Theophila Or Loves Sacrifice. A Divine Poem. Written by E. B. Esq; Several Parts thereof set to fit Aires by Mr J. Jenkins |
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III. |
CANTO III. The Restauration.
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VIII. |
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Theophila | ||
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CANTO III. The Restauration.
ARGUMENT.
Lætior una Dies, JESU, tua Sacra Canenti;
Quàm sine Te, melicis Secula mille Lyris.
Ut paveam Scelus omne, petam super Omnia Coelum;
Da mihi Fræna Timor, Da mihi Calcar Amor!
Quàm sine Te, melicis Secula mille Lyris.
Ut paveam Scelus omne, petam super Omnia Coelum;
Da mihi Fræna Timor, Da mihi Calcar Amor!
The Authors Rapture; Grace is prais'd; a Flood
Of Tears is pour'd for Albions Blood,
Shed in a Mist; for smot Micaiahs Peace is woo'd.
Of Tears is pour'd for Albions Blood,
Shed in a Mist; for smot Micaiahs Peace is woo'd.
I
Muse, twang the pow'rful Harp, & brush each StringO'th' warbling Lute, and Canzons sing
May ravish Earth, and thence to Heav'n in Triumph spring.
II
Noble Du-bartas, in a high-flown Trance,Observ'd to start from's Bed, and dance;
Said: Thus by me shall caper all the Realm of France.
III
As viscous Meteors, fram'd of earthy Slime,By Motion fir'd, like Stars, do clime
The woolly-curdled Clouds, & there blaze out their Time.
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IV
Streaming with burnisht Flames; yet Those but rayTo spend Themselves, and light our Way;
And panting Windes, to cool ours, not their own Lungs, play.
V
So, my enliv'ned Spirits ascend the Skies,Wasting to make the Simple wise.
Who bears the Torch, himself shades, lightens others Eyes.
VI
As Lust for Hell, Zeal sweats to build for Heav'n,When fervent Aspirations, driv'n
By all the Souls quick Pow'rs, to that high Search are giv'n.
VII
High is the Sphear on which Faiths Poles are hing'd:Pure Knowledge, Thou art not restring'd,
Thy Flames enfire the bushie Heart, yet leave't unsing'd.
VIII
Suburbs of Paradise! Thou, Saintly LandOf Visions, Woo'd by Wisdoms Band;
By dull Mules in gold-trappings how do'st sleighted stand!
IX
Whose World's a frantick Sea; more crosse Windes flyThan Sailers Compasse knows; Saints ply
Their Sails through airy Waves, & anchor still on High.
X
'Tis Holines lands there; where None (distasted)Rave with Guilts Dread, nor with Rage wasted;
Nor Beauty-dazled Eyes with Femal Wantons blasted.
XI
No childish Toyes; no boyling Youths wilde Thirst;No ripe Ambition; no accurst
Old griping Avarice; no doting Sloth there's nurst:
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XII
No Glutt'nies Maw-worm; nor the Itch of Lust;No Tympanie of Pride; nor Rust
Of Envie; no Wraths Spleen; nor Obdurations Crust:
XIII
No Canker of Self-Love; nor Cramp of Cares;No Schism-Vertigo; nor night-Mares
Of inward Stings affright; here lurk no penal Snares.
XIV
Hence Earth a dim Spot showes; where Mortals toilFor shot-bruis'd Mud-walls (childish broil;)
For pot-gun-cracks 'gainst Ant-hill-works; ô, what a Coil!
XV
Where Glutt'ny is full gorg'd; where Lust still spawns;Where Wrath takes Blood, and Avarice pawns;
Where Envy frets, Pride struts, and dull Remisness yawns.
XVI
Where Mars th' Ascendant's: How Realms shatter'd lie,With scatter'd Courts, beneath mine Eye;
Which shew like atoms chac'd by Windes Inconstancie.
XVII
Here, th' Universe in Natures Frame doth stand,Upheld by Truth, and Wisdoms Hand:
Zanzumims shew from hence as Dwarfs on Pigmy land.
XVIII
How vile's the World! Fancie, keep up thy Wings,(Ruffled in Bussle of low Things,
Toss'd in the common Throng) then acquiesce 'bove Kings.
XIX
Thus, Thou being rapt, and struck with Enthean Fire,In Skies Star-chamber strike thy Lyre:
Proud Rome, not all thy Cæsars could thus high aspire.
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XX
Mans spirit'ual State, enlarg'd, still widening flowes,As th' Helix doth: A Circle showes
Mans nat'ral Life, which Death soon from its Zenith throwes.
XXI
Heav'ns Perspective is over-reas'ning Faith,Which Soul-entrancing Visions hath;
Truths Beacon, fir'd by Love, Joyes Empire open lay'th.
XXII
This All-enforming Light i'th pregnant Minde,The Babe Theophila enshrin'd:
Grace dawns when Nature sets: Dawn for fair Day design'd.
XXIII
Breathe in thy dainty Bud, sweet Rose; 'Tis TimeMakes Thee to ripened Virtues clime,
When as the Sun of Grace shall spread Thee to thy Prime.
XXIV
When her Lifes-Clock struck twelve (Hopes Noon) so bright.She beam'd, that Queens admir'd her Sight,
Viewing, through Beauties Lantern, her intrinsick Light.
XXV
As, when fair Tapers burn in Crystal Frame,The Case seems fairer by the Flame:
So, do's Heav'ns brighter Love brighten this lovely Dame,
XXVI
Her Soul the Pearl, her Shell out-whites the Snow,Or Streams that from stretcht Udders flow;
Her Lips Rock-rubies, and her Veins wrought Saphyrs show.
XXVII
Attractive Graces dance about her Lips;Spice from those scarlet Portals skips;
Thence Gileads mystick Balm (Griefs sov'ragin Balsam) slips.
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XXVIII
Such precious Fume the incens'd Altar vents:So, Gums in Air breath Compliments:
So, Roses damaskt Robe, prankt with green Ribbons, sents.
XXIX
Her Eyes amaze the Viewers, and inspireTo Hearts a warm, yet chast Desire,
(As Sol heats all) yet feel they in Themselves no Fire.
XXX
Those Lights, the radiant Windows of her Minde,Who would pourtray, as soon may finde
A way to paint the viewless, poise the weightless Winde.
XXXI
But, might we her sweet Breast, Loves Eden, see;On those Snow-mountlets Apples be,
May cure those Mischiefs wrought by the forbidden Tree.
XXXII
Her Hands are soft, as swannie Down, and muchMore white; whose temperate Warmth is such,
As when ripe Gold and quickning Sun-beams inly touch.
XXXIII
Ye Syrens of the Groves, who, pearcht on high,Tune gutt'ral Sweets, Air-Minstrels, why
From your Bough-Cradles, rockt with Windes, to Her d'ye flie?
XXXIV
See, Lilies, gown'd in Tissue, simper by Her;With Marigolds in flaming Tire;
Green sattin'd Bayes, with Primrose fring'd, seem all on Fire.
XXXV
Th' art silver-voic'd, Teeth-pearl'd, thy Head's gold-thatcht,Natures Reviver, Flora's patcht,
Though trickt in Mayes new Raiment, when with Thee She's matcht.
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XXXVI
Thou, chast as fair, Eve ere she blusht: From TheeThe Libe'ral Arts in Capite,
The Virtues by Knight-service, Graces hold in Fee.
XXXVII
A gratious Soul, figur'd in Beauty, isBest Pourtrayture of Heavenly Bliss,
Drawn to the Life: Wit-feign'd Pandora vails to This.
XXXVIII
So, Cynthia seems Star-chambers President,With crescent Splendor from Sol lent,
Rallying her starrie Troop to guard her glittering Tent.
XXXIX
(Pearl'd Dews add Stars) yet Earths Shade shuts up soon.Her Shop of Beams; Whose Cone doth run
'Bove th' horned Moon, beneath the golden-tressed Sun.
XL
Wh' on Skie, Clouds, Seas, Earth, Rocks doth Raies disperse,Stars, Rainbows, Pearls, Fruits, Diamonds pierce;
The Worlds Eye, Sourse of Light, Soul of the Universe.
XLI
Who glowes like Carbuncles, when winged HoursDandle the Infant-Morn, which scours
Dame Luna, with her twinkling Spies, from azure Tow'rs.
XLII
Thee, Theophil, Dayes sparkling Eye we call;Thy Faith's the Lid, thy Love the Ball,
Beautying thy graceful Mein with Form Angelical.
XLIII
That Lady-Prioress of the cloyster'd Skie,Coacht with her spangled Vestalls nigh,
Vails to this Constellation from Divinitie.
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XLIV
Vertue's her Spring of Honour, her AlliesAre Saints, Guard Angels, Heav'n her Prize;
Whose Modestie looks down, while thus her Graces rise.
XLV
Eugenia Wit, Paidia Art affords,Eusebia Truth for Her uphords.
(Poets have Legislative Pow'r of making Words.)
XLVI
Her Heart's a Court, her richly-temper'd BreastA Chappel for Loves regent Guest:
Here feasts She sacred Poets, She Herself a Feast.
XLVII
Ye Bay-crown'd Lords, Who dig from Wisdoms PitsThe Oar of Arts, and with your Wits
Refine't, who prop the doating World in stagg'ring Fits;
XLVIII
And in Fames Court raise Obelisks divine;Such Symphonies do ye combine,
As may inspirit Flesh with your Soul-ravishing Wine.
XLIX
While Winter Autumn, Summer clasps the Spring;While tenter'd Time shall Pæans sing,
Your Eagle-plumes (that others waste) shall ymp Fames Wing.
L
The rampant Juice of Teneriffe recruitsWildely the routed Spirits: So, Lutes,
Harps, Viols, Organs; ah! and Trumpets, Drums & Flutes!
LI
Though Art should humour grumbling Bases still,Tort'ring the deep-mouth'd Catlins, till
Hoarse-thundring Diapasons should the whole Room fill;
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LII
Yet those—But string this Ladies Harp; She'l trieEach Chords tun'd Pulse, till She descry
Where mosts harmonious Musicks mystick Soul do's lie.
LIII
Now Grace with Language chimes; Thrice blest, who tast.Their Heav'n on Earth, in Lifes Book grac't;
Who leaving Sense with Sense, their Spirit with Spirits have plac't.
LIV
With those divine Patritians, who being notEclips't with Sense, or Bodies Spot,
Are in the Spring of living Flame Seraphick hot.
LV
One Taste gives Joyes! Joyes, at which, Words but rove;Schools, purblinde, grope at Things Above,
Cymmerian-like, on whose Suns brow Clouds darkly move.
LVI
Heav'ns Paths are traceless; by Excess of Light;O're-fulgent Beams daz'd Eyes benight.
Say Ephata, and Clay's Collyrium for my Sight!
LVII
Transported in this Extasie, befriendMe, like the Stagirite, to end
My Thoughts in That Euripus, None can comprehend!
LVIII
This mystick Chain, ô, lengthen't still! impartsLinks, fett'ring 'bove all Time-born Arts;
Such sweet Divisions from tun'd Strings may ravish Hearts.
LIX
Best Tenure holds by th' Ear: In Saul, disguis'd,When Satan oft Tarantuliz'd,
The Psalming Harp was 'bove they swaying Scepter priz'd.
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LX
This Hymn, Zeals burning Feaver, do's refineMy gross hydropick Soul; Divine
Anthems unbowel Blisse, and Angels down encline.
LXI
Angels shot forth the happiest Christmas Newes;Ev'n CHRIST to warble Hymns did use;
When Heav'ns high'st DOVE do's soar, He Wings of Verse doth chuse.
LXII
No Verse, no Text. Since Verse charms All, Sing on;Let Sermons wait till Psalms be done;
Soul-raisers, ye prevent the Resurrection.
LXIII
But, ah! in War (Wraths Midwife) which do's tire,Yet never fills the Jaws of Ire,
(Keen as the Evening Wolf) can She yet use her Lyre?
LXIV
Yes. She's unmov'd in Earth-quakes, tun'd in Jars;(Fear argues Guilt) She stands in Wars,
And Storms of thund'ring Brass, bright as coruscant Stars.
LXV
Vertue's a Balsam to It self. InvokeShe Mercie did to oyl steels Yoke:
Thus, in an iron Age, This golden Virgin spoke.
LXVI
Dread GOD! Black Clouds surcharg'd with Storms,When Purple Robes hide Scarlet Sin,
Ingrain'd from that Life-blood, which moated their Souls in begin,
LXVII
Our Sea-girt World (once Fort'nate Isle, O, ChangeDeplorable!) t' It self seems strange;
Unthrifty Death has spread where thriving Peace did range.
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LXVIII
War hath our luke-warm Claret broacht with Spears:LORD, save thy Ark from Floods of Fears,
Or thy sad Spouse may sink as deep in Bloud, as Tears!
LXIX
She chaws Bread steept in Woes, gulpt down with Cries;She drinks the Rivers of her Eyes;
Plung'd in Distress for Sin, to Thee She fainting flies.
LXX
Tune th' Irish Harp from Sharps to Flats! ComposeWhatever vitious Harshnesse grows
Upon the Scottish Thistle, or the English Rose!
LXXI
No ramping Lion its own Kind do's fear,No tusked Bore, no rav'ning Bear:
Man, Mans Apollyon, doth CHRISTS mystick Body tear.
LXXII
Ye Sons of Thunder, if You'l needs fight on,Lead your fierce Troops 'gainst Turkish Moon,
Out of the Line of Faiths Communication.
LXXIII
The large-commanding Thracian Force defie:Like Gun-stocks, though your Corps may flie
To Earth, Your Souls, like Bullets, will ascend on High.
LXXIV
If GOD be then i'th' Camp, much more will HeIn's Militant Church (His Temple) be,
To chasten Schism, and pervicacious Heresie.
LXXV
LORD! rent's thy Coat, Loves Type! This, sads the Good!Though Presters, rudely fierce, fain wou'd
Be heard; Thou hat'st uncivil Pray'r, and civil Blood.
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LXXVI
Ah, could dissembling Pulpeteers cry't GoodTo wade through Seas of native Blood,
Break greatest Ties, play fast and loose, beneath Smects Hood!
LXXVII
By Such were Catechisms, Communions, CreedsDisus'd! As March spawns Frogs; so, Weeds
Sprung hence. Worst Atheist from corrupted Churchman breeds.
LXXVIII
Use the LORDS Pray'r, be th' Publican; recantThe Pharisee; Or else, avant
With your six-hundred-sixtie-six-word-Covenant.
LXXIX
LORD, they, through faithlesse Dreams, the Feast disownOf thy SONS Incarnation!
(Then whether will such Proteus-tants at last be blown?)
LXXX
That Feast of Feasts, Archangels Joy, Heav'n hereEspous'd to Earth, Saints Blisse, most dear
Prerogative o'th' Church, The Grand Day of the Year.
LXXXI
Man, first made Good, Himself unmade, and then;The Word, made Flesh, must dwell with Men,
That, Man, thus worse then nought, may better'd be agen.
LXXXII
Dare to own Truth. Drones seiz'd the Bees full Bow'r;All's paint that Butterflies deflowr;
As Ants improve; so, Grashoppers impair their Hour.
LXXXIII
When Pirat-wasps sail to the hony'd Grot,They'l finde a Trap-glasse, Death i'th' Pot:
Levites, sleight not your Breast-work for vain Out-works got.
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LXXXIV
We ken Kirk-Interest; Draco's Laws recall;Repair the old Church; Saints the Wall,
True Pastors Conduits, Grace the Font, Love cements All.
LXXXV
Passe freely would we of OblivionAn Act, and pardon all by-gone,
Would you smite Hand on Thigh, and say, What have we done!
LXXXVI
Truths Pensioners! your Flocks bleat; Food they need;Christs Flesh, their Meat; Blood, Drink indeed:
View Glories Crown; In Season, out of Season, feed.
LXXXVII
Ye Friends to th' Bridegroom, Stewards to the Bride,With Oracles of Truth us guide;
Truth blesseth Church and State; Faithful, till crown'd, abide.
LXXXVIII
So, when the Judge with his Reward appears,You'l reap in Joy what's sown in Tears:
Moyst Seed-times crown the Fields with golden-bearded Ears.
LXXXIX
Judge-Advocate to th' wrong'd; sure, Thou to Guilt,Which would unmake thy Creatures, wilt
Be just, when Inquisition's made for Blood that's spilt.
XC
At our Ears Port land Peace and Truth! O, then,Welcome, as Sol to th' Russ in's Den!
As Shoar to shipwrackt, as to Towns dismantled, Men!
XCI
O, might a second Angel-Quire nere ceaseTo Worms, worn out with Wars Distress,
To sing, in all Mens hearing, their blest Song of Peace!
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XCII
Peace! Home of Pilgrims, first Song at Christs Birth;Peace, His last Legacie on Earth;
Peace, gen'ral Preface to all Good; Peace, Saints true Mirth.
XCIII
Love, Thou, Support to Martyrs! as Jet Straw,So Us to our Belov'd dost draw;
Thou art Golds true Elixir, Thou summ'st up the Law.
XCIV
Who can Divine Love speak in words of Sense?Since, Man, as ransom'd, Angels thence
Transcends! Such is Christs Passions high Preheminence!
XCV
Here did She seal her Lips, unsluce her EyesTo flowing Rhet'rick, and descries
The World's a Cask, its Wine false Mirth, its Lees Fools Prize.
XCVI
And now, by lympid Spring of Life-joy, whereCrystal is lymbect all the Year
To GOD She would her Heav'n-ascending Raptures rear.
XCVII
Taught hence, misguided Zeal, whom Heats disposeTo Animosities, may close;
And bloody Furies Converts be, by pond'ring Those.
XCVIII
Harmonious Beauty, feast our Ear! They're KingsAt least, who hear, when Love thus sings:
Love, to high Graces Key skrues up low Natures Strings.
XCIX
Love, Thou canst Ocean-flowing Storms appease;And such oregrown Behemoths please,
As tax the scaly Nation, and excise the Seas.
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C
If, Theophil, thy Love-Song can't asswageThe Fate incumbent on this Age,
No Time to write, but weep; For we are ripe for Rage!
Non opus est Fluviis, Lintea pando Mari.
Ite Rates Ventis, quo vos rapit Aura, secundis:
Brittica Cymba pias findat Amoris Aquas.
—Animarum Sponsus IESUS.
Theophila | ||