall mourne,
Then Heav'n and Hell amazing must appeare
In two extremes; Ioy, and excessive feare.
Heav'n, in bright shining All-Eternall Light,
Hell, in the Horrour of perpetual Night.
Heav'n shall triumph, Hell, tremble, Angells sing,
Gloria in Excelsis, to Heav'ns high King;
The King of Heav'n; Heav'n joyes perfect solace,
All-Ravishing, glit'ring glist'ring Palace,
Pleasures Paradise, immortall dwelling,
All-pure, excellent, past thought excelling.
Heav'ns Pavement, are the Starrs, in what excesse
Shines Heav'n, when star-pav'd, with Starrs numberlese
No thought of want, which mads the thoughts of men,
But plenties fulnesse, full abound in Heav'n.
“There, Virgin Chastity in life opprest,
“Glitters in Saint-like Glory, lives most blest.
“The poore Man tost from wrong, to injurie,
“In Heav'n finds comfort, firme felicitie,

“The wronged Widdow, injur'd fatherlesse,
“Bright Heav'n relieves, gives all their woes redresse.
“He, that for ill do's good, Heav'n will requite,
“Crowne his faire soule with comforts infinite,
It is not fit then, we our sinnes bewaile?
Thinke still on Heav'n? on Heav'n that ne'r did faile
The penitent soule, when (alas) distrest,
Naked, forlorne, when most of all opprest,
Then sends reliefe; miraculous reliefes,
Such is the love of Heav'n; Heav'n cures all griefes,

As for Tymes Wolfe-turn'd ill-affected great-ones,
Close-fisted to the poore, deafe to their groanes,
The Villaines, of this Age, that make profession,
Of a pure life, yet live by base oppression,
Hell shall confound their soules, that Den of Horrour.
(Circl'd with blacke affright, blew-burning terrour)
Shall boyle their soules, and bodies to th' black-sweat
Of an infernall poyson; and that eate
Still to renue new paines; plagues that excell,
Such are the never-dying paines of hell.

There, painted Pride lives crown'd in flaming fire,
Tymes glorious strumpet, whipt with burning wiere,
Fed is the Lust-provoking Letcher there,
With scorching coales; such as delight to sweare,
Swallow the Drunkards ever scalding oyle,
There, Vsurers, in Pooles of sulphure boyle,
Murther, Rape, Incest, endlesse torments feele,
The Rack of vengeance, and the burning wheele
Whirl'd round in blew flames; soule-amazing feare,
“More plagues then tongue can tell, the damned beare.
In burning beds of steele, soules blazing fry,
Tortur'd with torments, such as never dye;
Cursing the Time of their abus'd Creation,
Parents, Fate, sinne, and their owne damnation.
Better, O better never to be borne,
Then with such Terrour-striking torments torne.
Which to eschew, weepe wormes of Earth, repent,
Weepe, weepe for sinne, soule-killing sinnes prevent.
“Seeke heav'n, shun Hell, fly from the worlds intice,
“Heav'ns the reward of Vertue, Hell of Vice.

“Perfect repentance makes men bravely die
“That liv'd not so; fly then Hell's miserie.
“Repent, or damne, for sinne, weepe and weepe well,
“Soules that doe flout at teares, shall fry in hell.
“The Devill sets his baits in ev'ry Angle,
“No Corner's free from him, soules to entangle.
“Therefore in Vertues Path, strive to excell:
“Let firme faith still repulse the Fiend of hell.
Divines may preach else, till their heart-strings burst,
The height of sinne will mount, live still accurst.

Vbi peccatum, ibi Procella.

Mans Miserie.

Mans life is like a Watch, whose Time if still
It Minuits right, distemper'd by no ill,
It is a rare Peece then; but oft we see,
It runnes too fast; in Action tis too free.
Sometimes, by wilfull providence set backe,
Sometimes, by dull neglect it goes too slacke,
Beates like a dying panting pulse so slow,
That by and by it stands; and then we know
Tis downe, some curious wheele is much amisse,
Or some sprynge broke, whereby the whole frame is
So farre pastrectifying, that it can
Never goe right; but like disorder'd Man,
Mis-spending pretious time in godlesse riot,
Time barrs of Heav'n, Angells immortall dyet.

Youth is a hot, unbridled, willfull folly,
Picke me out one that's Vertuous, truly holy
In this abused life; and you shall finde,
Infinite thousands of a Vicious minde.

Age Palsey-strucke ready for deaths darke grave,
Insensible of sinne, it all would have
That shew of profit brings; though ill got gaine,
And threatning heaven in thunder speake, refraine
Bad precepts; t'will not do; Truth tells us still,
Age proves Youth's scorne, through examples ill.
Vice leades the silver yeares to endlesse blame,
Vaine unstay'd youth to beggery, and shame.
'Tis Heav'ns just punishment; an ill lewd life,
In Young and old, meets with eternall strife.

Thinke then on thy Creatour wretched man,
Remember what thou art, thy life a span,
A weake thinne thread, spun from the downy wooll
Of tender children, to the Aged skull.
From youths rich Scarlet die, Beauties full force,
To the silver Tinsell snow, of a cold Course.

Man is an Actor, and the world the Stage,
Where some doe laugh, some weepe, some sing, some rage
All in their Parts, during the Scene of breath,
Act follies, scourg'd by the Tragedian death:
Such is the Fate of soules, ensnar'd within
Satans command; beware the twigg of sinne,
Least touch will take thee Pris'ner; Hellish gurles,
Prove like the perilous paths of Crocodiles,
That with a slimie Tongue lick't o're prepares
To murther Mortalls; such is Satans snare.
O why should Mortalls wish long life to live,
What comfort? what true joy do's this life give?
Ther's nothing, not one thought that do's us good,
But it is strangl'd straight by flesh and blood.
The longer life, the more we sinne, and fall
From bad to worse, from worse, to worst of all.
“Life loving fortunes, how ye puffe men up,
“To hugg their follie, drinke damnations Cup!
O that men were farre wiser, would but thinke,
How swell'd with pride, they desperately wincke

At their owne venom Vices; and yet storme
At others faults; good heav'n this sinne returne,
Or we shall perish; praying for our foes
Is of small use; this causes all our woes.
Rejoyce at no mans fall (with foule aspersion)
Although thy foe; but pray for his conversion;
So piety wills; still imitate the best,
Not worst of men; he that lives well, dies blest.
Observe, what Holy Rrit prompts thee to act,
“Pray for thy foes, 'tis a most pious fact,
If then thine enemie persist in ire,
“Heav'n on his head in flames, heapes coales of fire:
The cause, that on our heads just vengance drawes,
Springs from our selves; we breake Gods sacred Lawes,
Yet never minde it; complaints and daily cryes
Are much among us still, but no wet eyes
For crying sinnes; daggers of discontent
Stab home, where carelesse people ne'r repent.
Nothing more dang'rous, nor hath ever been,
Then to live still, i'th' Lethargie of sinne,

The clouded fight permits us not to Eie
Our owne foule faults; nor the Flint heart to spie
It's rockie substance; many have no sense,
No feeling of their sinnes large conscience,
Remove the cause betimes, let thou, and I,
Ev'ry one strive, offend not with thine eye.
“Fly from the tongues abuse, thy hard hearts terrour,
“Or live sinnes Slave, lost in a mist of errour.

Sinnes Jnfirmitie.

The Sinne of Mans infirmitie is knowne
Best by the consequence, (sad sorrowes groane.)
It leaves behind it such a sting within
The Soule; that miserable Man for sinne
(Snar'd with temptations in this worlds wide Hall)
Can never be at rest; but grieve and fall
Out to the Death with his abhord condition,
The guilt of Conscience; and the base fruition
Of his besotted sence; he takes no pleasure
In the worlds wealth; weighing Gods deepe displeasure
Still against sinne; he never is at quiet,
At Home, abroad, in bed, or at his diet.
There is no health in's flesh, no rest in's bones,
Sinne stifles sence, all mirth converts to moanes.

Each comfort proves disconsolate within
That soule, which really is griev'd for sinne.
Deepe swelling sighes, like breaking Seas discover
Heart breaking groanes; one griefe upon another.
Sinne like incessan stormes beats on the breast
Of Mans afflicted soule, never at rest,
'Till he has made his peace with Heav'n, by so und
And serious humble reconcilement drownd
In streaming teares; such teares, as best expresse,
For sinnes infirme; a heart in bitternesse.
Learne thou this Lesson, thou whose clouded eyes,
Hides thee from sight of thy infirmities,
Thy Pride, oppression, lust-provoking diet,
Nastie defilements, drunken belching riot,
Which so besweats, sots, and bespots the soule,
As renders it most loathsome, uggly foule
To the Eyes of the All-pure-God; He spies
All our base thoughts, each darke deed, all those lies
The Divell blinds us with, to our abuse;
Vnder the feign'd pretence of an excuse;

Sinnes Jmpudence.

Sinne that was wont in privacy to lurke,
Not daring to be seene darke deeds to worke,
Walk't still in feare; the mind was ne'r at rest,
Like a poore Man in danger of Arrest.
But now in Triumph like a Drab of State
Branded with impudence; dare walke and prate,
Doe deedes of open shame; yet never blush,
Shrinke, feare, nor feele Revenge more then a rush.

Shield us from sinne, (great God) sinne that at first
Poyson'd the perfect Man; made all accurst
That glorious Image; made him see his shame,
Poore, naked, neede, and losse of his good name.
What ever sorrowes on weake man befall,
Publique, or private, sinne is the cause of all.

Sinne dulls the Soule, when Heav'n is out of sight,
Mans out of Heart; all vertues loose their light.
Like a besieged Cittie, sinne surrounds,
The medowes of the soule, ruines her grounds,
Windes like a subtile River bout the 'bancks,
So Eates into her sides, as drown's the Ranks
Of Muddy-minded Mortalls weake defence,
Walls built on Wood-Piles, rotten confidence.

O the rare Mercy of Almighty God,
How it do's daily woe us from the Rod
Of his just vengeance; yet nor love, nor feare,
Nor any thing that's good in us appeare.
The Prodigall Gull, uncapable to know
The worth of wealth; farre sooner will bestow
Ten pound upon a Hawke, a Hound, a Whore,
Rather then give ten pence, to cloath the poore.
“The Worldly Churle, whose money is his slave,
“Goes to the Church, heares Sermons, seemes to have
“Divine discourse; Religion in his talke,
“Devotion, Pitty; yet in life do's walke

“A full dissembler; Machivell and he,
“Remorselesse monsters, dead in Charitie.
“Deafe to the poore man's-crie, his want of food,
“Vrge Scripture to him, that will doe no good.
“The spirits of mischeife in their soules reply,
“They'l not be forc'd to succour beggery.
Let Ioseph lie in Chaines, and Daniel too,
Shall they for thread-bare Charity undoe
Their full cramm'd baggs, abate the curious Pride
Of Wife and Children; dimme glorious outslide,
High hopes; the Worlds applause, sinne-sick wishes,
Banquets by Torch-lights, and bloud stirring dishes,
All, to relieve despised poverty?
Wrong their delights, to pitty penury?
No, no; they'l not be taught where, when, and how
To give their Almes; the Saint to whom they bow
Learnes no such lesson; he so slaves the braine
With the blacke Text; that for their hell-bred gaine,
Worse then the Scythian Thiefe, or barbarous Turke,
They'l cheate friend, Father; never doe good worke,

Vnlesse to trumpet forth their Almes, much good,
When ther's no Uertue in their venome bloud,
Yet to the World appeare the scourge of evill,
A very Saint in show, in heart a Devill.
A foule dissembling Fiend incarnate,
That seemes precise, thinking the gift of prate,
The pratling, pious seeming shew forsooth
Of a pure life, should darken sacred Truth.
Good God, divert their eyes from Hell below
To looke on Heav'n; force their blind eyes to know

Sinne for a while may with a Brasen face
Out-brave poore Vertue, flourish for a space,
Feed hot, and high, swimme in the worlds delight,
As if Vice only, were heav'ns Favorite,
Be far in folly, curious scoffes, that dare
Mocke at the wrinckled lookes of honest care.
Scorne leane Ribb'd Art, all griefes which interlace
The Lines of sorrow writ in Vertues face.
Sinne may doe this; rais'd on the loftie stile,
Of Prides preferment for a little while.

But if time lend thee yeares for to observe,
You soone shall see proud sinne, ready to sterve,
Blushing for shame, and halting on a crutch
Spotted all o're with Biles; loathsome to touch:
“Sweett sinnes soone fade, vanish like lightnings flash,
“Honors a Bubble, Riches deceitfull trash
Circl'd with mischiefes, glitt'ring wantonnesse,
Dull self-esecured Ease, brittle greatnesse:
Which like the serpent Dipsas quentchlesse thirst,
Lives never satisfied, untill it burst.
“Much wealth, small witt, and farre lesse honesty,
“Preferres the golden Asse to dignity.
Be wise as Cato, just as Manlius,
Valiant as Scipio, Chast as Curius;
“Wisedome in ragges is spurn'd at like a rush,
“Folly gaines Credit, crept but into Plush.
Be what thou wilt, wealth formes formality,
Though spung'd with never a one good quality.
Worldlings applaud the Rich, the poore despise,
Speake never so well, so excellently wise,

Best knowledge must be dumber, Wisedomes best Note,
Yeelds but harsh Musicke in a Thread-bare Coate.
Witnesse Times poore Philosophers report;
Who being in the Presence at the Court,
Was for his simple weeds of slight regard
Rudely thrust out by the grim-looking Guard;
But shifting cloathes, admitted to the Eye
Of State, the King, before whose Majestie,
He not the least of Reverence would beare,
Save Cap and Knee, to th' cloathes himselfe did weare,
Saying, I honour him that honours mee,
These my gay Clouts, which brought me King to thee.
This to the sinfull World, may Embleme out,
Mortalls vaine worshipping the Golden Clout
Of him, or her, whose soules uncertaine stand
(Fixt i'th imperative moode of proud command)
Ioyes in no other Heaven, but admiration,
Till sencelesse they forget their first Creation,
Honours vaine bubble, Riches deceitfull store,
Which ne'r drops penny to the pining poore.

Nor ever harbours thought of Charity
To Wretches, winter sterv'd with poverty.
While on the adverse part; (Vertue denide)
Vice still is hugg'd; the world's in love with pride.
O stonie hearted sinne; on thee to thinke
Feare turnes my Paper black; makes pale my Inke.
Amazeth sence, compells my palsey Pen,
Trembling to write the impiousnesse of Men,
Whose hate to pitty, must to terrour turne,
Where teares for sinne are wanting, sinne shall burne.
Tell me ye Toad-swolne flinty Pharaohs, tell?
Can temporall joyes, equall the paines of Hell:
Treasures, and pleasures, those quicke fading streames,
To the poore sleeping soule, are all but dreames.
The bodies beauty, momentary joy,
Which waking findes, Earths glory but a toy:
This for a Maxime take, shunne times lewd life,
Cease from extreames in sinne, soule-murth'ring strife,
Abhorre to Studdy state with greater zeale
Then zeale to Heav'n or the soules Common-weale,

Abhorre with solemne Oathes perjur'd to teare
And racke the name of Christ, dreadlesse of feare,
Wounding a fresh (with trembling feare I write)
Wonder of Angels, that great God of light,
His wounds with Oathes of wounds, flesh, bloud and heart
(Horrour of darkenesse) O blaspheming heart,
Too too much us'd, 'mong godlesse soules, which still
Infinite good pay, with infinite ill.

The Penitent Sinner.

Let others boast their goodnesse, for my part,
Wretch that I am, I have a sinfull heart,
So ti'de and bound, fetter'd and chain'd within,
So strong a prison, such a Maze of sinne,
That 'tis as farre unlikely for me worme
Ere to winde out, as for to raise a storme,
Or slacke a Tempest; works of wonder stand,
Farre from the reach of mortalls weake command.
None but the hand of God, his speciall grace,
Can pull me forth the dungeon of disgrace.
And shall I then, in impious waies uneven,
Offend so good a God; defend me Heav'n!
Ride thou my soule upon some winged cloud
To'th' Haven' of heav'n; fly to the sacred shroud.

Of sempeternall safety, fly the fight
Of blasing beautie; flaring Earths delight,
Malicious mindes, mischievous mans invention,
Faire lookes, false hearts, stampt in a foule intention.
Take flight my Soule; fly from the dismall Den
Of this darke Age; the impiousnesse of men,
Fly from the pond'rous plummets of blacke Vice
Which pulls to Hell; helpe Prince of Paradise.
I faint, I die, sinne loades my soule with horrour,
The World, the flesh and Divell, all with terrour
Hangs on my fetter'd limbes, Prisoner to care
I live sterv'd, tortur'd, tempted to despaire.
What shall I doe, where, whither shall I fly?
Here, there, I know not where, lie downe and dye.
Vp soule to Heav'n, there get a glorious Crowne:
I am too weake, too vile, sinne pulls me downe.
O my unworthynesse, my shame, my sinne,
When shall I shake thee off? when when begin?
No? wil't not bee? can I not doe the good
I would? must I be rul'd by flesh and blood?

Weepe, weepe poore soule, dissolve hard heart of flint,
Melt, melt thou stony Rock, teares never stint,
Drop Marble mount, drop to a Crimson flood,
Sinke my sinnes, in seas of penitent blood.

While others carelesse of celestiall health,
Greedie like Hell, hunger for worldly wealth,
Preferment, pride, and vainely put their trust
In the forbidden Pathes of tempting lust,
In glassie glory, subtile Court behaviour
In valour, conquest and monarchall favour;
Whiles soules thus erre, O thou the Lord of light,
Make me Heavens Champion, vertues favorite.

Come folded Armes, and you sad eyes, sad heart,
Come soule opprest with sorrow, play thy part.
Haste to some gloomy Grave, there all alone
On the greene mantled earth sigh, sobbe and groane.
Spend precious time with sacred thoughts that beares
Heav'n in their eyes, true vertue in their teares.
Complaine I will to Fortune, not that whore
Which makes leane Art and pale-fac'd Wisedome poore.

Il'e not complaine to her, but to that Ens,
Almighty Fortune in divinest sense.
Groveling on Earth for sinne, I'le cast forth groanes,
Sighes shall convert to Teares, teares into moanes,
Then will I start from ground, my body raise,
Shoote mine eyes upward, against heav'n I'le gaze,
Thinke on my God, my God whose sacred will
I have abus'd; my God most just to kill,
Damme soule and body; my rememb'rance blot
Out of the booke of life; I that forgot
In midst of all vaine joyes, in temp'rate health,
Soule-snaring Chamb'rings, lascivious stealth,
All-seeing Heav'n, a God so greate, so good,
The death of Iesus Christ, my saviours blood,
Slave that I am, where shall I turne mine eye
Vnworthie to looke up? Heav'n heare my cry!
Heare me Eternall Essence, which hath made
My soule to pray; send me thy sacred aide.
“On the bright Sun-beames of thy sweet salvation,
‘Draw Lord, draw up, the dew of my devotion.

Mount soule upon the wings of Charity,
Helpe Heav'n, up heart, fly to Eternity.
Rowze like a towring Falkon in despight
Of Hell and furies, fly to the Makers sight,
Come, come Lord Iesus, O come thou and give
Helpe to my helplesse soule; I that doe live
Like the distressed bird, trapt in a snare
Caught by a lime-twigg flying through the Aire;
In which distresse for comforts sweet releife,
Poore Innocent, with wings adds woe to griefe.
So fares my soule striving sinnes snare to fly,
Trapt by deceit, lives snar'd in misery.
My trembling conscience tells me I have beene
A very fearefull sinner, slave to sinne,
Of all Men, most unworthy of Salvation
My sinnes deserve Heavn'ns wrath, hell and damnation.
Yet mercie, mercy Lord, mercy I crave,
Shield my sad soule from the infernall grave,
“Strangle my growing sinnes in their beginning,
“Demollish (Lord) in me custome in sinning.

“Draw from mine eyes the vaine worlds vaine intice,
“And ravish me with love of Paradice.
“Busie my thoughts with vertue, make me trie
“To live by honest meanes, or let me die.
Pardon all idle prate, sinnes rotten talke
Let not my steps treade that accursed walke
Which leads to lewdnesse; base delights in pleasure,
Desire of Pompe, vaine glory, tottering treasure,
Let not my wandring eyes flame in the fire
Of lust-stung lookes, nor let the loose desire
Of Beauties Bravery, burne out mine eyes
With senselesse gazing; Lord make me to despise
All wanton waies, sinnes of ill govern'd youth,
All wicked customes 'gainst thy sacred Truth.
Make me (my God) in hate to impure lives,
Kicke at that life, which life of heav'n deprives:
Deale not, Lord deale not with me as my merit
Truely deserves; drive out that uggly spirit
Of all uncleannesse from my filthy flesh,
My drooping soule with sanctitit refresh.

Shrow'd me beneath thy sacred Countenance,
Give me thy servant Davids repentance,
The Faith of Abraham, holy Jacobs strife,
Blest Stephens Charity, chaste Iosephs life,
The Patience of Iob; Pauls purity,
And soule-afflicted Peters weeping Eye.
“With holy Teares, (Lord) make me to reject
“The Sinne, I impious sinner most affect!

O thou the King of those Eternall fires
That spangles Heav'n; good God grant my desires,
Infuse in me thy Grace, or I shall stray,
And so become a fearefull Cast-away.
I, that am poore, weake, feeble, and too apt,
By the worlds whorish waies to be intrapt,
Beseech thy pardon, forgive my coldnesse
In serving thee, pardon that damned boldnesse.
Let Mercy every Evening which does keepe
Me, from day-dangers, death-resembling sleepe,
Be to my soule a Prayer booke to imprint
Teares in mine Eyes; griefe in my heart of flint:

Be it so Mighty Maker unto mee,
To me and every one, make us to see
And shunne sinnes custome; with thy sacred wings,
Guard us from dangers, blessed King of Kings,
Thou art my onely comfort in distresse,
Foode, rayment, all my cure in heavinesse,
My true Physitian, in unruly madnesse,
Soule-ravishing Musicke in my deepest sadnesse,
When all the world forsakes me God is kind,
He comfort gives to my disconsolate mind.
O thou the Lord of Thunder, Heav'n and Earth,
Mercifull maker, thou that didst give me breath.
Thou that can'st muster Angells in the Skie,
To safeguard soules from blacke impiety,
Thou that dost feede, and cloath, and still persever
To give me health; be mercifull for ever.
“Lord teach me for to prize the world at naught,
“Vpon thy blessednesse be all my thought.
“Take from mine eyes, the vaine worlds vaine entice
“And rayish me with love of Paradise.

“Blesse me each Morne, and blesse me ev'ry Ev'n,
“Blesse Wife and Children, bring us all to Heav'n
In thy good time; and during lifes short space,
Grant us Lord Iesus thy abundant grace.
Graft thy Grace inwardly in our hearts, that wee
Never like straying sheepe, stray Lord from thee.

Heare me Miraculous Majestie, and give
A period to my cares; let me not live
Frustrate of Honest meanes; O send redresse,
Imploy my Pen, keepe me from Idlenesse,
From all ill Company, all waies unjust,
Sinne, Satan, and the Labyrinth of lust.
Like Ioseph, Mighty Maker, make me fly
The tempting Bates of Beauties bravery.
Suffer me Worme unworthy, not in vaine
To call on thee; let me some solace gaine
Or kneele for ever; happie man were I
To kneele, and pray, and at my Prayers die.
To live for ever; ever more to sing
Glory to thee O God; Heavens glorious King.

O you, that stand on Pinacles of state,
Let not the World deceive you, left too late,
From off your slipprie height you come in thrall,
To pash your selves in peeces past recall!
Sell not faire Lordships to keepe Ladiships,
Nor sucke damnation from a Strumpets lips.
Touch not those spells of Sparta, let 'em rot,
When Vertue lives in man, lust is forgot.
One onely Iemme, that's all the store I have,
Great of that little, nothing, which shall crave
Of Heav'ns great Ens, not for my selfe alone,
But for thee Reader; thee, and every one
Rarenesse of rare example, and withall
An everlasting skie of Grace to fall
Vpon our Warre on Earth; desiring Heav'n,
For waies on Earth are crooked, all unev'n.
O Heav'nly Father, glorious Diety,
Pardon, O Pardon my impiety,
I, that have imperfections on my head,
Past Starres in number; or those sands that spread

The Vast Seas bottome; shall not I confesse,
How oft 'gainst God, I desp'rately transgresse,
Put off Repentance still from day to day,
Abuse his mighty Patience, still delay
His dread Command; and like a sencelesse sot,
Vnmindfull of his mercles; minde them not.
No sooner doe I finde a good thought take me;
But from that vertue flesh and bloud doe shake me.
Forgive me, O forgive me thou that art
Heav'ns universall searcher, cure my heart.
At my dull follies Ile no longer winke,
Sorrow shall be my Pen, sad teares my Incke,
Misery my Paper, whereon I'le write
The sorrowes of my soule, my youthes delight,
My pathes of pleasure, Prodigall expences,
My Scarlet Crimes, and all my blacke offences:
This Booke, I'le dedicate unto my heart,
My heart, chiefe Actor, in sinnes Tragicke part.
My heart, unprincely, Revelling within
My body, that Banquetting house of sinne;

There, Chain'd to 'th Magicke Musicke of free will,
Riots in poyson'd pleasure, lewdly ill.
All that belongs to th'body, ev'ry part,
(My soule alone excepted) serves my heart,
Best pleas'd; and best at ease, with pleasures bane,
Most glad, to be most bad; and in that vaine
Traitor to Truth; each limbe a Mortall foe,
To worke my universall overthrow.
O false, false heart, false to thy dearest freind,
Wound me no more; for pittie make an end,
I pitty thy blacke life; nor can forbeare,
For thee, to shed many a bleeding teare.
Thou art my foe: and yet to see thee feed,
Fat for Hells Shambles, my poore soule dos bleed;
Bleeds inward, indiscern'd of any eye,
Except my God, and my owne misery.
What shall I doe? faine would I shunne the sinne
My frailty most delights to wander in:
And yet I cannot; when I strive 'gainst vice
To stand most firme, I'me tript up in a trice.

“O What a mis'ry 'tis to have a minde
“For to be truely honest; well inclinde,
“And not to be sufferd; such is the state,
“Of my sad bleeding soule unfortunate.
“Field honour's but a Vapour; the sound brest,
“Puts on Church-Armour Faith, and sleights the rest.
“In Love to Vertue and true godly feare,
“Dwells Honour; not in Dart, Bowe, Sling or Speare,
Not in vaine Beauty, strength, the pride of Wit,
Presuming Riches, Learning, Valour, Credit,
High Birth, Nobility, nor gravitie,
Humanity, nor yet Virginity,
But in the humble soule whom holy storie,
Speaks to maintaine God, and the Gospels glory;
The King and Kingdomes safety; Churches peace,
The Virgins right, Widdowes and fatherlesse;
These are the noble steps that ever waite,
On Vertues Court; 'tis the true Prop of state,
Save me, O save me thou Eternall terrour,
To damned soules, I doe confesse each errour,

The many thousand sinnes, unseene, unfelt,
Which long, too long, in my hard heart have dwelt,
To thee, to thee thou everlasting being,
Of an Eternall Majestie; all seeing,
With Penitent heart, I come, I call, I cry,
Pittie me wretch, helpe thou all viewing eye.
My armes are spread, come sempeternall Essence,
Ravish my soule; come blessed Penitence
Give me thousand stabbs, my soule has neede,
Of many thousand teares; then let it bleede!
Pierce, pierce my stubborne heart, make that the Inne
Of Grace, which yet, is but the house of sinne;
Looke downe soule saving sacred God of Truth,
Forgive th' infinite follies of my youth,
Shield me Divinity from Sathans ginnes,
Lord lay not to my charge my Parents sinnes:
Glory of goodnesse in thy mercy, heare me,
Let hate, Revenge, nor Envie ne're come neare me,
Let neither Pride, nor hope of gaine deceive me,
Nor pleasure, nor the want of meanes bereave me

Of sence; lest sencelesse wholy I despaire
And so become the wretched child of Care.
O sacred saviour; give me grace to fly
Delight in sinne; I beg it earnestly,
In all my prayers enable me to be
(Blessed Lord Iesus) pleasing unto thee.
Make me to doe thy will Lord; make me grow
Great in thy love, thou that dost truely know,
Of all Earths blessings unto mortalls giv'n,
My sole desire on Earth, is Grace from Heav'n,
Grace to be good; grace to avoide hels ginnes,
And grace to grieve, for nothing but my sinnes,
So shall thy mercy, ne'r forgetfull stand,
While I have Tongue, a Pen, a head, a hand.

The Soules Sea-fight

Emp'rour of Angells; O thou King of Starrs,
Man's perfect solace 'gainst sinnes bloudy warres,
When I behold with contemplations Eye
The silver spangles of the glorious skie;
Me thinks in that Blew-paper-booke of Heav'n
I see the waies of Mortalls all Vnev'n,
The wretched soule of Man in ev'ry place,
Lives Locally in hell, Wanting thy grace,
Temptation on temptation past controule,
Alures the body to betray the soule;
Hells Blacke-Prince Troopes of spirits ev'ry day,
Invades Mans Sinne-seidg-Soule, Furies display
Infernall Banners, while the Drum of death
Beates a dead March, and e're I can take breath,

Sounds shrill Alarums, hot assaults beginne
The soules fierce fight; muffl'd in cloudy sinne,
I live beset; Millions of spirits round
Shoot at my soule; I stand on no firme ground
But tread on Earth, as on a Ball of ice.
I cannot stand, nor stirre for sliprie vice.
My Soul's a ship tost on the mountaine seas,
Of this vast world; she never lives at ease,
Her Sailes are sighes, her Anchor deep despaire,
Her Compasse errour, her sad Pilot care.
Farre off from safe tyes shore, floates on the waves
Of fearefull billowes, Soule-devouring graves,
Rough, blustring stubborne stormes, yeeld no reliefe
On ev'ry shrowd, each Tackling hangs a griefe,
Death like a darke cloud, besets every place,
Here Rockes of ruine, there Pyrates lie in chase,
In ev'ry corner mischeifes hour'ly lurke,
Pride fights against us like a furious Turke.
Lust like a Trech'rous Spaniard, murd'ring French,
Like an infected poysons loathsome stench.

Gluttonie like a Germane; drunkennesse
Like a Dutch-dun-ker-ker; whose impiousnesse
Stiles him the Master Gunner to give fire
To all Sinnes blacke Artillery, hells Ire,
Infernall Chaine-shott; All Soule murd'ring strife,
To sinke mans weather-beaten ship of life.
Which to gaine grace; no sooner weighes Anchor,
Sets faile for safety, but straight Sinnes canker
The devouring Devill, Pyrate for Hell,
Chasing flyes after; and with blacke Arts spell
Commands to stay; sometimes with beautious formes,
With songs of Syrens sometimes; sometimes stormes,
Such pitchy Tempests, to benight the way,
As if the horrour of the Latter day;
Frighted the world, so stops the soule from blisse,
Shoots through and through her; so she steares amisse.

Then as in bloudy Sea fights men may see,
Times sacrifice to valour, no man free
From desperate danger; every one maintaines
The terrour of the fight (though with their braines

“Dasht in each others face) vitall breath
“Lost in a Fighting flame; bloud and death
“Bullets, and Batteries, covers the ship all ore
“Her dismall Decks with horror, purple gore,
And scatter'd limbes; O the sad shreeke the cries,
Here sinckes a Ship, and there another fries
In fiery flames; some to scape present harme
Mount the Maine-Top; some hang on the Yard-Arme,
'Till the pitcht Mast becomes a blazing Torch,
Whose up flying flame, when it beginnes to scortch,
Downe, downe the poore Soules drop, who (life to save)
Vnwilling, willingly make the Sea their Grave,
The deepes their Tombes; so the soules Pinnace
In her spirituall fight, sinne dos deface,
Murders our best of thoughts; like raging seas,
Windes, Stormes, & Tempests, drive us where they please
The poore afflicted soule, Satan so blinds
It knowes not where she is; by whizing winds
Now-tost, toth' top, of all the Azure skie,
Now tumbling as to Hell with frighted Eye,

Her Flag of sinnes defiance Tempests rent,
Her sayles torne all to raggs; her maine mast spent
All out of order, tossing too, and fro,
The soule distrest, knowes not not which way to goe.
With gentle calme; checke Sathans blacke storme Lord,
We shipwracke else; Devills will come abord
Burne with hells Wildfire; flame, ruine, raze,
Blot our soules hope, helpe minister of grace.
Safetie's in Heav'n; in this uncertaine life,
Nothing but Hell-bred Quicksands, warre and strife,
Soule killing vapours, worldly vanites,
Thicke clouds of Vice perpetuall miseries!

There is a Voyage to the holy land,
In which the Truth our blessed Card must stand
The Holy Ghost our Pilote to Direct
The Steerage of our Course from sinnes neglect
To th' Haven of Heav'n; that happie Port of rest
Salvation's guard, true Cape of comfort blest,
There Heav'ns bright Majestie our Saviour sweet,
Sits with the hand of mercy for to greet

100

And waft us to him; O may all that stray
Sayling along the Coast of sorrow pray,
Pray unto him; he'le guide their wand'ring Barke
Tempest-tost hourely in the dreadfull darke.
If thou be Sea-sick, call upon him, and he
Shall soone, with healths sweet solace comfort thee.
Rebuke the raging winds, Times blackest stormes,
And to a Calme, skie-swelling seas reforme.
No Rocks, Gulfes, Sands, nor seas-cloud-kissing waves
Sinnes dreadfull Sea-fights, nor the desperate braves
Of Pyrates, none shall hurt; let then thy care
See thy weake Vessell rigg'd, well Mann'd with prayer,
And then Launch forth, hoist sailes, and when you spie
The Cape of good hope, keepe it in thine eye.
Let Holy thoughts deatht-breathing stormes ore'come,
That whatsoever chance there shall become,
The vessell of thy body, being foule,
Make sure to save the Passenger thy soule.

He valiant, onely vertuous is that can

101

Subdue his sinnes, He's the true Noble man.
Ther's perfect valour, he true glory winnes,
Hee's the true souldier that subdues his sinnes,
Breaks through the Pikes of sinne, all Fiends that are
In Hell, or divells ruling in the ayre,
Forceing his way to Heav'n despight all charmes,
Enchantments, dead sleepes, all soule-staying harmes,
Wrestling like Iacob constant in his fight,
Mindfull of his Majesticke-Makers sight,
To such, belongs the Everlasting Crowne
Of Sempeternall glory, true renowne.
Which to prepare thee for; cease to neglect
Th' Almighties sacred service, let respect,
Feare and true reverence to his pretious word,
Be to thy Soule Truths Helmet, shield and sword,
Fit to subdue the Fiend, all fiery Darts,
Furies and fiends, Heav'n arme thy noble parts,
Soule, Body, Heart, and all strive to fulfill
(The Majestie of Heav'n) his divine will.

102

And like the cunning curious Architect,
Earnest some goodly building to erect,
(Breaking his sleepe) wholy imployes his mind
On the drawne modell, which when he dos find
Exact; his eye dwells ever then upon it,
And his affection never driven from it.
So when to thought we call our Saviours bloud,
(That sempeternall Platforme of all good)
Shed for our sinnes; let it for ever dwell
In the Idea of our minds, so Hell
Sterne Death, nor deadly desp'rate discontent,
Can barre the heav'nly heart from's true content!
“Gods Vengeance against sinne, his true dislike
Me thinkes should move us to repent, and strike
A terrour to our soules, force us to see
Man's outward danger, inward miserie.
Which like an unresisted roaring Tide
Runnes through our veines, apts the base bloud ro pride
To all the sinnes that are, or ever were,

103

O horid ill, have we not cause to feare,
To quake, and tremble, when our dull dead eyes
(Drunke with the poyson'd dreggs of sinne) ne'r spies
The mischeivous perills, and the blacke affright;
That hourely wait on the spirituall fight;
Fiends live at Sea, and Furies on the land,
Gluttony for a Corporall dos stand;
Avarice a Pioner, Sloth you'l spie,
An idle Gentleman of a Companie,
Wraths the Serjeant, Envie the Colours gaine,
Lust the Lievtenant is; Pride the Captaine.
These in the hearts of ev'ry one takes place,
Where Cowardly Soules shuns the blest meanes of grace.
Let us for ever then, desist from evill,
Wisedome commands us to defie the Devill.
To combate with our sinnes oppose temptation,
Fight against Hell, the Devill and damnation.
This for a Caveat take, strive to live well,
Ingratitude to God, findes flames in Hell.

104

While grace is offer'd then, watch, fast, and pray,
Ther's no prevention in the latter day.
None lives secure, that to his Vice lives friend,
A Vicious life, oft makes a Vicious end.

Strengthen me my Creator, make me fight,
Thy holy battell, let not the worlds delight
Disswade my soule; sweet Iesus for thy merit
Enable me, rowze my dejected spirit,
Vncharme Hells charme; O sacred God untie
My fetter'd soule; let me not ever lie
Lull'd in the lazie lan of deadly sinne,
This Minute Sacred Saviour, now beginne
To give release; and as thou didst provide,
Army of Angells for Eliahs guide,
Who (to secure him girt with Enemies)
Mounted his soule from worldly vanities,
So Heav'nly Day-star, blessed Jesus end
This my designe; thy holy Angell send
To be my guide, my guard, my sacred spell

105

'Gainst all Enchantments, Witchcraft, Death and Hell.
So shall my Anthem ev'ry Morning be,
Glory of Heav'n pitty, O pitty me.
Pitty me Wretch, most wretched, vilely base
Wanting thy sacred aide, spirituall grace.
The onely Cure sinnes raging flames to quentch,
Is Aqua Lacrymarum; that will stench
The wounds proud pomper'd Dames delight to make
On the poore soule of man, make him to quake:
Afeard to stand on that false Rocke of Ice
Idlenesse, feeder of foule Carnall Vice.
Blacke errours cloud, South Fog which rotts the mind,
Leapours the soule, and is that Northerne winde
The cause of all sinnes stormes, 'tis dangers floud,
Sinnes-stirging Ocean, swelling in mans bloud.

O Soule alluring sinne, me, me forsake,
I charge thee hence, by him that made Hell quake,
By that Almighty One, in sacred Trine,
All holy spells and charmes Magicke divine,

106

Sister of Angells Virgins Chastitie,
By that Sovle saving sacred puritie,
Fly from me all base thoughts; be just mine eyes,
And be your selves, hate wantons witcheries.
The blessing of th' Almighty, Lord of Hoast,
The Father, the Sonne, and the Holy Ghost
Preserve, be with me, now and for ever when,
My soule is most distrest Amen, Amen.

107

The Virgins Honour.

I, As a Child, that of it selfe can doe
Nothing, to sheild Virginity from woe,
Prostrate on bended Knees with teares I fall
Before thee Lord; O heare, on thee I call.
Pittie me wretch, I that am in the prime
Heate of my youth; and the most dang'rous tyme
Of all my life; beseech thy heavenly aide,
All holy helpes; Lord pitty me weake Maide.
Lest like the silly fly about the Flame,
I scortch to Cinders; burne out my good name.
Quench, quench the flames of all lewd carnall Motions,
Inordinate desires, all loose affections.
Never let my soule be led away good Lord
By Wanton Company, that no good afford.

108

Waking or sleeping; O thou King of Kings,
Let the safe peacefull shaddow of thy wings
Be my Eternall safetie, lest the mines
Of Golden Snares, after my chast designes.
By day and night, Lord let thy gracious beames,
Disperse all wandring thoughts, all idle dreames!
My Chastity, is a more pretious Iewell
Then I can keepe; let me not then be cruell
To my owne soule; but, by the more that I,
In the great danger of Temptation lie,
So much the greater, let thy grace preserve
My Uirgin Honour; and though I deserve
Thy Vengeance, indignation, and no favour,
Yet for thy Mercies sake, most sacred Saviour,
Be thou my Advocate, Lord make me free,
To sue in forma pauperis under thee,
Angelize thou my soule, to shunne the Tract
Of obscene speech; lew'd thought, and uncleane act.
To thee for ever make me reconcil'd,
In Body, and Soule, chast, holy, undefil'd.

109

And through the operation of thy grace,
To spit defiance in sinnes uggly face.
“Pleasures are poysons to this soule of mine,
“Ther's no true joy on Earth, but what's divine.
What shall I doe? helpe Prince of Paradise,
I cannot stand, nor stirre for slip'ry Vice.
Quicken me Lord, enable me to pray:
Humble my Minde, my Parents to obey
In all their just commands; and at all times,
Patient to beare reproofes, confesse my crimes.
Ne're let me (Lord) be so depriv'd of grace,
To scoffe (like some) their Parents to their face.
Make me in stead of stubborne waies to grieve 'em,
(At their most need) still able to relieve 'em.
Increase good Heav'n, the number of their dayes;
To speake thy glory, and to sing thy prayse.
And if thy will e're call me to the state
Of honorable wedlocke; let my Mate
Be such a one (good God) with whom I may
Serve thee in peace; and never goe astray.

110

Ne're let contention, nurs'd 'twixt Man and Wife,
Disturbe the Quiet of my married life.
Married or Single, let me ever be,
Fitted with Prudence, pleasing unto thee.
Make me to shunne (great God) sins dang'rous shelfe,
That I, a poore Tree, barren in my selfe
May Bud; and beare such fruits of Faith as may,
My soule emparadice at the Judgement day.

111

The Single and Marrid Life.

Some say, the single life, is single care,
Yet sinne still Slaves it under Sathan's snare,
Soule-burning Beauties-brav'ry, witching folly,
Which mads th' intemprate Braine breeds melancholly,
Delight in dangrous Dice, Drabs, drinke, and Riot,
Sinne Theife-like robs, the single life of quiet
Hinders the happie Soule from being wed,
To Vertues faire, Chast, Honest, Humble bed.
O what a sacred sweetnesse had it beene,
Had our first Parents purity shunn'd sinne.
Marriage, that Rich immaculate Robe of honour,
Had ne're beene tempted then to base dishonour;
Lust, that do's hour'ly slave the single life,
And shunnes the sweets of Wedlock, through base strife.

112

Had ne're beene thought on then; all had gone well,
Soules ne're had cause to feare sinne, death nor hell.

Mariage was made for Man, ('tis a true Text)
For honour, not dishonour, to be vext
With deadly strife; adultr'ate fornication,
Vnruly Lust, sinne-causing-separation
(Hell to the Bed that's chast) turning the case
Of wholsome Marriage, into a disease.
Wedlocks great weighty worke, craves sound advice,
Begg'd at the hands of Heav'n; lest cheating Vice,
Puts tricks on faire beleeving honesty,
To cloake Biggebellies prurient venery.
Marriage requires a solemne Meditation,
Trembling resolve, no sudaine affectation
Vnask't of Heav'n; the mari'd life must be,
Vnforc'd, Religious, faithfull, chast and free.
Else like Jehorams Match twill prove a curse,
Bad the beginning, but the end farre worse.
Learne wisedome by this Truth, be zealous,
Vse holy Iobs preservative; be jealous,

113

Thou that art Married over all thy waies,
Beauties alurement, Natur's ill spent dayes,
Thy trouble about wealth, greifes long and large,
Care still to get, Childrens continuall charge,
Losses by Servants, sinnes infirmity
Vnquietnesse of Neighbours; all do cry,
And cry alow; the married life to be,
Man's ent'rance into sad calamity.

The Married life, I fitly may compare
To Heav'n or Hell, unto the Earth, or Ayre,
'Tis Heav'n where harmelesse Turtle Mates agree,
But Dismall Hell where Couples faithlesse be,
Sweet like the dainty wholsome Ayre to sense,
Where Man and Wife content, shunne rude offence.
But where deepe discord rules, and proud disdaine,
There, like the gaping Tongue-ride Earth for Raine
(Sun-burnt with sordid Actions, deeds unjust)
They partch to Cinders, fall away to dust:
'Tis sinnes just payment, whose reward is death,
The misery of life, and scourge of breath.

114

“Wisedome directs the married life to be,
“The peacefull Embleme of true Vnitie.
“Heav'n gives a blessing; makes that love divine
“Where Man and Wife content, draw in a Line:
“A Wife, obeying of her Husbands will,
“Ha's the rule over him, deserves no ill!
Love, is a worthy Wife, Times precious woman,
Lust a perfidious Harlot, true to no man.
“There is no joy on Earth that can transcend,
“A Husband and a Wife, kind to the end.
“The carefull Husband's honest gaines no doubt,
“Makes the Good-wife, an honest layer out.
“A Vertuous Wife (free from all lewd expence)
“Is the Husbands joy, his Tower of defence;
“Thus speakes the Text, discretion in a Wife
“Make's fatt the Husbands bones, delights his life.

115

Teares Triumph.

VVhat's Honour, Beauty, and the damaske skinne,
But Dirty drosse, ballanc'd with teares for sinne,
One trickling teare for sinne, gaines greater pleasure,
Then a whole Ocean of terrestriall treasure.
“Many can weepe, to counterfeits 'tis given,
“But to weepe truely, is the gift of Heav'n.

Mirrour of Truth, give me the sacred Raies
Of divine knowledge, so to spend my dayes
In sighes, teares, prayers, that my poore soule may,
Mount to thy glory, at my latter day.
“Happy the man, whose teares adorne the place
“Where he do's pray, that's the true signe of grace.
“Teares joyn'd with Prayers, are triumphant Twinnes,
“Soft waxe, hot Iron, to disburthen sinnes.

116

“Mingle thy Prayers with teares; teares soules refresh,
“Kills all the wanton Motions of the flesh,
“Teares humble Pride, makes chast insatiate lust,
“Malice to Mercy turnes, turnes time unjust
“Detracting Envie into Noble pittie,
“Dull Drunkards to be temp'rate; heavenly witty.
“Converts base Avarice from the abuse,
“Of godlesse gaine, to charitable use,
“Teares, Phisicks Gluttony to live content
“With meane course fate; makes mortalls penitent.
“Teares lengthens yeares; to Man's last day teares give,
“Sufficient meanes conentedly to live,
God that beheld King Hezekiah's teares,
Prolong'd his dayes; added full fifteene yeares
Peter, that thrice denide his sacred Lord,
Teares gain'd his pardon without speaning word:
“O blessed Teares; teares that for sinne arise,
“Are glorious Pearles ith' Petitioners eyes.
Weepe for thy sinnes poore soule; 'tis Heav'ns advice,
Teares Orient Pourles, purchase Paradice.

117

Shall such Soule-pleading Pearles then I pray
Be flung to Swine? 'mong swine be cast away?
Resolve me thou whose conscience never felt
A teare for sinne; O let thy soule but melt
To penitent Pearles; then, then let it tell
The infinite difference, 'twixt Heav'n and Hell
With, and without those ravishing teares; the one
Feeles joy, free pardon; but the other none!
Vnpittied plagues attend the scornefull eye
Ne're wet for sinne; that's endlesse misery.
When on the adverse part, where soules bewaile
Their wretched frailty, God do's never faile
To send releife; frees them from all annoy,
“Who sowes in teares shall reape eternall joy.
Teares winnes the soule to God; (raises it up
From Earth to Heav'n) drinkes deepe of mercies Cup,
Applies health's Plaister to the firme sicke pulse,
“Teares with God, never suffer'd a repulse.
Wee never weepe, never devoutly cry,
Ne're drop a teare for sinne, but God stands by.

118

Puts all our Teares into his Bottle; looke
What saies the Psalmist? are they not in thy booke?
Thou tell'st my wand'rings (Lord) put thou my wares?
Into thy bottle; frustrate sinfull feares.
“Teares trembles Hell, pacifies Mortall strife,
“Blotts all our sinnes out of the booke of life,
Ile' cry, saies David, to the King of Kings,
Prevailing teares with God, performe all things.

God of the Spirits of all Flesh that can,
Rectifie soules; looke on me wretched man,
As Holy Paul ne'r ceased for three yeares,
Night and day constantly to warne with teares
The Elders of Miletum, (them to free
From Sathans subtile temptings) so let me,
Night and day (Lord) for ever, never cease
With teares, to warne, my warring flesh to peace.
“True teares winne Heaven, all impious thoughts controule
“Teares subdue Sinnes; make white the spotted soule,
“Perfumes the Body, mortifies leud sence,
“Calmes stormie cares, and prove the quintessence

119

“To all our quiet; no anguish, no contention
“Troubles true teares; want is ne'r thought upon
“Nor the worlds wide woe; where a blessed teare
“Is shed for sinne, it frights away all feare,
“Gently allayes Earths tempest's that arise
“Through times deceitfull riches; beauties Eyes,

Lachryma nunquam patitur repulsam.

121

Mercies Miracle.
[_]

The following ten lines of verse are in the form of a diamond in the original text.

CHRIST'S Setting forth from's Celestial PALACE,
Lodg'd in the Virgins Wombe; From that blest PLACE,
To th' Manger went; from Manger to the Crosse,
From Crosse departed (with his deare Blouds losse)
Vnto the SEPVLCHER, there made all ev'n,
And so return'd, Gloriously Home to HEAV'N.
To HEAV'N, from whence LORD let thy SACRED FIRE,
GLISTER upon my SOVLE, whose sole Desire
Begges MERCIE for my Sinnes, makes knowne to THEE,
THOV that hast RAVISHT ALL, hast Ravish't Me.

VVonder, of Angells, O thou Flaming Glory,
Great Mercies Miracle, thy Sacred story

122

Shewes thy ne'r failing Love; it is thy love
(Thou Lambe of God, celestiall Turtle-Dove,)
Thy over liberall love that does restraine
Sodomes just Plague, which thou mightst justly raine
In blew flames, stormes of fire to consume,
Burne up this sinfull world, and scortch the plume
Of mortalls Pride; soules wilfully misled,
Pamper'd with Chin-deepe Lust, fullnesse of bread.
“Man is to Man a Monster-hearted stone,
“With God ther's mercy, but with Man ther's none.
God is the worlds miraculous Creator
Holy, just, mercifull, Man's glorious Maker.
God into hell, for Pride, the Divells hurld,
Gods Iustice drown'd, Gods mercy sav'd the world,
God is all Eye, he brings to open light,
The darkest deeds and secrets of the night,
Man's hell-bread plots against the Innocent,
God still contrives to'th Authors punishment.
God is all goodnesse, Greatnesse, deare delight,
His anger short, his mercy infinite.

123

Reade th'Everlasting Bible, there you'l finde
His all abundant Excellence inclin'd
To chide, then smile, long suffering, but sure,
First he beginnes to strike, and then to cure,
Drownes the rude world for impious sinne; and then
(Never to execute the like agen)
The Raine-bowe sends, as a most sacred signe
Of his ne'r failing mercy love divine!
O Mercy, thy rich thought appeares to me,
Tymes golden spurre, to quicken and make free
Dull stupid spirits from their Iade-like pace,
Swiftly to runne Vertues celestiall race:
Haste soule to heav'n, and thinke when thou dost faint,
A stately Pace too solemne for a Saint.
Plough through the dusty wayes, the dirt and mire
Of foulest sinnes, temptations fiercest fire
For Mercies sake; Mercy makes blest the braine,
Curbs sinnes delight with contemplations Reine.
Mercies sweet thought, stands the soules sacred spell,
'Gainst all the Thorny Passages of hell.

122

Adam at first, the second put to death,
The second dying, gave us all new birth.
The Tree of good and bad, and Apple gay,
Brought to the world, to cast us all away.
Yet the sad Tree of shame bare fruit to save,
All that beleev'd from the infernall grave.
And as our Parents first notorious Vice,
Whipt them from out the joyes of Paradice,
So from mans crooked sinfull waies unev'n
Christ entertaines us, readily to heaven.
Thinke what a ravishing Act of love was there
Figur'd toth' life; thinke thinke, O Blessed, Deare,
Soule-saving Saviour, sacred Purity,
Ravish my soule to tell thy Charity,
Thou sempeternall ravishing Rose-bud,
Who for our sinnes was sixe times dide in bloud,
Text in such Tragick letters as did show
Men turn'd to Monsters; the great debt we owe
To his victorious sufferings, that is
Mirrour of Majestie, man's only blisse.

123

Did the forgetfull wretch consider when
Hell hast's him on, to some hot sinne, and then
Finds no way left to his desire free,
But by a narrow lane where he must see,
That never enough to be lamented losse,
Christ Iesus Tenterd on the bloudy Crosse,
God on the Racke for our spirituall food
His limbs all o're, a Charactor of blood,
All wounded, and new bleeding, crying out,
O thou that bearst', the Christian stampe about
Thy flesh and blood; behold my bloud braine,
Was ever griefe like mine? sicke foule refraine,
Reade in my wounded side thy backe returne,
Thy sordid sinnes repulse; let thy soule mourne
In showers of sorrowes and to hells disgrace,
Reade sinnes dislike in my storme beaten fate.
Vnbosome Vice, cast from thy soule sinnes evill,
And with my Scriptum est, silence the divell.

Can carelesse Christians beare the thought of this
Mercies Memento, in their mindes amisse?

126

No sure; no hellish heart so prone to sinne,
But the rich thought of such rare love must winne
Mans soule to God; and with right admiration,
(Fixt firme and often on our Saviours passion)
Force him to hate the sinne he lik't so well,
And with a loathing kick, send it to hell.
Mercie's rememb'rance like a Curious Lute,
Renders most excellent Musicke, heavenly fruite,
Points out the weary soule the way to Grace,
And spurs us on to the Celestiall race.
Invites the penitent minde o're clogg'd with care,
To Heavenly extasie spirituall fare.
Mercifull God, turne thou man's vaine desire
To feare and trembling; let a zealous fire
Flame in the soules of men; let each proud eye,
Humbl'd with teares, admire thy Majestie,
Backward, and forward looke, calling to mind,
Those multitudes of Mercies mortalls find,
Day, Night, Tyme, Tyde, miraculously given,
By thy All-sacred hand, Great God of heav'n.

127

As the young Bird then, that do's never cease,
Op'ning the Mouth, untill the Damme release
And cures the want it suffers; so should wee
With vnlockt lipps, still pray, that God would free
Our soules from sinne, O 'tis a blessed taske,
God ne'r leaves giving, 'till we leave to aske.

Dei misericordia, plenitude est virtutum.

129

FAITH

[_]

The following sixteen lines of verse are in the shape of a chalice in the original text.

Nail'd to the Crosse, there Christ, lost soules to winne,
Suffer'd the world's huge pond'rous weight of sinne,
Insulting Foes reproach, mocks, scoffings, scorne,
His sinewes to bee Rackt, his Body torne;
A kisse betray'd him, and a perjur'd lie,
Was the reward for all his Puritie.
Heav'ns wrath, Hells rage, on Christ all torments fell,
To save our Soules, from those blew flames in Hell.
Christ's whole life was a Martyrdome & Crosse,
Active and Passive, and his deare Blouds losse,
The Tragick part; the bloudy Sceane which none
But He himselfe must Act, and act alone:
Christ's Patience, Death And Devills force did quell,
He tooke the great Leviathan of hell
With the Hook of his Crosse, made him his slave,
Captiv'd the DEVILL, and subdu'd the Grave.

131

Faith makes unseene things seene, Faiths sacred eye
Vn-visors Prides painted hypocrisie.
A resolute Faith forc'd Abram to consent
To butcher his beloved; to content
His Mighty Maker: Faith has ever beene,
The perfect Evidence, of things unseene.
Jacob by Faith obtain'd his full desire,
Faith kept the Lyons Mouthes; Faith quenches fire,
Enoch by Faith from sence of vitall breath,
Translated was, that he should ne'r see death.
Faith made Eliah to call downe from heaven
Consuming flames, to burne accursed men!
Israels great Captaine by his Faith did part
Egypts Red-Sea, went through with joyfull heart.
Iosua by Faith, on Gibeon did command
The golden Taper of the Sunne to stand
Still; while he fought the Battell of the Lord,
Faith comes by hearing the All-mighties word.
Women receiv'd their dead rais'd up to life,
Faith conquer'd Kingomes, and subdues all strife.

132

Like a safe winde, which to the Sea-man sings,
Comfort in midst of all sad cares, Faith brings,
And breathes into our soules, Truths gentle gaile
(Salvations sweet reliefe,) too fill the saile
Of Man's storme-beaten vessell; keepes it ev'n,
So sends it home in peace to th' land of heav'n.
Faith cloathes the Soule in a divine attire,
To passe untoucht, through Famine, sword, and fire,
His body feeles no paine by fire, or sword,
Whose Faith, is in the bosome of the Lord.
Faith is Saint Peeters walking on the water,
Hope lent him helpe, and Love was his supporter.

Fides, Signum Christianorum.

133

HOPE.

[_]

The following eighteen lines of verse are in the shape of an anchor in the original text.

Hope followes Faith; when Man is most opprest,
Ready for hell, Hope to the Soule gives rest.
Hope in the Lord, be strong the Psalmist saith,
Hope strengthens, comforts and confirms thy faith.
Hope is Faiths daughter, Heav'ns holy Handmaid still,
To over-rule unruly desp'rate will
From doing damned violence, which may,
beget the soules Eternall cast-away.
In midst of hellish crosses, stormes & strife,
Hope must our Pilot be to a good life
Our Anchor, Cable: give it then free scope,
The sweet's of Grace, are relished by hope:
O my dull spirit, rowze thee, sit not still
pond'ring on thy poore Meanes, though it be ill,
Be thankfull; thanke thy God, and bee not hurl'd
To damn'd despaire, by th' malice of the world.
Good luck may goe away, but good hope yet,
Will never leave us, if we leave not it.

135

Are we so blind, so sotted by the Devill
To receive good at Gods hands; and not evill
With equall thankes? have we for sinne deserv'd
Least good, no? rather worthy to be sterv'd.
Want threats revenge; men's states must needs decline,
When men against the will of heav'n repine.
Hope cleares Night-stormes, calmes the tempestuous day'
Afflicted, or not afflicted, let us pray,
Despaire not, nor repine; let Vertues scope
In midst of sorrowes, pearch thy soule on Hope.
Dare Man despaire to live the life of Caine
And die the death of Iudas; merit paine,
The Damned feele in hell? good heav'n defend
Disquietted soules from such a dreadfull end.
We all are sav'd by Hope; if in true sence
We hope for Heav'ns Eternall Excellence:
Hope's like the Fisher-man's Corke, despaire the lead,
Whose pond'rous weight no sooner being spread,

136

But it beginnes to sinke; so man in sinne,
Did not hope lift him up still by the Chinne.
Yet neither Faith, nor Hope can e're subsist,
Wanting sweete Charity; she is the list
That comprehends, and is the life of grace,
Love pitties still the poore, seekes the Lords Face,

Spes mea Christo.

137

CHARITIE.

[_]

The following fourteen lines of verse are in the shape of a heart in the original text.

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.

139

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.

140

“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,

141

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:

142

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.

143

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.

144

'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.

145

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.

Vbi Charitas non est Caritas.

VERTUES PYRAMID

[_]

This poem is in the shape of a stemmed pyramid in the original text.

Blest Blest, O Blest, Be that Divinity,
Three Sacred Persons GOD in Vnitie,
WHOSE glorious Ravishing Resurrection,
Restor'd us (lost) to Grace, Oh PERFCTION!
Purifie thou my Soule, my Heart, my Minde:
Snatch me from Earth, to Heav'n make me inclin'd,
Wholly to Thee, (All worldly Pompe despising)
Fixe my THOVGHTS ever, On thy Blessed RISING:
Give MEE A Sempeternall Reverence,
To Thy All-glorious high Omnipotence.
I that am clog'd with sin, and wretchednesse,
(Desp'rate thoughts hunting after Worldlinesse;)
Thy blest Protection crave, cleare the great score,
Of all my foule misdeeds, that I no more
so great a sinner proove; Lord let my strife,
Against my sinnes, Raise mee from Death to life.
And from the Foote of uggly sinnes disgrace,
Mount, mount, my SOVLE, to th' Pyramid of GRACE.

Chastitie and Lust.

Lewd speech strikes blushes in a Uirgins face,
Chastity is ever the Zeale of grace,
Staffe of Devotion, Enemy to Lust,
In death true comfort; the Marke of the Just.
Sister of Angells, and the Virgin Tie
Which cleaves to God, gaines sweete Eternity.
When Lust with all her paint, Curles, purles. & pride
(Swelling in pompe) is but a nastie Hide
A most infectious foe; foe to the Purse,
Foe to the Person, and which makes it worse,
The Conscience corrosive, confounding witt,
The minds Canker, soules burning Feaver fitt.

Mong all enticements, pleasures quaffing Boule,
All the sharpe combats of a Christian soule,

150

None feircer then the warrs of a Chast mind,
Ther's a continuall Fight; which good Men find
Never subdu'd without wet eies, true care,
In praying; Why? the victory is rare.

Chastities still, in danger 'mong delights,
As Truth in much talke; Souldiers in fierce fights.
The walls of Chastity once batter'd downe,
Maides loose their Honour, Vertues rich renowne.

O Lust, what's thy delight? thy full fruition
Of Pleasure; but the Path way to Perdition,
Scandall, dishonour, foule reproach and shame,
Will blast thy being, blot out thy good name.
“O happie is that Man, happie the Maide
“That's Chast; cleare consciences are ne'r afraid
Of Iudgement, Death, and hell; no sad affright,
Tortures the mind that's chast; ther's true delight.
Witnesse the two-fold feare that do's belong
To Chastity and Lust; feare to doe wrong
And grieve her Husband, is the chast wifes part,
She feares her slack of Love; lest he depart,

152

Gives no crosse words, no angry lookes nor sowre,
Nor do's she seeme to lumpe, to powte, to lowre.
She feares t'offend her husband, shunnes all strife
To gaine his Presence; which she loves 'bove life.

But the lewd Harlot, when her Mate's from home,
Feare makes her wish, that he might never come.
Lest his approach unlook't for terrifie,
And catch her in her base Adultery.
Shee's fill'd with feare, doubts, starts least creeke o'th doore,
O'tis a dreadfull sinne to be a Whore.
Beauty in the Face, and Lust within the heart
Kills Soule and Body, ruines ev'ry part:
Strike me Eternall Essence with the dart
Of Saint-like Chastitie; give me a heart
Of flesh; so chastly pleasing, that poore I
May live in Chastity; a chast soule die.

Midnights-Meditation.

VVhen I contemplate Heav'n, and take no care
For worldly vanities; then my soule how farre,
How amorously faire thou art; destroying sinnes,
“Man's a rich Monarch; then true joy beginnes,
Never till then; never did any fight
'Gainst sinne, but gain'd unspeakeable delight.
This, when I thinke upon, and practise too,
Heav'ns in my eye, want nor the worst of woe
Distracts my senses; but when I roote my mind
On this rude world, Vertue is soone strooke blind,
Witt, reason, all my senses are confounded,
Devills assault my flesh, my soule is wounded.
Save me, O save me Lord, thy worthlesse Creature;
Pittie the weakenesse of my Mortall nature.

154

Forgive all forfeitures my sinnes have made,
Vowes, Promises, protestations never paid.
I promis'd still to mend, to turne mine eyes
From sinfull waies; yet Heav'n knowes all were lies.
Shame to my soule; how dare I then looke up,
Expect least solace from sweete Mercies Cup?
O I am angry, vext to th' very heart,
I act not thy will Lord, but mine owne part.
A sinfull Tragicke Part which will deface
My soule; helpe Heav'n; send thy restraining Grace.
One Drop of Grace Celestiall can refresh
A fainting soule; cleanse Lord my corrupt flesh.
Vn-storme sinnes sulphurous storme; I burne I fry,
Like the impatient Fish, which violently
(Scorch't to the quick) it's raging heate to tame,
Leaps from the Pan, into the burning flame.
Such is the flaming Torture I endure,
Scorcht for my sinnes; where shall I fly for cure.
“Want is a Mis'rie, much Wealth a trouble,
“Honour a burthen; Beautie but a bubble.

155

“Pleasure a shadow, advancement dangerous
“Friendship a false Winds, and disgrace odious.
This world of sinne circles my braine with snares;
A thousand distractions, Millions of cares,
Beates on the Anvile of my poore weake head,
(To ruine sense) to strike all good thoughts dead;
Oft musing on the Worlds Witch-pleasing pelfe,
I thus beginne to argue with my selfe,
Why might not I be Rich? tush, God do's see,
This meane estate of mine fitter for me.
Then I collect my Spirits, praise that God
Which keepes me still unscourg'd; restraines the Rod
Of his just Vengeance, that might justly fall
On me, and mine, in Iustice ruine all:
“Had I the Worlds possession in my hand,
All Potentates on Earth at my command,
What then? I then; subject to all entices,
Might fill my little-world, with World of Vices.
It is enough I live, and 'tis too much
That I am fed, or cloathed, if I grutch.

154

My daies of sinne encrease, wax worse and worse,
Whither? O whither shall I direct my course?
Downe, downe foule flesh, (great God) my selfe I blame,
I aske thy pardon, asking in his name
That is my Life, the Light, the Way, the Word,
Mercy and Truth; faire Truth which do's afford
Mercy to all; onely prescribes this taske,
That whatsoever Mortall soules do aske
The Father in his Name it shall be done,
To glorifie the Father, in the Sonne.

O infinite sweetnesse; O Immortall love,
Thou God the Father, that dost rule above
The Highest Heav'ns; Thee in the blessed Name
Of Jesus Christ, (Theanthropos) that came
To save beleeving soules, I aske, implore,
Pardon, O pardon; out with sinnes rotten core
Rooted too neare my heart; whisper thy feare
Into my soule; let me not onely heare
Thy sacred word, but (in the practicke part)
Make perfect use of it; nere let me start

155

From thee my God; let sad Teares from mine eyes,
And sighes from my heart expresse my grievancies.
Though I fall foule and fearefully each day,
Lord let me not fall finally away.
And I if needs must fall, let my fall be,
From death to life, from sinne to sanctity.

Amor Dei, amorem Deo parit.

157

The Divine Dreame.

VVorme that I am; O how shall I begin
To praise that God, that in my sleepe 'gainst sin
Gave divine warning; sent truths sacred scrole
Which to and fro, hovring i'th' Ayre, did role
This way, and that; at last, as if Heav'ns will
Had so decreed; the waving scrole stood still,
(Much like the golden Taper of the Sun
At the command of Man; the sonne Nun)
In which me thouht I read, and read it ore,
Peccair no majs; that is, sinne no more
Written in Spanish; this seeming sight so strange,
Workt in my dreaming spirit such a change
That startling from my drowsie sleepe I cride

158

To heav'n; thus instantly with Teares repli'd
O sacred Saviour, humbly I implore,
Give me the spirit of Grace to sinne no more.
For I am blind; sinne clouds my sence of seeing
Thy good, my ill; I'me Natures brittle being,
Vext to the soule; so infinitely opprest
With sighes and groanes, they cannot be exprest.
What shall I doe? great Natures miracle,
Thou onely wise God, Heav'ns firme Oracle,
Fashion me to thy will; rip out with the core
Of sinne in me; that I may sinne no more.
Say to my soule, lest I in soule despaire,
“Thy grace sufficient is; Cure Lord my care.
“Speake but the word (as the Centurion said)
“Thy servant shall he heal'd; Lord be my aid.
“No Rod so sharpe, nor no disease so sore,
“But thy good Grace can cure, to sinne no more.
Thou Lord by holy Text confirm'd dost say,

161

I am the Lord that heales; I Ropeca:
“Thou God the true Phisitian art that can,
“Be mine, Lord be so; pitty me weake man.
God my Physitian, and his Grace the Physicke
I must not, will not, cannot be sin-sicke.

Nomo lœditur nisi a seipso.

163

THE DIVINE ECCHO, BETWEENE THE GOOD ANGELL, Man in despaire, And the Devill.

Man.
Death to my Soule, how long must I in vaine
Heav'ns comfort crave? yet endlessely remaine.
Fetter'd in sinne? breake Heart, give death free scope
And must I then despaire? is there no hope?

Angell
Hope.

Man.
What Soule affected spirit to mine Eare
Eccho's some sweet releife? can hope come neare

164

Sinnes shackl'd Slave from whom all Veruer gon?
What's to be Hop'd for? when all hopes are done?

Angell.
Pardon.

Man.
How; Pardon, can Pardon raise a wretch
Times reprobate like me? I that can fetch
Nor sigh, nor teare, sinnes furie to abate,
Can Heav'n free such a Soule? so desolate?

Devill.
Too late.

Man.
Too late indeede; my Sinnes sicke stonie heart,
Traytor to Truth; Acts the Tragedian's Part
Of ill so well; I know not what to doe,
Frights, terrours, broken sleepes, all speake my woe,
Yet Holy Writ tells me, 'tis better ever,
Late to repent, then to repent me never.

165

Devill.
Never.

Man.
O my horrour (never) thou deadly accent,
Art thou from Heav'n or Hells curs'd dungeon sent
Must my despairing thoughts for ever bend
To Hellish Actions? shall I ne'r amend?

Angell.
Amend.

Man.
Amend I cannot, guifts of Grace I lacke
Like him that weares Heav'ns Livery on's backe
Hells favour in his bosom; wretched I
Will Fate afford no present remedie!

Devill.
Die.

Man.
My soule must then miscarrie and be damb'd.

Devill.
Be dam'd.

166

Man.
Is that the onely solace, all the pitty
Sterne Fate affords poore Man in misery?

Devill.
I.

Man.
Was my Creation in the Wombe of woe
Ordain'd for Hell? no otherwise then so.

Devill.
So.

Man.
Die then I must; and will, appoint me where.

Devill.
Here.

Man.
So quicke: O true Physition, for to die
I hold it best; and to linke suddenly.
Here in this Desart then, where no eye sees,
Expresse the meanes to die among these Trees.

167

Devill.
These Trees.

Man.
If 'mong these Trees appoint to me an Altar?

Devill.
An Halter.

Man.
To be hang'd is base, better to drowne my selfe,

Devlll.
Do, drowne thy selfe.

Man.
No no, I will not die so like a Rat,
A Cicken, or a Mouse, a Dog, a Cat,
But like the desp'rate Statesman I will be
Made nothing by a Dramme; poyson to me
Is pretious balme; I will die by poyson.

Devill
I, poyson,

168

Man.
'Tis the true death, best Cure 'gainst discontent
The Noble-Mans consumption; my intent
Huggs thē conceit; And yet my soule to slay
By touch or tast, is no true Roman way
Canst thou not change thy word?

Devill.
Thy sword.

Man.
Shall my Sword then set free from all the strife
Of Worldly woes? this mockery of life:
Can my sword soone quit me from out this straight?

Devill.
Straight.

Man.
I tifle time; come forth thou maine sole good,
Thou cure to all my cares; sweete sword in blood
I'le drowne thy friendly Blade; tis the best Part
Thou ere canst Act, to cleave thy Masters heart.

169

Fly soule to Ayre, Flame, Dust, I know not where,
Earth, serve thou me for Coffin and for Beere,

Angell.
Forbeare.

Man.
Who bids forbeare? what Potent power commands
My soule to live? my sword and trembling hand
To stop their bloudy course? is it in Fate
To alter Mans intent before too late,
Turning swift mischiefe to that sudden stay
Whom death but ev'n now would make her Prey?

Angell.
Pray.

Man.
Pray, unto whom? my soule is in a mist,
See see, me thinkes the Everlasting Fist
Of Heav'n is stretcht, waving the Crowne of grace
Over my Cursed head, Soule, sinfull Face.
Ayme accurst; I doe deserve the Rod

170

Of Vengeance rather then to pray to God
For the least drop of Mercy: No I must
Not dare to pray to him, for he is just.

Angell.
Just.

Man.
And by his Iustice, my impietie
Merits Eternall endlesse miserie,
Sinnes just reward; O teach me yet the way
Thou Divine Eccho; to what place to pray,
From whence implored mercy may be giv'n,
To cleare my sinnes great score, and make all ev'n.

Angell.
Heav'n.

Man.
What words will best he fit, and not betray me,

Angell.
Aye-mee.

Man.
Despaire deteines me backe, commands me say
I have no Will; no Minde, no heart to pray

171

What shall I doe? my soule is in a Feaver
And in that word despaire I shall end ever.

Angell
Endeavour.

Man.
O sacred sweetnesse, true Cælestiall witt,
Thou summe of sweetnes stampt in sacred writ,
Endeavour, yes, sinnes strife is the best play,
My soule can Act; God give, heav'n I obey.

Angell.
Obey.

Cum humilimus, cur non humilimus.

173

Deaths Masqueing Night.

As mighty Kings in glorious Masques delight,
Death, (Times Grand-Masquer) had his masqueing Night.
In evr'y Pallace, ev'ry Nooke Death ranges
Death takes his root from sinne, Hee's full of changes.
With solemne Pace unseene, Death dos advance
His Sable shaft, to lead the World a dance.
Through Courts, though Armyes, the worlds wide Hall,
Controul'd of none, Death is the end of all.
Wher's then the Mighty Monarch? wher's the glory
Of all his Court? State, Masques, joyes tradsitory?
Beauties bright Earth-Bred-Star? whose sparkling eye
Shoots quivers of Love-Shafts at Rich Majestie.

174

Death shall deface, and in the bed of night,
Yeild farre more cause of terrour, then delight.
Wher's then the, wanton glance that seem'd to skip
From this Great Lord? to that Great Ladyes Lap?
The nymble, Sprightly, Cap'ring, Courtier then
Forgotten lies; there is no dancing when
Devouring Death, stabs with his sable shaft,
Vaine is the power of Art; all mundane craft.
The deepe Physitians skill, flutt'ring discourse
Of health; Death soone, turnes to a dismall course.
Wher's then? the mighty Madams flareing 'Pride?
Oyles, Powders, Paintings? all are laid aside.
Gold glittring Glory, Cloath of Silver silke,
Forgetfull Feasts, their sinfull Baths of Milke
(When many a poore soule sterves, wanting the food)
Of their supurfluous out-side) pamper'd blood
Curles, Purles, Purfumes, Court complements, visites,
Hot-stirring Dishes, soule bewitching Minuts,
All Pompe on Earth, ambitious mad desires,
Revells and Lust-burnt Midnights unchast fires.

175

All are husht then; Beggers and Kings, all must,
Take a poore lodging in a bed of dust.
Death is a dreadfull Antimasque, 'twill fright
The worlds Grand Masquer in his full delight!
Figures and Footings, practiz'd to intrance
Spectators Eyes, Deaths interposing Dance,
Dissolves to darkenesse, in a moments space
Ruines proud Pompe; makes pale th' aluing Face
Sparkling in Beauty; deads the hot desire
Of Naked Brests; Death tames Lusts raging fire,
Wounds without dread or dalliance; Death will strike,
Sou'raignes and subjects, all are to him alike.
To Rich and Poore those that doe ill, or well,
Death is the Path, either to Heav'n, or Hell.
Deaths dread appearance evermore makes glad
The good; but proves a terrour to the bad.
Disjoynts the ablest limbs; Death trembles Pride,
Extincts State-Glories will not be denide
Death is an Archer, Man the Marke to shoot at
Fly where thou wilt, East, West, this way, or that,

176

Death followes like a shaddow, shoot he will,
Drawes sure and home; Death never failes to kill
And yet, none truely mindes it; though we know
Time shall decay, we cannot feede nor goe
Nor promise life a Minute, men passe to bed,
But ignorant are to rise, alive or dead.
Death by a thousand accidents do's meet
Health, Wealth, and Beauty, stabs 'em in the street.
He that least dreames of death, some falling Tyle
Timber, or Stone, doth suddenly beguile
Him of his life, yea oft, when Man refraines,
And seekes to shunne it, dashes out his braines,
This learnes us Mortalls, during vitall breath,
With humble soule to meditate on Death.
The thought of Death aright, prevents the evill
Of Hells Night Theife, & the worlds Noone-day Devill
Death's deepe remembr'ance rightly understood
Strikes dead delights, lures the lewd mind to good.
Wafts the sinne weary soule to thinke upon
Her ill past life, present affliction.

177

O sinne-sicke-sinfull Man, feare to doe ill
Tremble proud Heart, crosse not thy Makers will,
Thinke on thy end; thinke on the Day of Doome,
The paines of Hell; Deaths-Masqueing Night wil come
Not in the Pompe of Princely merriment,
But the dread fall of soules impenitent,
Ingratefull Soules to God; soules that dare sit
I'th scorners seate trusting to wicked wit
More then their Makers wisedome; their conceit
Aimes not at Heav'n, but to be worldly great.
Pride is their zeale, theie Prayers forgetfulnesse,
Charity Contempt, their Virtue wantonnesse,
Plump high fed Pamper'd Flesh on whom must waite
Page, Pander, Parasite, preparation, state,
Gold glitt'ring glory, cost, curious diet,
Insatiate pleasure, and vaineglorious Riot.
These are the sinnes that merit endlesse shame,
Hells ever burning, never dying flame.
Which to prevent, (Great God) let hate to vice
Dissolve sinnes Cloud, Eeche to Paradice.

178

Our Saviours sweetnesse, let us nevermore,
Lie downe to our dishonour like a whore.
Dead to good Counsell; never let darke deedes
Defile the soule; let's roote up all the seeds
Of Pride, Lust, Envie, Hatred, and in place,
Plant Wisedome, meeke Humility and Grace,
Abhorre to study State with greater zeale
Then zeale to Heav'n, or the soules-common-weale.
True Penitence gaines Heav'n, throwes sinners downe,
To raise them up, to an Immortall Crowne.

Cogita de fine infinito, ut vives in infinitum.

FINIS.

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