Men-Miracles With other Poemes. By M. LL. St [i.e.Martin Lluelyn] |
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To my Lord B. of S. on New-yeares Day, 1643.
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 | Men-Miracles |  |
To my Lord B. of S. on New-yeares Day, 1643.
Though with the course and motion of the yeare,
Not onely Starres and Sun
Move where they first begun;
But Things and Actions doe
Keepe the same Circle too,
Return'd to the same point in the same Spheare.
Not onely Starres and Sun
Move where they first begun;
But Things and Actions doe
Keepe the same Circle too,
Return'd to the same point in the same Spheare.
Greifes and their Causes still are where they stood,
Tis the same Cloud and Night,
Shuts up our Joyes and light:
Warres as remote from Peace,
And Bondage from Release,
As when the Sun his last yeares Circuite rode.
Tis the same Cloud and Night,
Shuts up our Joyes and light:
Warres as remote from Peace,
And Bondage from Release,
As when the Sun his last yeares Circuite rode.
Though Sword and Slaughter are not parted hence,
But we like yeares and times,
Meet in unequall chimes,
Now a Cloud and then a Sun,
Undoe and are undone,
Let loose and stopt by th'Orbes Intelligence.
But we like yeares and times,
Meet in unequall chimes,
Now a Cloud and then a Sun,
Undoe and are undone,
Let loose and stopt by th'Orbes Intelligence.
96
Though Combates have so thicke and frequent stood,
That we at length may raise,
A Calendar of dayes,
And stile them foule or faire,
By their successe not Aire:
And signe our Festivalls by Rebels bloud.
That we at length may raise,
A Calendar of dayes,
And stile them foule or faire,
By their successe not Aire:
And signe our Festivalls by Rebels bloud.
Though the sad yeares are cloth'd in such a dresse,
That times to times give place,
And seasons shift their face,
Not by our Cold or Heate,
But Conquest or Defeate:
And losse makes Winter, Summer, Happinesse;
That times to times give place,
And seasons shift their face,
Not by our Cold or Heate,
But Conquest or Defeate:
And losse makes Winter, Summer, Happinesse;
Nay though a greater Ruine yet awaite,
Such as the Active curse,
Sent to make worst times worse,
Deaths keene and secret dart,
The Shame of Hearbs and art,
Which proves at once our Wonder and our Fate.
Such as the Active curse,
Sent to make worst times worse,
Deaths keene and secret dart,
The Shame of Hearbs and art,
Which proves at once our Wonder and our Fate.
Though these conspire to sully our request,
And labour to destroy,
And kill your New yeares joy.
Yet still your wonted art
Will keepe our wish in heart,
Proportion'd not toth' times but to your breast.
Thus in the storme you Calme and Silence find,
Nor Sword not Sickenesse can approach your mind.
And labour to destroy,
And kill your New yeares joy.
Yet still your wonted art
Will keepe our wish in heart,
Proportion'd not toth' times but to your breast.
97
Nor Sword not Sickenesse can approach your mind.
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