University of Virginia Library

V. CANTICLES V. VI.

My Soule melted whilst my Beloved spake.

Lord, has the feeble voice of flesh and blood
The pow'r to work thine eares into a flood
Of melted Mercy? or the strength, t'unlock
The gates of Heav'n, and to dissolve a Rock
Of marble Clouds into a morning show'r?
To stop, or snatch a falling Thunderbolt
From thy fierce hand, and make thy hand revolt
From resolute Confusion, and instead
Of Vyals, poure full Blessings on our head?
Or shall the wants of famisht Ravens cry,
And move thy mercy to a quick supply?
Or shall the silent suits of drooping flowr's
Woo thee for drops, and be refresh'd with Showr's?
Alas, what marvell then, great GOD, what wonder
If thy Hell-rouzing voice, that splits in sunder
Thy brazen Portals of eternall death;
What wonder if that life-restoring breath
Which drag'd me from th'infernall shades of night,
Should melt my ravisht soule with ore-delight?
O can my frozen gutters choose but run,
That feel the warmth of such a glorious Sun?
Me thinks his language, like a flaming Arrow,
Doth pierce my bones, and melts their wounded marrow;
Thy flames O Cupid (though the joyfull heart
Feeles neither tang of griefe, nor feares the smart
Of jealous doubts, but drunk with full desires)
Are torments weigh'd with these celestiall fires;
Pleasures that ravish in so high a measure,
That O I languish in excesse of pleasure:
What ravisht heart, that feeles these melting Joyes,
Would not despise and loathe the trech'rous Toyes
Of dunghill earth! what soule would not be proud
Of wry-mouth'd scornes, the worst that flesh and bloud
Had rancor to devise? Who would not beare
The worlds derision with a thankfull eare?
What palat would refuse full bowles of spight,
To gaine a minuts tast of such delight?
Great spring of light, in whom there is no shade
But what my interposing sinnes have made,
Whose marrow-melting Fires admit no screene
But what my owne rebellions put betweene
Their precious flames, and my obdurate eare:
Disperse these plague-distilling Clouds, and cleare
My mungy Soule into a glorious day;
Transplant this screene, remoove this Barre away;
Then, then my fluent soule shall feele the fires
Of thy sweet voice, and my dissolv'd desires
Shall turne a sov'raigne Balsome, to make whole
Those wounds my sinnes inlicted on thy soule.

S. AUGUST. Soliloq. Cap. 34.

What fire is this that so warmes my heart? What light is this that so enlightens my soule! O fire, that alwayes burnest, and never goest out, kindle me: O light, which ever shinest, and art never darkned, illuminate me: O that I had my heat from thee, most holy fire! How sweetly doest thou burne! How secretly dost thou shine! How desiderably doest thou inflame me!

BONAVENT. Stim. amoris Cap. 8.

It makes God man; and man God; things temporall, eternall; mortall, immortall; it makes an enemy a friend; a servant, a Son: vile things, glorious; cold hearts fiery, and hard things liquid.

EPIGRAM 5.

[My soule; Thy gold is true; but full of drosse]

My soule; Thy gold is true; but full of drosse;
Thy SAVIOURS breath refines thee with some losse;
His gentle Fornace makes thee pure as true;
Thou must be melted, ere th'art cast anew.