Ashrea Or, the grove of beatitudes, Represented in emblemes: And, by the art of memory, To be read on our Blessed Saviour Crucifi'd: with Considerations and Meditations suitable to every Beatitude, and to the holy time of Lent [by M. E.] |
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AN INVITATION To the Grove of BEATITUDES.
Emblematically represented by Eight Trees.
Here no Sylvanus haunts our Grove,Here no prophane wild Satyrs rove,
Nor in our glades,
And blissful shades,
Diana and her Nymphs resort
To chase the nimble Deer, and sport.
A fairer wight,
More pure and bright.
Than rosie morn, that sweetly breathes,
Appears, crown'd with immortal wreathes.
The Starrie skies,
With radiant Eyes,
Are not so beauteous, clear, and fair,
Nor, for the night and day, a pair,
That glorious shine;
Shee's so divine.
I.
Beatitude! whom you may see,Ore shaded with a Cornel Tree,
Which forward Springs,
And blossoms brings,
Ere levie crests, to shrowd appear,
To wanton with the winds, for here,
Unknown before,
In spirit poor,
Beautitude, in her retreat,
Poor in desire hath fixt her seat,
In Heaven whose store,
Lasts evermore.
II.
Hence pass along, that you may beBlest by your sight, when you shall see
This fair one sit,
Whom never yet
Blind mortals found. Then for her seek,
A Lady humble, gentle, meek,
Whose powerful Hand,
Doth seize the Land,
Like to this Arched Tree, which sends
A thousand shoots, for so she bends
Down to the Earth,
Blest by the birth
Of humble thoughts, which deeply take
Firm root in Heaven, and happy make,
When shee's possess'd.
III.
The weeping Myrrh-Tree next in sight,Is shading this sad mourning wight:
for as this Tree
Distills, so she
Drops Orient Pearls, which shining, are,
Then Indian Gems, more precious far,
Which never soil:
Sad Grief's the foil.
IV.
Move farther yet into our Grove,And view the Tree which bears the Clove,
Bloom'd like a nail,
You shall not fail
To find her, where, upon the ground
She (thirsting) sits encompass'd round,
Midst such a plot,
As yet could not
Admit a naughty weed to grow;
The sap of Grace shee's thirsting so,
Which doth impart
Life to the Heart.
V.
Shee's gone from thence, fly, fly, make haste,To follow her, and find her plac'd
A Tree hath made,
Bears Adam's Apples: No time's lost,
To split them, and behold how crost
Is every fruit,
Which well doth suit
With her, who, wounded deep with Grief,
Feeles others wants, and gives relief.
And when you see,
Upon this Tree,
Large spreading leaves, know she is blest,
Findes Mercy, cause she joyes to vest
The naked poore
T'augment her store.
VI.
Yet farther chase this glorious wight,Be sure to keep her still in sight,
Whom if you lose,
Your Hearts repose
In bliss is gone. See where retir'd
Shee (fairer) sits, by Heaven inspird,
With Silver Breast,
To take her rest,
Where Figgs upon the Tree were green,
And hard, until a Gnat was seen
To be so kind,
As wound the rind;
Whose every drop descends as't were,
In Æmulation of a Tear,
Which you may prize,
By blessings which each doth impart,
To wash and cleanse an ordur'd Heart,
And purifie
Th'affected Eye.
VII.
Shee's risen thence, pursue her still,You shall, you must, you cannot nill,
Nor covet less
Than happiness.
Behold this active Virgin sits,
Where the sweet amorous Wood-Bind knits
With clasping Arms,
And powerful Charmes,
A neighbouring pair of Stands which fought
Blown by the winds, till round about
It guirdes, and bindes,
And clings and windes;
Like her who never doth surcease
(Beatitude!) to link, make peace,
Unite with bands,
Both Heart and Hands.
VIII.
In fine: This Lady yet removesUnto a spreading Vine, which loves
(That it may bear
In time of year)
To bind her Arms, for so she thrives,
Fixt to a wall.
But seeming thrall
Is Persecution, which, who takes,
And (patient) bears, he muck forsakes,
And leaves his hold
Of dross, for Gold.
That covets not Beatitude?
1.
In Spirit poor,T'abound with store?
2.
Meek to possess,True happiness?
3.
Mourn midst annoy,To reap with joy?
4.
Thirst, Hunger still,To have his fill?
5.
Pittiful-kind,Mercy to find?
6.
Pure-hearted, see,And Blessed be?
7.
Peaceful in Life,Composing strife?
8.
Suffer, and takeAffliction, make?
When fair Beatitude, more bright,
Shall be compleat in God, th'Abyss
Of joy, and everlasting Bliss.
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