Divine poems Containing The History of Ionah. Ester. Iob. Sampson. Sions Sonets. Elegies. Written and newly augmented, by Fra: Quarles |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IIII. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
BRIDE.
|
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIIII. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIIII. |
XXV. |
Divine poems | ||
BRIDE.
Sonet VII.
1
Looke how the fruitfull tree (whose ladē boughtWith swelling pride, crowne Autumnes smiling browes)
396
My love transcends the worthies of the earth:
He was my shore, in shipwracke; and my shelter,
In stormes; my shade, when I began to swelter;
If hungry, he was Food; and if opprest
With wrongs, my Advocate; with toile, my rest.
2
I thirsted; and full charged to the brinke,He gave me bowles of Nectar, for my drinke
And in his sides, he broacht me (for a signe
Of dearest love) a Sacramentall wine;
He freely gave; I freely dranke my fill;
The more I dranke, the more remained still:
Did never Souldier, to his Colours prove
More chaste, than I, to so entire a Love.
3
O how his beautie sets my soule on fire!My spirits languish, with extreame desire;
Desires exceeding limits, are too lavish,
And wanting meanes to be effected, ravish;
Then let thy breath, like flaggons of strong wine
Releeve and comfort this poore heart of mine;
For I am sicke, till time (that doth delay
Our Marriage) bring our joyfull Marriage day.
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4
Till then, O let my dearest Lord, by whom,These pleasing paines of my sweet sorrowes come
Performe his vowes, and with his due resort,
Blesse me, to make the sullen time seeme short:
In his sweet presence, may I still be blest,
Debarr'd from whom, my soule can finde no rest;
O let all times be prosp'rous, and all places
Be witnesse to our undefil'd Embraces.
5
All you, whose seeming favours have profestThe true affection of a loyall brest,
I charge you all by the true love you beare
To friendship, or what else yee count most deare,
Disturbe ye not my Love, O doe not reive
Him of his joyes, that is so apt to grieve;
Dare not to breake his quiet slumbers, lest
You rouze a raging Lyon from his rest.
6
Harke, harke, I heare that thrice-celestial voiceWherein my spirits, rapt with joyes, rejoyce;
A voyce, that tels me, my beloved's nie;
I know the Musicke, by the Majestie:
Behold he comes; 'Tis not my blemisht face
Can slacke the swiftnesse of his winged pace;
Behold he comes; His Trumpet doth proclaime,
He comes with speed; A truer love ne're came.
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7
Behold the fleetnesse of his nimble feet:The Roe-Bucke, & the Hart were ne're so fleet.
The word I spake, flew not so speedy from me,
As He, the treasure of my soule comes to me,
He stands behinde my wall, as if in doubt
Of welcome: Ah, this Wall debarres him out:
O, how injurious is this Wall of sin,
That barres my Lover out, and bolts me in!
Divine poems | ||