Theophila :: :: University of Virginia Library

She (Love-fill'd) wants no Mate, has rather one
Body too much. I'th' Spirits Throne
CHRISTS Peace is fullest Quire! Such Loneness, least alone!

LXIV

When soft-flying Sleep, Deaths Sister, Wings do's spread
Over that curtain'd Grave, her Bed,
Then, with prophetick Dreams the Highest crowns her Head.

LXV

Behold, a comely Person, clad in white,
The all-inlightning Sun, lesse bright
Than that illustrious Face of His, which blest her Sight.

LXVI

To Her, in Majestie, His Way HE broke,
And, softly thus to Her HE spoke.
Come, Come away. My JESUS? saies She. So, She woke.

LXVII

Her Pray'rs, more passionate, than witty, rise,
As Sols Postilion, bright; her Eyes,
Wrastling with GOD for Grace, bedew Loves Paradise.

LXVIII

Betimes, when keen breath'd Winds, with frosty Cream,
Peri'wig bald Trees, glaze tatling Stream:
(For May-games past, white-sheet-peccavi is Winters Theme.

LXIX

Those Day-breaks give good Morrows, wch she takes
With Thanks, so, doubly Good them makes.
Who in GODS Promise rests, in GODS Remembrance wakes.

LXX

Saints nothing more, Saints nothing lesse regard,
Than LOVES SELF, than self-Love; unscar'd,
Though rackt into an Anagram, their Souls being spar'd.

LXXI

Through Vertuous Self-mistrust They acted move
Like Needle, toucht by th' Stone of Love.
Blest Magnet, which attracts, and Souls directs Above!

LXXII

Were She but mortal, She were satisfy'd,
So GOD liv'd in Her, till She dy'd;
His Word, her Deed; his Will, her Warrant; Both, her Guide.

LXXIII

Thus, this Devota breaths out yerning Cries.
Let not Dust blinde my sensual Eyes,
When as my Spirits Energie transcends the Skies!

LXXIV

Virtues raise Souls. All's Filial to Above;
Low'st Step is Mercenary Love;
Fraternal are the Sides that Saints Ascent improve.

LXXV

Manna to my enamour'd Soul, art THOU!
The Spirit of Heav'n, distill'd, do's flow
From thy Aspect; By That, from Brutes, we Angels

LXXVI

Had I, ô, had I many Lives, as Years;
As many Loves, as Love hath Fears;
All, All were Thine, had I as many Hearts, as Hairs!

LXXVII

From THEE my Joy-Extensions spreading flow;
Dilating, as Leaf-gold! be n't slow,
O, THOU, my All, and more! Love-lorn, THEE still I woo!

LXXVIII

The Widow press'd, till THEE to grant She bound;
The Virgin sought Thee, till she found;
The Publican did knock, till opening, knocking crown'd.

LXXIX

Though nought but dross I in my self can spie,
Yet melted with Thy beaming Eye,
My Refuse turns to Gold, by mystick Alchymie;

LXXX

Then, whet thy blunt Sythe, Time, and wing thy Feet:
Life, not in Length, but Use, is sweet:
Come, Death, (the Body brought a bed o'th' Soul) Come, fleet!

LXXXI

Be Pulse, my passing-Bell; be Skin, my Herse:
Nights sable Curtains that disperse
The Rayes of Day, be Shroud: Dews, weep my funeral Verse!

LXXXII

Pittie me, Love-sick Virgins! Then, She swound;
O'recome with Zeal, She sunk to th' Ground:
Darts of intolerable Sweets her Soul did wound.

LXXXIII

She lay with flaming Love empierc't to th' Heart:
Wak't, As She bled, She kist the Dart;
Then sigh'd. Take all I am, or have! All, All Thou art!

LXXXIV

Then, sunk again. Reviv'd, Loves Bow She bent,
And marry'd String to Shaft, and sent
Ejaculations, which the Skies, like Lightning, rent.

LXXXV

Piercing Them through (feather'd with Sighs) to show
She little pay'd, yet much did owe:
The Feathers sung, and fir'd, as they did upward go.

LXXXVI

No ice-fring'd Cloud may quench Loves soaring Flame:
Love is more strong then Death, or Shame.
Grown up all Soul, the Flesh sinks in a triple Qualm.

LXXXVII

I charge ye, Sion Virgins, let Her still
Enjoy her disencloystred Fill
In These high Extasies of Union and Will.

LXXXVIII

Do not with Claps of Hands, or noise of Feet,
Awake Her from what is more sweet,
Till the bright rising Day-star light Her to Heav'ns Street.

LXXXIX

Yeeld Her, what her unfetter'd Rapture gives,
Since She's more where She loves, than lives:
Transanimations, scaling Heav'n, break carnal Gyves.

XC

In Loves triumphant Chariot plac't She is;
Concentrick are her Joyes with His
Encharioted in Fire, her Spirit Heav'n-ripe for Blisse.

XCI

They're only sound, who Thus are lost in Trance;
Transported to the High'st Advance,
With Him, who was in Spirit rapt to' expresseless Glance.

XCII

Return'd; She cry'd. O, slay me thus again!
Ne're lives She who thus ne're is slain!
How sweet the Wounds of Love! No Pleasure to Loves pain!

XCIII

In furnac't Heat, Pyrausta-like, I fry!
To live is Faith! 'tis Gain to die!
One Life's enough for Two! Thou liv'st in me, not I!

XCIV

How, mid'st Regalios of Loves Banquet, I
Dissolve in Sweets Extremitie!
O, Languors! Thus to live is in pure Flames to die!

XCV

Three Kings three Gifts to th' King of Kings did bring;
Myrrhe, Incense, Gold, to Man, God, King:
For Myrrhe, Tears; Incense Pray'rs; Gold, take Loves Offering!

XCVI

O, take Loves Hecatomb! Then, through her Eyes
Did Love inamoring Passions rise:
High'st Glory crowns Theophila's Love-Sacrifice.

XCVII

Not She, Mortality alone did die;
Death's but Translation to the Skie:
All Virtues fir'd in her pure Breast their Spicerie.

XCVIII

As, when Arabias Wonder Spices brings,
Which fann'd to Flames by her own Wings,
She, from the glowing Holocaust in Triumph springs:

XCIX

So, Virtues Pattern, (Priestesse, Altar, Fire,
Incense, and Victime) up did spire;
Victoria, Victoria, sung All Heav'ns Quire.

C

She Ecchoing (Eccho, which do's all surpasse!
GODS Sight is Glories Looking-glasse!)
Magnificats, Hosannas, Halleluiahs!