University of Virginia Library

An Alarm to the Drowsie.

Permit not sluggish sleep
To close your waking eye,
Till you with judgement deep,
Your dayly actions try.
He that his sin as Darling keeps,
when he to quiet goes,
More desperate is than he that sleeps
Amidst his mortal foes.
At night lie down, prepar'd to have
Thy sleep thy death, thy bed thy grave.

To my Muse.

Forbear , vain Muse, thy subject is too high;
Thy Soveraign rather, is the Deity;
The God of all the World, whose dreadful Name
Strikes an Amazement in whole Natures frame.
God! what a fright the very sound hath made!
My Soul into a Ravishment is laid.
I must repent my rashness; when that's done,
Let us consult how thou shalt journey on.
First let thy Meditations, milde and meek,
Direct thy Heart to teach thy Tongue to speak;
And from those pious thoughts (my Muse) distil
Those Fragrants may befit an Angels Quill:
Consider, thou dost boldly dare t'aspire
To do the duty of an Holy Quire;
Nay, of a Quire of Angels blest, who bring
Joy to themselves, and Duty to their King.
Then since thy Task is great, thy Work sublime,
Invoke Apollo to assist thy Rhyme;
Call the nine Muses to inspire thy heart,
That every one with thee may bear a part:
So to preserve your duties from decay,
Striving to Love, to Sing, and to Obey.
'Tis not an easie or a common thing,
For Peasants to approach an Earthly King;
Then how much study is to be acquir'd,
When God, the King of kings, must be admir'd?
Yet thou, presumptuous Muse, although confin'd,
Makest attempts; I hope because thy mind
Takes a delight in a Poetick Air,
Converting every Poem to a Prayer.
The Task is great, too great for grave Divines;
Angels and Saints best sing Seraphick lines.
First let thy Pen in Helicon be dipt;
Soar not too high, because thy Wings are clipt.

The Warning.

All idle thoughts from hence depart:
Let none, but what are pure in heart,
Draw neer; and those tun'd with an Air,
Supposing ev'ry page a Prayer.

On Meditation.

In Meditation let Devotion be
The Hand-maid to the Hearts Soliloquie.
The Eagle casts her eye upon the Sun,
So Contemplation doth her courses run,
Fixing the minde upon no Object less
Than the bright Beams o'th' Sun of Righteousness.
Or else unto those Birds (aspiring) rare,
The Soul contemplative I may compare,
Of whom King David worthily attests,
That by the Holy Altar build their Nests:
So Meditation's said in holy Story,
To build her Nest about the Throne of Glory.
This Bee of Paradise all days and hours
Sucks Honey from the choicest Garden flowers.
By Contemplation I with God can talk;
In Mansions of Eternity can walk.
Then, O my Soul, what mak'st thou here below
Where nought but thorns do spring, and weeds do grow;
Where nothing thrives but loose unlawful Tares,
Watered with Tears, and nourished with Cares?
Then mount, my Soul, from this terrestrial Bubble,
This heap of Sin, and wilderness of Trouble:
Mount to the Land of Promise, where thy Wings
Shall Consorts finde of Angels, and of Kings.
Though present Habitation
Here is given,
Yet let thy Conversation
Be in Heaven.

The Soul's Soliloquy.

Come, Holy Ghost, our Souls inherit
With Beams of thy Cœlestial Spirit:
Inflame our Hearts, we thee desire,
With Sparks from thy Cœlestial Fire.
Thou the anoynting Spirit art,
Who dost thy Seven-fold gifts impart:
Thy holy Unction from above,
Is Comfort, Life, and Fire of Love.
Enable with perpetual Light
The dulness of our blinded Sight:
Cherish and cleer our soiled face
With the abundance of thy Grace.
Keep far our Foes, give Peace at home;
Where thou art Guard no ill can come:
Teach us to know the Father, Son,
And thee of both to be but one.
That through the Ages all-along,
This may be our endless Song:
Praise to the Almighty merit,
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

The Enquiry.

Tell me, my Soul, where doth thy passion bend?
Doth it on Heaven, or things on earth attend?
If worldly Objects do thy Reason guide,
Thou mayst desire, but not be satisfi'd.
If thou dost Beauty love, it is a shade;
But Righteousness doth shine, and never fade.
If worldly Wisdom, 'tis but as a blast;
But heav'nly Wisdom doth the World outlast.
If earthly Riches, they have wings and fly;
But heav'nly Gems do last eternally.
Estates on earth do as in shipwracks reel;
In Heaven's harbour are no thieves to steal.
All thou canst compass here, is trifling store;
In Heav'n are Crowns laid up for evermore.
Would'st thou have Honour, which the World depaints?
What Honour can be greater than the Saints?
Or is it Pleasure? 'twill thy Soul destroy;
The Just shall enter in their Masters joy.
But tell me farther, what is't thou wouldst have?
Both Heav'n and earth on this side of thy Grave?
Away, vain fancies, ye are Vertues moth,
Pitty hath the promise of them both.
These lustful thoughts lead thee to splendid folly;
But if thou wouldst be happy, then be holy.

On Dives.

See with what splendor Dives sits at mear,
With choice of Dainties, courting him to eat.
His Habit Purple, and his Linnen fine,
As if drest up on purpose here to dine.
How the Spectators look, and seem to say,
There's too much store provided for one day:
How many wretched Souls do beg for Bread,
Whilst this same Glutton hath his Table spread
With all varieties? And thus they show
Their envy: But alas, did they but know,
And well consider what his wants are, then
They'd pity him, as if the worst of men.
His Talent's rich: on earth there's none above it;
But he wants Grace and Wisdom to improve it.
All his Estate is but a mighty spoil;
He hath a Lamp, but that Lamp hath no Oyl.
He hath a Soul, but what doth that embrace?
Vain worldly Lusts; the opposites to Grace.
His House shines gloriously; but when all's done,
He hath the Star-light, but he wants the Sun.
A Friend to Vice, and Vertue's mortal hater;
Having the Creature, but not the Creator.
This world's a Torrent of false Joys; the boat
Is his vain life, doth on it dayly float.
His Silver Anchor is as weak as Sand;
Nor can his Gold conduct him safe to Land,
But rather sink him to the Misers Cell,
There to inhabit where damn'd Spirits dwell.
Can he be worth your envy then? forbear,
Rather in pity shed a Christian tear.
If he be happy, May it be thy will,
O Lord, that I be miserable still.
Give me thy Grace, although I'm clad in Rags;
Let Vice attend the Miser and his Bags.

On Lazarus.

The wicked Worldling spends his time in laughter,
Having his Heaven here, his Hell hereafter.
Contrarywise, the good man whilst he's here
Lives as in Hell, to sigh, and shed his tear;
But when to Heaven he hereafter flies,
God wipes away all tears from off his eyes.
Though here he suffer scorn, the worlds annoy,
Yet He that sows in tears, shall reap in joy.
The Rich man hath his good things in this life,
Lazarus evil things, slights, scorn, and strife;
But meets at last, with what he here doth miss,
Eternal joy: it is the poor mans bliss,
Whilst Dives lies, as if with Scorpions stung,
Wishing for Lazarus to cool his tongue;
That Lazarus who whilome lay before
The gilded Postern of the rich mans door,
Begging some mean remainings of his table.
Dives, rapt up in Silks and costly Sable,
Glutted with sumptuous food and choice of wine,
Hath neither time nor ear for them that pine.
The very (kinder) Dogs, in pity, then
Licked his Sores, thereby instructing men
To Love and Charity. Observe the end;
Angels upon the Begger did attend:
He dies, and they to Abraham's bosom fly,
Leaving him there to all Eternity;
Whilst Dives, striving others to excell
When here, tormented is in flames of Hell.
Thus Worldlings ride in pomp to Hell's hot Nest,
And Penitents in Tears swim to their Rest.

The Penitents Praise.

Lord, now the time returns
For weary men to rest,
And lay aside those pains and cares
Wherewith we are opprest.
Or rather change our thoughts
To more concerning cares,
How to redeem our mis-spent time,
With Sighs, and Tears, and Prayers.
How to provide for Heav'n,
That place of Rest and Peace;
Where our full Joys shall never wain,
Our Pleasures never cease.
Blest be thy love, dear Lord,
That taught us this sweet way,
Only to love thee, for thy self,
And for that love obey.
O thou our Souls chief hope,
We to thy mercy fly;
Wheree're we are thou canst protect,
Whate're we need supply.
Whether we wake or sleep,
Either to thee is done,
By night we through our eye-lids peep
As if the night were gone.
Whether we live or die,
Both we submit to thee;
In death we live, as well as life,
If thine in death we be.
Glory to thee, great God,
One Co-eternal three;
To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
Eternal Glory be.

Angel and Man. A Dialogue.

Ang.
Listen, Oh Sinner, I shall make it plain,
Mankind is wicked, altogether vain.
Nature instructs the Bru ts to bear in mind
A friendly consort to each others kind;
But Man more monstrous than of bruitish hue,
First preys on them, then doth himself undo:
Devouring Widows houses, in his way,
Pretending Piety, seems oft to pray.
Will with himself and sins oft-times be vext,
When as his zeal is only a pretext.
Their very Prayers do themselves condemn.
As Citizens o'th' new Jerusalem.
They would appear, whenas their chiefest care
Should be to crave a Pardon for their Prayer.

Man.
What glorious Creature can a tongue rehearse,
May be compar'd to Man? the Universe
Is subject to him; all things with applause
Pay Homage to him, and obey his laws.
God did not from the Angels nature frame
His own, he took the seed of Abraham.
Man hath his faults, which causeth melancholy;
Even ye Angels, God doth charge with folly.

Ang.
Well have ye said, therein we do agree;
For we are charg'd with such vain things as ye:
We are your Guardians, so to direct;
Ye safely sleep, we Watchmen do protect.
So great a truth it is, no more but thus,
They are well kept that are secur'd by us,
And from the Sacred Writ we cleerly know
That ev'ry man makes Vanity his show.
Preferment, Pleasure, Profit, are the three
That do compleat the Worldlings Trinity.
He dies a sinner, as when he began
At first to live; So vain a thing is man.

Man.
Well may the Angels feet ne'r step aside,
When ye have God to be your glorious Guide.
How can ye wander, or how can ye stray,
When ye are always in, and with your way?
Your Conversations must be void of Strife,
When ye have God your Way, your Truth, & Life.

Ang.
Man was created in no less degree
Than the bright Image of the Deity:
He above other Creatures well may boast,
As he's the Temple of the Holy Ghost;
But how hath he that glorious form defac'd,
Defi'd his Maker, and himself disgrac'd;
Retaining principles his Soul bereaves,
Making God's Temple seem a Den of Thieves?
How can Ingratitude sound louder than
Yours to your God? So vain a thing is man.

Man.
But if we do repent, and pardon crave,
As God can smite, so the same God can save;
Then bring us Hallelujahs from your Quier,
We'll vie whose notes shall sweetest be, and higher.

Both
All Glory be to God on High,
And to the Holy Trinity:
As first it was, is now, and may,
When fading time shall want a day.

Of Mirth and Mourning.

In midst of Mirth there sadness is,
And so in Grief there's joy;
Whilst wealthy sinners faces smile,
Their hearts do feel annoy.
Carnal delights they are but vain,
And bring vexations too;
They sound like musick in a strain,
Whose discord ends in rue.
Thus to the Sensualist they play,
Lest he prove dull and sad;
But when the Reckoning comes to pay,
It makes him downright mad.
So true is that of Solomon,
In laughter there is grief;
The end of mirth is heaviness,
And Hell the false relief.
But he that's truly penitent,
And doth his Tears impart,
They are to Angels straightway sent,
Rejoycing his own heart.
They are the solace of his Soul;
If bitter they appear,
His comforts then the sweeter are,
The sinner's Pearl's a Tear.
His Sighs and Groans, if they are deep,
And threaten to destroy,
In peace he may lie down and sleep,
The fuller is his joy.
The beams of Consolation shine
Into this house of grief:
His Soul in travel is; at last
Sweet Peace is his relief.
So that I truly may conclude,
He that doth mourn for Sin,
Doth weep for Joy; a multitude
Of Pleasure lies therein.
Those Christal Rivers that do flow
So neer the Heav'nly King,
They their original do owe
Unto a Weeping-spring.
One rich drop from a solid sigh
Pure in a Christal-birth,
Is to be priz'd (by far) above
Oceans of carnal Mirth.

On Ambition.

Honour's insatiate, never satisfi'd;
Nor is the Beggar innocent from Pride.
The Labourer a Yeoman fain would be,
The Yeoman would a Gentleman's degree.
The Gentleman must worship'd be at Feast,
And to that end must be a Squire at least.
The swaggering Squire must needs be dub'd a Knight,
Then aims at Baron, as his Title-right.
The Baron must be Lord, to please his Girl;
If that won't do, he must be made an Earl:
That done, Ambition bids him still aspier;
Marquess in Heraldry is one step higher.
The Marquess then casts out his golden Hook
With Cash and Craft, till he becomes a Duke.
The Duke no arguments can him convince,
But that by merit he should be a Prince.
When Prince, he elevates his soaring wing,
Flies to the Throne of a terrestrial King:
Yet there's no rest, so doth Ambition gull us,
He must be Cæsar, or he will be Nullus.
Cæsar won't make him yet the World's Commander,
Wherefore he must be styl'd an Alexander.
And Alexander, though the whole World's Rod,
Must be ador'd and worshipt as a God.
After his many wonders, even then
He found himself to be as other men.
Base Pride eclipses those of high degree;
But before Honour is Humility:
Honour that Furnace which doth heat the blood,
Making men act things but profusely good.
Swelling Ambition makes a man its slave
Till Death's sharp Dart doth post him to his grave.
But how in play first came this cheating Sin?
Adam would be a God, so it came in.
Other sins fly from God, and shun the chace,
This boldly flies in the Almighty's face.
All that the erring Children have to say
Is this; It was our Father led the way.

Spiritus Sanctus.

Come, holy Spirit, come, and breathe
Thy spicy Odours on the face
Of our dull Region here beneathe,
And fill our Souls with thy sweet Grace.
Come, and root out the poysonous Weeds
That over-run and choak our lives,
And in our hearts plant thine own Seeds,
Whose quickning power our Spirit revives.
First plant the humble Violet there
That dwells secure by being low,
Then let the Lily next appear,
And make us chast, yet fruitful too.
But oh, plant all the Vertues, Lord,
And let the Metaphors alone;
Repeat once more that mighty Word,
Thou needst but say, Let it be done.
We can, alas, nor be, nor grow,
Unless thy powerful mercy please;
Thy hand must plant and water too,
Thy hand alone must give encrease.
Do then what thou alone canst do,
Do what to thee so easie is,
Conduct us through this World of woe,
And place us safe in thine own Bliss.
All Glory to the Sacred Three,
One Ever living Soveraign Lord,
As at the first, still may he be
Belov'd and prais'd, fear'd and ador'd.

The Christian and a Worldling.

A Dialogue.

Wor.
Is it not pleasant (Christian) to be great?

Chr.
'Tis but a moral cheat.

Wor.
Where lies the cheat, when I receive the gold?

Chr.
In crying sins untold.

Wor.
Must I be wretched 'cause I'm growing rich?

Chr.
Wealth is oft-times a Witch.

Wor.
Amity with the World I never mist.

Chr.
That's enmity with Christ.

Wor.
I cloath the naked, I the hungry feed.

Chr.
Those are good acts indeed.

Wor.
My Purse, for Alms, flows like a Conduit-pipe.

Chr.
'Cause ye the Widows gripe.

Wor.
I sear my God, and do my Neighbours love.

Chr.
That men may well approve.

Wor.
I relieve those that have in Perils been;

Chr.
But only to be seen.

Wor.
This do I do, what is't I should do more?

Chr.
Give all unto the Poor;

Then may thy name be in the Christian-list:
And when thou'rt poor, thy treasure is in Christ.

On the Tree of Knowledge.

In Paradise it was this Tree did grow,
Plac'd in the midst, that man might thereby know
It was the choicest Plant; but Satan came,
And with his wiles beguiled Adam's Dame.
Taste, Woman, eat, quoth he, it doth descry
Both Good and Evil; eat and never die,
Forbear and perish: herein lies the odds,
They that shall eat hereof shall be as Gods.
Is it not pleasant? were it understood,
You'd eat, and say, it is no common Food:
It is an Oyntment for your blinded eyes;
First taste, then eat, this Fruit will make you wise.
Eve, like a silly woman, then began
To bite that Bait which Satan cast for man.
She having eat, the next thing she must do,
Is to perswade her Husband do so too.
Adam forsakes his Innocencie, and
They each perceiv'd that both did naked stand;
Then cloath'd themselves with Fig leaves, to prevent
Their present shame, and future punishment.
But the great God (whose ever-seeing eye
Discern'd their folly) he was straightway nigh.
Perceiving that they for immediate ease
Sought for their shelter among other trees;
But God's loud voice soon pierc'd the tender bough,
Only with saying, Adam, where art thou?
Adam as conscious that he was betraid,
Confest he heard God's voice, and was afraid:
He and his Wife, as two poor naked elves,
In dire distress, betook to hide themselves.
Then saith the Lord, For what cause wast thou hid?
What, hast thou eat the fruit which I forbid?
Who told thee thou art naked? let me know.
Adam reply'd, This Woman caus'd my woe:
She whom thou gavest me said it was sweet;
She gave me of the tree, and I did eat.
The Woman likewise did her plaint prefer,
Saying the Serpent 'twas deceived her.
Was Eden's Garden barren, was there none
That could invite, but this same tree alone?
That fruitful Soyl, whose trees with bending curl'd,
And justly styl'd her Mistris of the World,
'Twas there choice dainties made a rich encrease,
Paradise then was Natures Master-piece.
Of all the other trees said God the Lord,
Thou maist delight thy self with free accord.
By which it follows with divine attest,
That there were more, and who knows which was best?
This tree like Adam's self might have been hid.
Its fruit was eat, because it was forbid.
Thus did their disobedience usher in
A world of Sorrow, with a world of Sin.
Our God in the beginning did create
Man for himself, Woman mans helpful mate:
'Twas then the Serpent first contriv'd to scan
To make a Woman prove a Wo [to] man.
Adam's cast out by order of the Lord,
And Cherubs guard the Tree with flaming Sword.

On Judas his Treason.

What monstrous Devil, or what horrid Hag
Bewitcht his mind, with Blood to fill his Bag?
What pains he took for an eternal strife,
To sell his Master, and the Lord of Life
For thirty Pieces, high Ingratitude,
Treason ne're wore a guilt could be so rude.
He that is covetous doth hug an evil,
Bids God farewel, to entertain the Devil;
Although his mouth be full of Gold, his fate
Is such, he bites at every tempting bait.
Base Avarice, the block 'twixt man and bliss,
Betraying Judas with a Judas-kiss;
A false deluding gloworm to the blind,
And greatest canker of the heart and mind:
'Twas that made him betray his righteous Judge,
And do his homage to the vilest drudge.
A liveless piece of earth, was his request,
Made that his God, to shrine it in his Chest;
Whose frantick minde no reason could controul,
He sells for silver both his King and Soul.
Mark the effect of hungring after pelf;
Judas repented, then he hang'd himself.
Such is the Character of Avarice,
'Tis Vertu's bane, and 'tis the root of Vice.

An Adieu to the World.

Be gone, false Joys, ye, and the World are frail,
My Soul's immortal; ye shall not prevail
To cheat me of an everlasting Jewel:
For all your Glories are but menstrous fuel.
God is Eternal; your bewitching Charms
Are meerly vain, more vain than false Alarms.
Heaven is my Home, the World is but my Inn,
Stufft up with Straw, with Rubbish, Dung, and Sin.
Your Gold, your Silver, and your Diamonds are
But Dross; Heaven's Blessings are beyond compare.
Here ye have Land, erect your Castles high,
But there are Mansions for eternity.
Your poor deluding Pleasures soon are o're,
But there are Pleasures last for evermore.
Here Pride and Envy in swift motion move,
But there the Angels dayly sing and love.
Here live rich Fools that glut themselves to Hell,
But there lives none but doth your best excel.
God is my Portion, let Earth hallow thee;
Mercy and Goodness both shall follow me:
And whilst the Worldling doth in Torments cry,
Glory attends the Righteous when they die.
Heaven's transcendent Joys are firm and true,
There lies my Aim; farewel, fond World, adieu.

On a Usurer.

'Tis not the Usurer that gives relief,
But rather robs the Spittle, plays the thief
With priviledge; whilst others do abhor it,
He boldly dares to plead a Statute for it.
Tell him of Godliness, you talk in vain;
For it is Gold, is both his God and gain.
Six in the Hundred from the meaner Tribes,
Continuation-money, other Bribes
Which he extorts, do make his bags swell o'r,
And keeps the Borrower continual poor.
Grigory Nyslen of him thus reports,
He's like a false Physician who exhorts
His feaverish Patient take for his relief
Cold Water, which doth much augment his grief.
So Money lent on Usury, doth seem
Relief, but in conclusion proves a Dream;
And as cold Water gives some present ease,
But the Effect prolongeth the Disease.
He follows Debtors, as the Eagles train
An Army, preying upon those are slain:
And men flock to him, when they seem forlorn,
As birds do gather to an heap of Corn;
For they desire, and strive their Food to get,
'Till they're entrapt within the Fowler's Net.
Idleness is his Darling, Spouse, his Wife;
He lives at ease a sedentary life.
His Pen's his Plow, and Parchment is his Field,
Ink is his Seed, and Time his Crop doth yield.
He's so hem'd in where'er he casts his eye,
He dayly views Objects of Charity:
But study'ng then to feather his own Nest,
Minds them of Principal and Interest.
To over-reach he bends his utmost strength,
And like the Butler's box sweeps all at length.
Agis th' Athenian General set fire
On all the Books and Bonds, for love or hire
He could procure, by those that did adhere
To finde them out, as goods of Usurer:
On which Agesilaus was wont to say,
The Market ne're had fairer Market day.
And Aristotle did this sort decry
As Harpies, strangers unto Unity.
This biting Usurer, or Man-eater, he
Is like the Shark that swimmeth in the Sea,
Devouring lesser Fish: So Ostrich right,
All Metals sute this Monsters appetite.
St. Matthew teacheth us in words but few,
Do as you would have others do to you:
Be kinde to the unthankful and the evil;
God's children scorn to imitate the Devil.
Nor will this Doctrine reach a Miser's scull,
Be merciful, as God is merciful.
St. Paul most piously adviseth thus,
In conversation be not covetous.
Thus Usery, throughout the Holy Writ,
Is held a hainous crime, and thought unfit
For Christian practice. Wealth could never buy
One little moment of Eternity.
It was Alphonsus saying, All such gain
Makes a Sepulchre for the Soul: In vain
Let Usurers God's Tabernacle hope,
That give their Conscience such a wretched scope.
Charity's kinde, helps to keep all things even,
But Usury excludes the Soul from Heaven.

Of Poverty.

No stony Walls can make a Jayl,
Though Iron-bars do it surround;
Confinement cannot make him vayl,
That with Contentments doth abound.
Men are Trees of one spacious Grove:
The greatest men do seem the tallest;
But Grace makes little Trees improve,
Sweet savour lies in those are smallest.
A poor man may be Godly-wise,
And sin may make a rich man poor:
The silent Lamb's the Sacrifice,
Whilst Lions proudly live and roar.
The Dove, that Bird of Innocence,
Before the soaring Eagle's chose,
That we may justly learn from thence,
Humility to Heaven goes.
Lazarus poor, diseased lay
In misery, Earth was his Hell;
Yet he to Abram found the way,
And Dives went in flames to dwell.
The rich man's title and his name
To learn, men con them o're and o're;
But they more glory have, less shame,
That study to relieve the Poor.
He that at present lives in state,
Above the reach of worldly wrong,
May in another world relate
He wants a drop to cool his tongue.
The Poor are pious Usurers;
For having lost their earthly leaven,
Their God, with Interest, confers
Glorious rewards on them in Heaven.
Rich men delight to count their Gold,
'Tis pastime for their minde and eye:
Content is happiness (in hold)
Such pleasure is in Poverty.

On Mortality.

When a rich Worldling dies, first question is,
How Rich he di'd; not, is he gone to Bliss?
Many make answer, or in love or hate,
Rich, very Rich, he left a good Estate;
Not well considering 'tshould be understood
Many Estates are greater far than good.
Alas, poor man, his eyes are clos'd with sleep,
And his Inheritors rejoyce, not weep.
He by Oppression heapt up ill-got Wealth,
And they carouze it to their Ladies health.
Perhaps when living he undid so many,
He scarce hath Tear, so much as Sigh from any.
The Poor, instead of Prayers (so much the worse)
Attend his Corps with Clamours, and a Curse.
What fruit hath man in all these things? his breath
Is spent, his labour too concludes in death:
His Mamon fails him, all his stores so great
Will witness 'gainst him at the Judgment-seat.
He leaves to others Principal and Use,
But that which follows him is the abuse.
He casts about to compass his by-ends,
Himself to ruine to inrich his friends:
So that each bag might make this Motto good,
If fixt thereon, This is the price of Blood.
Hark then, my Soul, bestow thy fortunes hoard,
Upon the Members of thy blessed Lord.
Give whilst thou liv'st, 'tis safe to do so; for
Thine eye is then thine own executor.
The Poor will praise thee in some pious Ditty,
And that may help, for Prayer can save a City.

On a Wicked man.

Lord, what a creature is a wicked man!
His life is miserable, though a span:
All his Religion is in outward forms;
His Dainties, Meat, and Manna, turns to Worms.
The Mercies daily that adorn his table
Do prove his Poyson, make him miserable.
If his Estate be large, it doth annoy,
His dangers keeping what he can't enjoy:
Or if he doth enjoy, he so doth use it,
That the enjoyment is but to abuse it.
Luxury leaves him no time to repent,
But lulls him to eternal punishment.
The pleasures of this world do pass away,
But pains and hellish horrours last for aye.
Lord help me then thy mercies to improve;
He is ingrateful gives not Love for Love.

On Patience.

The patient man is of a metal made
Not hard, but flexible: He's overlaid
With heavy burthens, which do try his skill,
Making Affections equal to his Will:
All which he bears rather than feed a feud,
Not out of cowardize, but fortitude.
He by his yielding doth his foes condemn;
Rides Conqueror both of himself and them.
He above Nature is; and so prolongs
His Cognizance, that he doth tire his wrongs.
To receive injuries that dayly fall,
Pronounceth him more than Heroical.
He God's best witness is; and when he stands
Before the Bar for truth, his word commands:
He hears his unjust, and with fate
His Innocence dares to expostulate.
His Jaylors that attend him to the Sages,
Are not his Guard so fitly as his Pages.
His earthly Dungeon is an heavenly Vault;
Vertu's his crime, and Patience his fault.
His Rack or Wheel, are the ascending stayers
That reach to Glory, all adorn'd with Prayers.
Good Laws are his protection, not his ends;
Minds not revenge, but loves both foes and friends.
If crosses do afflict, he doth submit,
And is content, 'cause Heaven thinks it fit.
He turns an evil into good: 'tis he
Can make a Vertue of necessitie.
An easie enemy, a certain friend,
To injuries can bow and condescend.
Than others, far more happy, he applies
A satisfaction to his miseries.
He that can keep his angry spirit down,
Is better far than he that takes a Town.
Patience is the Prisoner's Walk,
Patience is the Dumb man's Talk.
Patience is the Lame man's Thighs,
Patience is the Blind man's eyes.
Patience is the Poor man's Ditty,
Patience is the Exiles City.
Patience, the Sick man's bed of Down,
Patience is the Wise man's Crown.
Patience is the Live man's Story,
Patience is the Dead man's Glory.
When your Troubles do controul,
In your Patience keep your Soul.

On the Book of Life.

Hark, O my Soul, to escape th'infernal Pit,
Know it thy name i'th' book of Life be writ:
And for a certainty the same to finde,
Read o'r thy Conscience, and peruse thy minde.
Think not of Heavens Roll to have a view;
Examine thine own Heart, 'twill tell thee true:
For in the Conscience of a Saint doth lie
An Holy Record of Eternitie.
If in thy Conscience thou hast writ God's Word,
Be sure the Book of Life doth thee record.
When at the day of Judgment God shall look
Into his Register, and when the Book
Of Conscience lieth open, then indeed
The Saint and Sinner both may trembling read.
Wherefore, my Soul, so govern hand and pen;
Write now, as not to fear to read it then.

On Acts 26. 28.

Almost a Christian.

Learning well manag'd make the Graces glad;
But if abus'd, the learned man grows mad,
And makes his Learning, as an Hand-maid, sit
To wait on the profa'ness of his Wit:
But Piety and Parts when they agree,
Learning then makes an heavenly harmony.
So did St. Paul's, that pious Prisoner; for
He was at once a Slave and Orator:
Witness his pithy, and his quaint responds
To King Agrippa; King, except these Bonds
I wish not only thou, but all hereby,
Were both almost, and wholly such as I;
Not half a Christian, but to bear those Arms
Of Faith that may repel the Devil's charms.
An altogether Christian's not deprav'd;
Almost a Christian shall almost be sav'd.

Of Presumption.

If thou'rt a disputant, or proudly wise,
If ignorant, yet seemingly precise,
Beware of being busie with God's Word,
To dive into the Secrets of the Lord.
His Closet is his own, and wo to they
Shall pick the lock, when God doth keep the key.
Then be not over-busie; he that will
Be sifting every Cloud to try his skill,
For his presumption he may have the luck,
For daring boldly, to be Thunder-struck.
He that will be familiarly bold
With Heavens mysteries, them to unsold,
May with his judgment overwhelmed be,
As Adam was with his unhappy Tree.
The Beth Lemites must pry into the Ark;
God's Judgment was serene, though theirs was dark.
For their presumption this became their gain,
They by the Lord had Fifty thousand slain.
Then hover not about this flame which brings
Soul-fatal falls, by scorching of its wings:
I will improve by what we have reveal'd,
Not strive to know what God would have conceal'd.
Lord, to preserve me from the Devil's gins,
Keep back thy servant from presumptuous sins.

On Death.

Since nothing is so certain as our death,
And nothing more uncertain than when breath
Expires, we ought each minute to prepare:
Death sends no Summons, but comes unaware.
The grand decry is past; dispute not why
All men have sinned, and all men must die.
Man's days are numbred, he can finde no aid;
'Tis God hath man upon the balance laid,
And found him wanting. God's all-searching eye
Hath thus determin'd, men are Vanity.
Corruption is man's father, and the Worms
His sisters, they have their corrupt conforms.
The Grave it is his Bed, the Sheet his Shrine,
The Earth his Cover, Grass his Carpet fine.
At last Death comes, and he concludes the Theam,
Finds man asleep, and darts him in his Dream.
Such is our sluggish life, a shadow, frail,
A bubble, vapour, and a trifling tale:
So vain a story, that when we grow old
We spend our days before the tale is told.
The World's of contraries a vast compound,
Nothing within it solid is, or sound.
Four Elements in opposition move
Each to the other. The degrees of Love
Cannot be found in a confused heap;
'Tis Heaven doth that holy Order keep.
Death gives our earthly bodies a new cast,
Refines us, that we may prove cleer at last.
What is corrupt, within the grave must lie,
Till Mortal puts on Immortality.
No mans corruption can be laid aside,
Until his body in the Earth abide.
He chiefly 'tis that is afeard to die,
Hath little hope of an Eternity.
The time we have to live, it is but small,
Less than a point that's Geometrical.
Our common Enemy doth promise fair
This world, to cheat us of a world more rare.
Our pleasures do deceitfully entangle,
Smiling ev'n then, when they intend to strangle.
The world is kindest when it most doth frown,
And honours lift us up to cast us down.
The Christian then should ready be to cry,
When God shall call, Behold, Lord, here am I.
For they of their Salvation never mist,
Have been partakers of the death of Christ.
God on the Righteous alway hath an eye;
His ear is ever open to their cry:
And he that doth a righteous man regard,
He shall receive a righteous man's reward.
Be truly zealous, shew no vain pretext,
But live each hour as if to die the next.

On Conscience.

The Conscience is a Function of the Minde,
A Guide to Straglers, to the Lame, and Blinde.
Over the Will the Conscience sits commanding,
And is a Guardian to the Understanding:
For what the Pen of Nature doth engrave
Upon that general Knowledge which we have,
Or to our Thoughts, our Minds, or to our Acts,
Conscience applies, and summons up our Facts.
Paul our Example was of Innocence,
Having a Conscience void of all offence
Both towards God, and towards men, so cleer,
That his own Conscience was his Overseer.
Christian, unto thy Conscience have an eye,
Lest Conscience doth accuse, for that's a spie.

On Memory.

Memory is the Store-house of the Soul;
The Will's Dictator; Understanding's Scroul.
There we hoard up the treasures of our Minde,
And fetch them out as we occasion finde.
But well it may with filthy Ponds compare,
Wherein fish die, but frogs are nourish'd there.
So we retain trash that doth sowre and rot,
Whilst admirable mercies are forgot.
Thus we that should be Temples of God's praise,
Are Graves to bury what his love displays.
All Injuries most men to Marble trust,
But Courtesies are written in the Dust.
What's bad they can sufficiently retain,
But what is good is idle thought, and vain.
Like Nets, our Memories let clear waters go,
And nothing catch but sticks and weeds of Wo:
Or else like Sieves (so rashly are we born)
That do retain the Chaff, let go the Corn.
But like an holy Ark the Soul should be,
And as the pot of Manna, Memorie.
Our faculties herein need no excuse,
Preserving holy Truths for holy use.

On a Death-bed-Repentance.

This Speech, though sad, it did a King survive;
I now must die, e're I begin to live.
And such is the condition of that man
That dies e're his Repentance is began;
That wants his weapons, can for none implore;
For why? Behold, Death knocketh at his door.
What signifie Petitions of a Heart
That trembling lies when Death presents his Dart?
Unhappy certainly must be their Dooms
Have Oyl to seek just when the Bridegroom comes.
Death and the Devil do their Souls pursue,
And they no refuge have to fly unto.
The seven years of Plenty all are gone,
And years of Famine are not thought upon.
Time that is swift hath took his nimble flight;
Travel doth tire, yet we want rest at night:
I'll therefore finish every Work I have,
So shall I go with Peace unto my Grave.

On the Mariner.

The Mariner that's drove by Boreas breath,
Doth sail within four inches of his death.
So of the Soul the saying may be true,
That e're it bids its Cabinet adieu,
Four inches is the most that it doth keep
Betwixt its life and an eternal sleep.
If the Ship splits, or by a fire doth shrink,
The Ship is swallow'd, and the Sailers sink.
So if our earthly Vessels break, the Soul
Doth to another Habitation roul,
For ever plung'd into a boundless Sea,
The bankless Ocean of Eternity.
The Soul should therefore careful be, and strive
To swim, before it come to sink or dive.

On an Israelite.

As the Tree falls, so doth it lie;
And when Death strikes, all men must die:
Only herein the difference is,
God gives us misery or bliss.
As in the Red Sea, if I go
An Israelite, though waters flow,
In triumph I shall tell my story,
And land rejoycing, full of Glory,
While all mine Enemies lie spread
Upon the shore, and each one dead:
But if Egyptian-like I croud,
And be on this side of the Cloud,
On this side of the Covenant,
And yet run hardned in (for want
Of Grace) amongst proud Pharaoh's Troops,
The Sea shall open all her Poops:
And e're I finde my Journeys length,
Justice shall swallow me with strength;
An Inundation shall destroy
My Soul, and drown my future Joy.
O Lord, then by thy powerful might,
Make me thine own, an Israelite.

On Shame.

The age is impudent in which we live;
Men seem asham'd to be asham'd of blame;
And to their Errours such a licence give,
That they delight to glory in their shame.
They have a specious Cloak for each offence,
And study how to palliate their Vice.
The Covetous hath Husbandry's pretence;
The Prodigal is free, perhaps at Dice.
The Lecher shrouds his sin i'th' mask of Love;
The Drunkard to good fellowship pretends;
The Cheat doth for his Family improve
Ill-gotten goods; each have their private ends.
They blush not at the fact, yet will not own
The Title; by the which we may conclude
The sense of shame, when to perfection grown,
Restrains from sins, can hide a multitude.
But he that is this apprehension past,
Lets loose the Reins of his suborned will,
Goes hand in hand with Satan, till at last
Madness and Mischief are his joy and skill.
The World says to him, Take thy pleasure, swim
In Lust and Liquor: Heart, the Minde, and Eye
Are lively, merry, careless, and so trim,
He doth not care though God's his enemie.
Fools shew their folly as it sutes their name,
But prudent men will be asham'd of Shame.

On the Wilful Impenitent.

Tell me, fond Worldling, why dost thou deride
A godly Christian? Is't thy natures pride?
Dost thou not dayly see his weeping eye
Shed Tears to wake thy sleeping Lethargie?
See how he trembles at the sight of sin!
Whilst thou, lewd actor, longest to begin;
And look'st on him as pusillanimous,
A Coward, or a Drone. I tell thee, thus
Thou'rt rashly valiant, and dost spend thy breath
On Toys, whilst he dare boldly look on Death.
He's truly noble; and when he appears,
Is not appall'd before the King of Fears.
Heav'n is his harbour, Grace doth most delight him;
Hell's horrours may appear, but not affright him:
But as a Conqueror over Death and Hell,
Can with his Smiles all their Bravadoes quell;
And with a chearful heart this Ditty sing,
As if in scorn, O, Death, where is thy sting?
Or like a Cherubim that flies on high,
Can say, O, Hell, where is thy victory?
This is the Valediction of a Saint,
Whilst Sinners toyl, and in their labours faint.
Where is the Worldling's glory? He can sin,
Can vitious be, and he can boast therein:
Can silence Conscience, and outface a Crime,
And shun a blush to damn his Soul betime.
That man a Coward is, and fights by stealth;
For if a sickness doth impair his health,
He then believes Death doth a summons beat,
And his large Spirit sneaks to a retreat.
Doth he not tremble when he once hath got
A shaking Ague, or a Feaver hot?
And when he feels the heavy hand of Fate,
He begs for quarter, though it be too late.
What heaviness then sits upon his look?
Terrour appears, Conscience unfolds its book,
Charges him to consider well and read;
And just as he begins, Death strikes him dead.
A true Repentance cannot be too late;
Early Repentance is a blessed state.
Thus doth a sinner to Perdition fall,
And that which was his Throne, becomes his Thrall.

On a Glorious Soul.

Whenas the Moon her constant course hath run,
And draws to a Conjunction with the Sun,
It to the Heavens shines more bright and pure,
And towards Earth seemeth the more obscure.
So, as the Soul draws neer, as like a Spouse,
Shines fair to Christ, is to the World a Blouse.
He that is pretious unto God, that man
Is by the World esteem'd a Puritan:
And he whose Soul in Glory doth inherit,
Appears but odious to an earthly Spirit.
For he that looks with a Terrestrial sight,
Is Lustre-dazled with Cœlestial light.
Shine fair to God if thou'lt to Heaven go;
Beauty on earth is a beclouded show.

On Contentation.

Cyneas asking Pyrrhus his intent,
What he would do after his hazard spent
In many Victories, Pyrrhus did reply,
He'd take his ease, and then live merrily.
To whom Cyneas, That you might have done
Before, were you contented with your own.
'Tis not the largeness of the Cage doth bring
Notes to the Bird, instructing him to sing.
Moreover, though a Bird hath little eye,
Yet he hath wings by which he soars on high,
Can see far wider, and abundance better
Than may an Ox, although his eye be greater.
'Tis not the great Estate that brings Content,
But Piety, the Christian's Ornament.
The Righteous having little, no promotion;
Yet what he hath, when joyned with Devotion,
May feel more comfort, more enjoy God's bounty
Than he whose Incomes may command a County.
But few can be content with what they have;
He that hath hundreds, still for more doth crave:
If his Possessions be in Houses, Land,
He grasps at more, and with a ready hand
Omits no mischief that his Craft can nurse,
To fill his Coffer, or enlarge his Purse.
The greatest thing in little compass can
Be comprehended, is Content in man.
And this great Vertue hath its safe abode
Only in him that is a Childe of God;
Who sees, and to his brethren cries, Content ye,
Enough's a feast, and Piety hath plentie.
As when a Traveller comes to his Inn,
He for a Lodging-room does first begin
T'enquire; but if he cannot please his minde,
He is content with such as he shall finde,
Although perhaps his Room may not delight,
Well knowing that it is but for a night:
So is it with the Christian Pilgrim; he
Can use a large Estate, if it should be
God's will to bless him with it, yet his mind
To Heaven's pleasure alway is confin'd.
A little of the Creatures will asswage
Hunger and Thirst in Christian Pilgrimage:
For let his Journeying be sweet or rough,
He knows his Father's house hath bread enough;
Therefore as sweetly feeds, in going home,
As Sampson did upon his Honey-comb.
Let no man's mind on Earthly things be bent;
But Having food and rayment, be content.

On the Hypocrite.

The Hypocrite of Actors is the worst,
His own pretences making him accurst.
By so much as he acts the better part,
And Janus-like with double face and heart,
He can compose his forehead to be grave,
Although his heart be then his humours slave.
His modest face doth shew the Characters
Of Justice and Religion; nor forbears
His tongue and gestures so much to proclaim;
But heart and hands, they do recant the same.
When to the Church he comes, he there salutes
One of the Pillars, and on knee confutes
The Atheist, worshiping that God, in part,
Whose Precepts never could affect his heart.
He rises, looks about, and takes his seat;
Complains that Charity is not so great
As he could wish, or heretofore hath been.
Perhaps bestows an Alms; but to be seen,
Always sits where he may embrace the look
Of all Spectators: And his Table-book,
In Sermon-time comes from beneath his coat,
As seeming fearful he should loose that Note.
Then takes his Bible, hums to rear his voice,
And turns to some Quotation with a noise:
Then doubles down the leaf, as if the same
Were found; and loudly asks the Preacher's name:
And that his Zeal may fervently appear,
Repeats it, that the standers by may hear.
He can command his Tears, reckon up sins
With detestation; but when he begins
He never thinks, with a true pious wrath,
How many darling-sins his bosom hath:
Nor Alms, nor Prayers ne're fall, unless he spy,
Although at distance, certain witness by;
As if he doubted whether God would own
Receiving them: and is so wary grown,
That lest the World should not discern his worth,
His mouth's the Trumpet that doth sound it forth.
And when his Bags run o're, bethinks to build
An Hospital; and that is straightway fill'd
With persons indigent, did aged grow,
Poor as when born; for he had made them so.
With flesh on Frydays he will not be fed,
He more abhors it than his Neighbours bed.
Will at the Name of Jesus bow, or nod,
At Church; anon at Tavern swear by God
When his Step-mother's sick, and seems to creep
Towards her Grave, he then brings Tears to weep:
When he hath cause to fear she will not die,
He forces a rejoycing-sympathie
With her best friends. 'Tis hard to rightly paint
An Hypocrite. To strangers he's a Saint;
A meer pretender to the Poors relief;
Private Extortioner; his Neighbours grief;
The blot of goodness; scoff in good mens sight;
A rotten Stick to trust in dark of night;
A Candle temper'd ill, with a large snuff;
The Poor man's Plague, and a religious Huff;
The Fool's great Idol, and the Wise man's scorn;
A choaking Poppy in a field of Corn:
Abroad an Angel, free from least of evil;
At home none more implacable, a Devil:
And when an Angel worse, a guide amiss;
But when a Devil, shews but what he is.
As the Apostle's Phrase is, many men
Are servants of the eyes; for they shall, when
They are beheld, act Vertue with a grace,
And in their Zeal run with a thorow pace:
When they perceive Spectators all are gone,
They change their habits, for the Play is done.
They curious Searchers are in others acts,
Careless Correctors of their own foul facts.
They to their Lust and Lewdness are so prone,
They think they're safe, because espi'd by none.
Thus an ill nature leadeth man to sin,
And corrupt custom bids him 'bide therein.
When carnal Constitutions get a head,
They, like Commanders, do weak mortals lead:
But for the Hypocrite, he seems a friend
Will promise much, but, not without an end,
Nothing perform; but many he hath broke,
Receiving substance, but returning smoke.
And he whose quality is eminent,
More foul's the quality of his intent.
Acts that dishonourable are, look great
In them, by blood or parts, have Honours seat.
The Publican and Sinner have more right
To Heaven's Mansions than an Hypocrite.
I with Prolixity might spoil my Pen,
For he's in verity the scum of men.
The worst of damned Souls their portion have
With him in hot and horrid scorching Cave.
There leave we him and his tormented bone
Measuring minutes with deep sighs and groan.

On Envy.

All lusts reduced are to Three-fold heads,
Lust of the eyes, the flesh, and that which leads
To as much Vice and a continual Strife,
The haughty humour, or the pride of life.
But Envy is the chiefest lust of eyes;
Seeing another good, with him it vies,
Not to be farther good; his envy grew,
Seeing good men belov'd and honour'd too.
Envy thinks all men made of equal stuff:
Why may not envious men be good enough?
It for the Innocent defends a Cause
To seem a Saint, and to procure applause:
But 'tis a Plague within a man's own brest,
And a Disease will not admit of Rest.
If such a thing as Admiration be,
It's heart doth whisper, That belongs to me.
It is a furious wind, which to rehearse,
Sometimes breaks forth to shake the Universe.
A sharp Malignity, most quick of sight;
An Ostrich with an eager appetite.
Cherish a Dog, and you may make him tame;
Lions by gentleness become the same:
But man grown envious, if you speak him fair,
Yet keep at distance, of his wiles beware:
For if he sees you creep, then he proves worse,
May smile upon you when his heart doth curse.
If the World's frowns do force you to comply,
He gluts himself with your adversity;
And Beetle-like, as I have heard it sung,
When hungry grown, doth eat its fellows dung.
Whilst Envy doth obliquely look upon
The good of others, all his own is gone:
Or at the least takes no delight; the smart
Is like a Vulture seeding on the heart.
The Basilisk by nature kills all Trees
And Shrubs it breatheth on; and when he please
Doth scorch and burn all Herbs, and Leaves of Grass
Over the which his body chance to pass.
So Envy is an Ætna in a man,
(Like the Cantharides) if feeding can
Encompass as its stomach doth dispose;
And often diets on the fairest Rose.
It is a Passion doth ones Health deser,
And proves at last a man's Self-murtherer.
'Tis Couzen-German to the sin of Pride,
And each may well be call'd a Homicide.
Wrath kills the foolish man, when in his way
The envious man the silly Soul doth slay.
The eye, alas, is the unhappy pit
That first doth this destructive guest admit:
And when it gets a full possession once,
It shrinks the Nerves, and rots into the bones:
Till with Consumption it doth man environ,
Feeding on him as Rust doth seed on Iron.
Envy believes its will should be its law:
Socrates saith, 'Tis to the Soul a Saw;
Grates without mercy when it doth behold
Its dross, and sees another shine in gold.
Like the poor Fly, to put the Candle out,
Doth burn it self with buzzing round about.
Or like the Bee, that with a humming flies,
Looses his sting, and then at once he dies.
Or Viper-like, to make a Paul expire,
Leaping on him, is cast into the fire.
Envy's a Canker in the Heart and Minde,
Spleen to the good; Great Charity is kinde.

On Supplication.

As in a Ship when sailing from its Port,
The Sails are hoised, thereby to exhort
Some skilful Mariner to shew his art,
Who presently doth to the Rudder start.
So every morning when we rise from rest,
Our hearts should study for a just Request:
For that's the Rudder of our life and age,
To guide us through our Earthly Pilgrimage.
Heav'n is our home, and God alone; to him
Through Rivers of our Tears we ought to swim:
For when God's wrath is kindled to a fire,
No other water can allay his ire.
Christians no better Messengers can send
Than Prayers and Tears, Angels on them attend.
Moses by Prayer, that prevailing Word,
Harm'd Amalik much more than Israel's Sword.
Th'Apostle Paul this golden Rule hath laid,
Let supplications for all men be made:
In which great duty let this be observ'd,
First a due preparation, not with carv'd
Or starch'd Expressions made by Wit and Art;
God doth desire truth in the inward part.
Consider, thou the Supplicant art dust,
A vile and sinful man, a heap of Lust.
The Lord, to whom thou dost thy Prayers apply,
Is Holy, Wise, of Sacred Majesty.
Let Meditation guide thee in thy way,
Lest thy frail minde distracted be, and stray.
Pray for things lawful, don't that bound exceed;
For God, before ye ask, knows what ye need:
But silence in the Soul he doth abhor;
Mercies are small, if not worth asking for.
Pray not for Mercies as thy fancy drives,
As little Children do for Toys and Knives,
Who when they have them know not how they're us'd;
Mercies are better wanted than abus'd.
Make Supplications in the Name of Christ;
Thou mayst be good, yet shew not merits list.
Examine well thine heart, keep Faith therein,
For whatsoever's not of faith, is sin.
Be constant, that thou mayst abide the touch;
For fervent righteous prayer availeth much.
Birds without motion cannot fly i'th' Air,
Nor without work can we persist in Prayer.
Pray in Humility, and nothing fear;
The poor man cryed, and the Lord did hear.
In Supplications be importunate;
Pray perseveringly; and in that state
So guide thy thoughts, and so thy heart prepare,
As if thy life were one continual Prayer.
All our Iniquities we must forbear;
In vain we pray, when God shall stop his ear.

On Luxury.

Seneca speaks of some (of tender years
Suppos'd) that hang'd their Lordships at their ears.
And in our time, Gallants, to their disgrace,
Convert their Lands to Feathers and to Lace;
Wasting their Rents to purchase Silks and Stuffs,
Mortgaging Mannours to procure them Muffs.
This they have left, when all things else are gone;
Air for their breath, and Earth to tread upon.
Apicius in his Kitchin did expend
Two millions of Gold; and in the end,
Having devour'd so much, begins to think
What might remain of his huge mass of Chink:
Finding Two hundred thousand crowns, no more,
He then concluded he was waxing poor:
Too little 'twas his humour to suffice,
Wherefore he poyson drinks, and so he dies.
Thus our Estates, though large, in vain are spent,
When the main thing is wanting; that's Content.
The Glutton Philoxenus did inveigh
Against Dame Nature, and for what, I pray?
It was because his neck was made so short,
His eating was no recreating sport,
But wisht his neck were like a Cranes for length,
Better to relish his sweet morsels strength.
To the Insatiate, Water, Land, nor Air,
Sufficient is to keep him from despair.
How many golden Mines at stake must lie,
To bear the charge of Prodigality?
Of Henry Duke of Guise it hath been said,
Usury was his pleasure and his trade:
For when his large Estate to ashes burn'd,
At last it all to Obligations turn'd.
But he that spendeth all to please his friend,
Perhaps may visit him, but want i'th'end.
But the three B's, Back, Belly, Building, have
To fair Estates each one become a Graze.
Luxurious men this for themselves may say,
Their hands are their Executors, and they
Before old age approach to make their years
Many, their eyes are their own Overseers.
Much of their Patrimonies they expend
Upon their Guts, the rest to Harlots lend;
Who usually do leave him full as bare
As Crows do leave a Carcass; and 'tis rare
When Riot doth into man's Senses steal,
But certain Ruine follows at the heel.
Beggery doth on Luxury attend,
When the poor Spendthrift hath no other friend;
And doth at last so despicable grow,
He is beneath the thought of Friend or Foe.
The Drunkard and the Glutton, e're he die,
Shall know the want of Superfluitie.

On Enmity.

Pliny affirmeth, that the Serpents Brood
Cannot be reconcil'd to man: nor wou'd
The learn'd Bodinus this Relation tell,
Did not his own experience know it well.
A capital Antipathy is spread
Between the Woman and the Serpent's head:
So that within a multitude of men
If but one woman croud i'th' middle, then
The Serpent doth his Enmity reveal
By finding her, and stings her in the heel:
Well verifying what their Maker sed,
Th'Serpent should bruise her heel; her seed, his head.
Perswasions may o'rcome an Enemy;
Irreconcilable is Enmity:
It is a mutual Malevolence,
That between parties studies for offence.
A dire antipathy that doth create
The killing Canker of a mortal hate.
Magirus saith, Nature makes it appear
In divers Creatures, namely Horse and Bear,
The Eagle and the Swan, among all Fowl,
The lesser sort of Birds oppose the Owl.
The Toad and Spider likewise do agree
Each one to poyson by antipathy.
The stately Lion of couragious stock,
Though bold and fierce, is fearful of a Cock.
But the most sharp hostility indeed,
Is between Satan and the Womans seed.

The Dream.

Methinks I hear Six voices cry aloud!
The first of Dying man's, by sickness bow'd;
That of the Damned is the second voice;
Thirdly my Soul with an affrighted noise;
The fourth is Christ's with sweet inviting chimes;
The fifth's the charming voice of Evil times;
The sixth a voice that doth the Sense allay,
A dreadful Summons to the Judgment-day.
The Dying man, methinks, doth make his moan,
Breathing out sighs, and with each sigh a groan:
Oh, loose no time, call every minute o're,
A minute's pretious; man's whole life's no more.
Oh that I could make sure of Heaven, for now
My days on Earth unto a period grow.
The Damned cry and roar: O see the end
And sad effects of sin! sorrows attend
The wicked man. I now discern my Crime,
And feel the punishment of loss of time;
And then I hear my Soul expostulate,
Oh, thou my body, frail, of wretched state,
Why should I play the fool to please thy Lust,
When all my Kindnesses are writ in dust?
Nay, in ungrateful dust, that doth repay
A Pearl, only besmearing it with clay.
Thou but a moment art of time; but I
Must last for ever, to Eternity.
When thou with Rottenness art whelm'd about,
Where shall I be? 'Tis fit I should get out
Betimes from such an Earthy house as thine,
And, as a Star, in Heaven's mansion shine.
Angels are my Companions there: dost think,
To pleasure thee, I'll to Perdition sink?
Is it not better, prethee Mortal tell,
To Heaven we go, than thou bear me to Hell?
And then methinks sweet Jesus is at hand
With invitations thus: Behold, I stand
Here at the door, and knock; I weep, I sue
Until my head is covered o're with dew:
I wait and beg to lead thee to Delight,
My locks being filled with the dew of night.
My tears, my groans, my crying blood doth knock;
Open to me, thou heart, if not a Rock.
With patience I beseech, let sin no more
A lodging have, and Christ wait at the door.
Let not Damnation gull thee with deceit,
Whilst thy Salvation doth intreat and wait.
Then evil times methinks do thus invite:
Oh, now consider, walk as in the light;
Let all your Vertues be adorn'd with Rays;
Be living Christians, these are dying days:
Be growing Christians, lay aside vain Crimes;
Walk stedfastly in these back-sliding times.
Oh, now, or else thou art for ever gone,
Leave Devil, World, and Flesh, make Christ thine own.
Then the Archangels voice at last I hear,
Summoning all the Dead forthwith appear
Before the Judgment-seat, crying, Arise,
Come forth, ye blessed Saints, open your eyes;
With God and Angels each one take his place,
To judge the World, and try the sinners Case:
Arise, ye cursed naked Souls, and take
Your standing before God and Angels; quake
At the Tribunal great, from whence shall come
Your fearful, final, and your fatal Doom.
Lord, the first voices let me hear with fear,
That the last voice I may not fear to hear.

On Beauty.

Have you not heard o'th' bloody Siege of Troy?
Of Hellens beauty how it did destroy?
The lustre of her Beauty did decay,
And she was but a glorious heap of Clay.
Or have you read of Jacob, how he serv'd
Full fourteen years for Rachel, never swerv'd
From his affections? She, his hearts delight,
Was amiable and lovely in his sight.
Thus we adore those whom we think excel
In Beauty, though a painted Jezebel.
If these deserve so much, then what doth he
That made these Beauties? he whose Majestie
Is altogether lovely, doth surpass
The glories of an indigested Mass.
The Beauty of the whole Creation is
As dross to him; for the Creation's his.
Be not discourag'd, oh my Soul, but place
Thy firm affections on thy Saviour's face.
Though Enemies may watch for thy defaults,
Christ can secure thee from their fierce assaults.
Let him be beautiful within thine eye,
And thou shalt live, although thou seemst to die.
Be not dsheartned, oh my Soul; for though
Rules may be strict and Duties hard, yet know
They are as Armour 'gainst the worst disaster;
Heaven's thy Wages, Christ himself thy Master.
Lord, let my heart thy Beauty understand,
No difficulty then shall reach my hand.

On Knowledge.

This precious Jewel, Knowledge, may compare
To those the Israelites of old did wear:
For if our Knowledge be improv'd but half
Of that, like them we but erect a Calf.
Their Gold was precious, all that while commodious;
But in an Idol cast, it then grew odious.
So the pure Wit of man, well understood,
Was in the days of Innocencie good;
But when corruption seizes on his age,
He becomes vicious that before was sage.
Or it resembles an untilled field
That barren lies, and nothing else doth yield
But Brambles, Thorns, unnecessary Weeds,
Till Grace manures it with its growing seeds.
The best of Minerals their poysons have
Until extracted. Flowers sweet and brave,
Their fæces do possess, till art and skill,
By separation takes away the ill.
So the best Wits have folly, until Grace
Plucks up its roots and groweth in the place.
In things that do spiritually relate,
The Understanding when it's tried by weight,
Will like Belshazzar much too light be found,
Lighter than Vanity or Verbal sound.
Then let not wise men glory in their parts,
But hoard their Wisdome in unspotted hearts:
For 'tis a Jewel of an unknown price,
'Bove that of Rubies, or of mans device:
For he that getteth wisdom loves his Soul,
Dare oppose dangers, feareth no controul.
It excels Folly as a glorious Star,
And better is than weapons us'd in War.
'Tis profitable to instruct, direct,
Teacheth the Ignorant be circumspect.
Wherefore if any one do Wisdom lack,
Ask of the Lord, for he will not be slack.
It is the gift of God, and he alone
Can Wisdom fix within a heart of stone.
Why are we dayly by our sins decoy'd?
For want of Knowledge people are destroy'd.
With Knowledge put on practice: Satan's brood
Have Knowledge, but it does more harm thad good.
To Apprehensive Knowledge must conjoyn
Affective Knowledge: if those two combine,
They give a Christian courage. No retreat
Is needful when a Saint is arm'd compleat.
When as God's holy Spirit takes in hand
To teach the Scholar soon doth understand.
To a good Soul nothing's of higher prize
Than is the knowledge of deep mysteries.
Austin of God desir'd no worldly pelf,
But only to know God, and know himself.
Knowledge and Love must both accord, for why?
Knowledge puffs up, but Love doth edifie.
Foolish were they that Knowledge did despise
Because it puffeth up: Rather than wise,
They were resolv'd continue ignorant
And humble, Pride and Arrogance to want.
Knowledge puffs up, but Grace gives an allay;
For Knowledge can command, and can obey:
But those were like Democritus, half wise,
To shun Uncleanness pluck'd out both his eyes.
Though Knowledge nimbly on our Senses dance,
It's greatest part's the least of Ignorance:
Yet we are apt to think, though can't discern't,
That we know all that can by man be learnt.
As in the host of Alcibiades
All would be Leaders, none Commanders please:
And Epicurus spoke but as a youth,
Boasting he was the first discover'd Truth;
For he in many things exprest his minde
Not as a man, but as a Beetle blinde.
Aratus the Astrologer did vent
His brags, he knew all Stars i'th' Firmament.
Laurentius Vella gloried there was none
Writ Logick worth the reading, but his own.
Nestorius the Heretick could boast,
That he alone, on the European coast,
Did understand the Scriptures; when he came,
The World awakned was with his great name.
Well saith th'Apostle, and 'tis truly so,
Man knoweth nothing as he ought to know.

On Magnanimity.

Cæsar spoke proudly when he boldly said,
In midst a storm, Pilot, be not afraid;
The angry Surges know not what they do;
Thou carriest Cæsar and his fortunes too.
The Cannibals, as History doth tell,
Are for their courage thought invincible;
Rather than seem to fear, remissly flie,
Or sue for life, they bravely choose to die.
In Alexander's last and fatal fight,
He shew'd his Courage was his chief delight,
By boasting 'twas his glory and his pride,
At once the Power of Persia to divide.
Mahomet the Persian Sultan overthrown,
His Passion was to such a fury grown,
He in revenge (perhaps more mad than wise)
Caus'd his chief Captains ten to loose their eyes,
So to prevent their overthrow agen;
And threatned female habits for his men.
Lacedemonians were wont to cry,
It was a shame for any man to fly
In time of danger: but a cursed fate,
Lacedemonians should deliberate.
And Socrates, Criton's advice did slight,
When by him wish'd to make a private flight.
Salisbury's noble Earl, whenas he found
The Sultans Army had inclos'd him round,
And he advis'd to fly, answer'd in scorn,
Heavens forbid I should for that be born;
Or any of my Father's Blood or Race
Should fear a Sarasin for force or face.
Much less then should a Christian fear, whose eye
Should fix on Christ, who did for Christians die.
Bravely resolv'd it was of blessed Paul
After Conversion, his aspiring fall,
I ready am not only to proclaim,
But to be bound, and die for Jesus Name.
Who sails with Christ fears neither Rock nor Sand;
Christians through storms must reach the promis'd Land.

On Ingratitude.

Lord, what a danger lately I escap'd!
Torrents of Terrours just before me gap'd:
Upon the brink I was, yet scaped free;
They are well kept, O Lord, are kept by thee.
Surely thy meaning only was to fright,
As an advice that I might shun a smite.
Thus thy great providence doth think it fit
To hit the mark sometimes by missing it.
Let me not now appear so idly rude,
To pay my God with my Ingratitude;
And give my thanks to Fortune, as if she
Were Governess of my Tranquillity:
But if my thanks may make a recompence,
I'll pay them to the eye of Providence.
Narrow was my escape; be it my charge,
That therefore I my thankfulness inlarge,
Lest my ingratitude should justly cause,
That since this Arrow seemingly did pause,
By touching of my hat, but miss'd my head;
The next may pierce my heart, and strike me dead.
The antient Romans did this Law contrive;
Ingrateful ones should be devour'd alive:
He that receiv'd, and thankfulness would want,
Was cast, whilst living, to the Cormorant.
Lycurgus made no Law to punish such,
Thinking no wretch could dare to sin so much.

On Disturb'd Devotion.

This morning, Lord, I visited my friend,
But ill came of that good I did intend.
Unhappy I, that then should finde the way,
When he to his apartment went to pray.
If I'm uncapable my self to build,
Shall I snatch Tools from him is thorow skill'd?
Certainly better far, more pious 'twere
And Christian-like, to joyn with him in Prayer.
But now how shall I study an amends,
That, as before, we may continue friends?
Lord, what he wanted, if it be thy will,
Be pleas'd to grant, for he's thy servant still.
Thou knowst for what he did intend to sue,
And my Petition for him's doubly due.
That neither he nor I may loosers be,
Lord, hear our Saviour both for him and me.

On Sin and Sorrow.

Our Sin and Sorrow two Companions are;
Sin leads us in, and Sorrow feeds the snare.
If our short moments merrily are spent,
Into eternal mournings we are sent.
He that won't weep while he may pardon have,
Hereafter may, in vain, for pity crave.
One bottle full of Tears thy sins may quell,
But a whole Cloud not quench the flames of Hell.
Then let the careless sinner laugh and scorn;
I'll weep at present, not for ever mourn.
Valleys of Tears do shew their cleansing skill,
And raise a sinner unto Sions hill:
But the fool's heart is in the house of mirth,
His Joy's his Sorrow, and his Heaven, Earth.
But he whose Cup is fill'd unto the brink
With sin, he shall in Seas of Sorrow sink.
Wherefore my Sins I'll here in Sorrow steep,
And so weep now, as not for ever weep.

On Mortality.

Lord, what a Shadow is the Life of man?
A nothing, less than is a little span.
Just as a Bird when as it takes its flight
From off the owners hand, is out of sight.
Our present time is as a fading flower,
A flying minute, or a running hour.
The time to come, after the present's fled,
Uncertain is, next Sun may see us dead.
Lord, in this hour, oh, make me sure of thee,
Lest in the next I miss Felicitie.

On St. Peter's Enlargement.

When the good Angel brought Saint Peter out
From Prison, there was neither noise nor shout
That should for joy awake the Iron-gate,
Yet of its own accord it open'd straight.
But see how all things in their duties vary;
He chang'd his Prison for the house of Mary
Mother of John, yet stood and knock'd at door,
Could not get in, with ease got out before:
The Iron-gate obedience understood,
Yet he found opposition by the Wood.
Easie the answer is, There no man was
The Gate to open, or to guard the pass;
But as in course it usual was before,
A Portress was design'd to wait the door.
God would not shew his finger where the hand
Of man impower'd was to bear command.
Lord, should a wooden Obstacle increase,
Or be a bar unto our hopes of Peace,
An arm of flesh might set a Peter free
Without those Miracles are wrought by thee:
But shou'dst thou leave us, Lord, do what we can,
We cry, Alas! Vain is the help of man.
To God alone all glory be ascrib'd:
Jaylors extort, but God cannot be brib'd.

The Soul's Search.

Like weeping Mary, holy sorrow lays
Wait for the Lord, and seeks him divers ways:
And Saving Faith, like wrestling Jacob, finds
Its Saviour out, and firmly to him binds.
Like the devoted Spouse, so fervent love
Doth dwell with Christ, not thinking to remove,
This brings the Soul to Pastures fresh and green,
And leads it to the Chamber of the Queen.
Hereafter Christ the blessed Soul doth bring
To the Cœlestial-chamber of the King:
So that to lodge with Christ and view his face,
Is the perfection of eternal Grace.
Lord, oh my Soul doth love no other he:
I sought, have found, and thirst to dwell with thee.

On Prosperity.

If wicked men in Gold and Silver shine,
Should I at their Prosperity repine?
When I indeed behold their spreading Bay,
And view their Quails, methinks I'm apt to say,
They happy are; but 'tis when I forget
Their shining-sun doth with a twinkle set:
For when into God's Sanctuary I
Once place my foot, I easily descry
That all the Blossoms of their splendid Glory
Are as dull shadows, meerly momentory;
The scum of Vanity, a useless froth,
Blasted with one breath of Almighty wrath;
External Pleasures, on which they rely,
Fill up the measures of their misery.
Like the deceitful Salute Joab gave
To Amasa; so all their great and brave
Bespangled Honour mounts them up in Vice,
Only to cast them from a precipice:
Or like the Mule of Absalom, doth bear
Them to the Gallows, and so leaves them there.
Like Jaels present in a lordly dish,
It seems to pleasure the luxurious wish;
But in the end, when sensual Lusts prevail,
The dire conclusion shews a fatal nail;
And very frankly chalketh out the way
For a sad Summons to the Judgment-day.
Thus their Prosperity doth first betray
With tempting smiles, and in conclusion slay.
As a poor Ox in fatning Pasture feeds
To day, the next he's singled out, and bleeds.
What envy will at Malefactors flie,
Because the day is fair wherein they die?
Why doth Iniquity in Glory flourish,
In Pastures large? it only is to nourish
Them for the slaughter. Hear the sum of all;
Experience tells it, Pride will have a fall.
For Mediocrity bent Agur's art;
He knew Prosperity doth swell the heart.

On Humility.

Nosce teipsum hard is to be learn'd;
A mans own faults are not with ease discern'd.
The faults of other men are writ in Text,
Easie to read, when ours are not annext.
The eye that's fixt on Natures choicest shelf,
Can all things see, yet not behold it self.
Presumptuous Confidence goes bleeding home,
When humble Fear triumphantly doth come.
Great Alexander would be deifi'd,
Confess'd himself a man, his blood espi'd.
The humble man, within another minds
All things are excellent; but when he finds
He doth decline in Vertue, noble Elf,
He is the first that shall condemn himself.
His eyes are full of his continual want,
Sees others worth, and grieves himself is scant.
When he hath but a mite of his deserts,
Others he magnifies. Thus he imparts
His generosity to famous use,
Whilst others do repay him with abuse.
From pride and malice none is more exempt;
Asham'd of honour, values no contempt.
Violet-like, he grows low to the ground,
That hides its head with leaves; and he is found
Like that, with fragrant smells which so bewray
That his own Vertues do his Worth betray.
In his Discourse he never flies aloft;
His words are few, and those few words are soft.
Modestly speaking, not self-glorious,
Nor peremptory, nor censorious.
Because he thinks all other men more wise,
Corrects himself by his own modest eyes.
When his Devotions do the time beguile,
He makes himself a nothing, wretched, vile;
Doth no man emulate: if understood,
He hates none but himself, because not good.
A mite of Comfort doth his wants supply;
And none more patient when in misery,
Because he knows that his deserts are such,
That having sin'd, cannot be plagu'd too much.
He a low Valley is, and planted sweet,
Where fresh and fragrant Odours often meet;
And like the proud mans earth is trampled on,
Though full of wealthy Mines; a pretious stone
Fit for foundation-work, not plac'd aloof,
God's holy Temple built with lowly roof.
Camomile-like, and Palm-tree, when deprest,
Doth higher rise, wearied to take his rest.
Zacheus from the Sycamore came down,
And that descension made the Lord his own.
'Tis not the Proud that do in Christ believe,
Not Lofty, but the Humble him receive.
Fruitfullest Trees do in the Valleys grow,
And thrive the better for their being low:
When taller Trees an interruption finde,
By the strong blast of a contagious winde:
Yet the tall Tree hangs down its head, to say,
For this God made me, and I do obey.
The humble man considers Earth's his Womb,
And then remembers Earth must be his Tomb.
Unto Humility God's Grace is given,
Who with that Grace a Ladder makes to Heaven.

On Vice.

When on a Journey, and am weary grown,
I finde an Inne within some Country-town,
And have observ'd, numbers of Guests do come
First to the Chamberlain to shew a Room;
Perhaps one Chamber doth contain them all,
Yet on the Chamberlain doth each man call:
One to the Table bids him straight attend,
Another doth him to the Window send,
A third unto the Chimney must be led,
A fourth would be conducted to his bed,
A fifth man sends him down for Glass or Cup,
And e're he's down, another calls him up.
Thus he's distracted with a sudden moyl,
Scarce can please all, though tired with his toyl.
Such is the sad condition of my Soul;
In what a cloud of crosses it doth rowl!
By Nature I am born a wretched twin;
To sorrow servant, and a slave to sin.
Unto the Window I am call'd by Pride,
Gluttony next pretends to be my Guide.
By Laziness I'm to the Chimney led,
By Wantonness I'm finely brought to bed.
Ambition calls me up, but I am grown
So covetous, more profit calls me down.
Vices, I see, themselves do contradict;
'Tis only Vertue that doth Vice convict.
Free me, O Lord, from this distracted case:
Vertue it self is Vice, unless thou place
It in a centre, like it self to shine;
A servant unto sin cannot be thine:
For In thy service perfect freedom is:
Sin is a slavery, a dark abyss.
Satan deludes the Soul to acts obscure;
But The commandments of the Lord are pure.
Vice is at best but a diseased Whore
Splendidly painted, making fools adore.

On God's presence.

Heaven it is, ever to be with God;
Without him is in Hell to take abode.
You that in Christ no beauty can behold,
Nor Heavens glory, dare you be so bold
As not to think they all things do excel?
Or can you not behold the flames of Hell?
If in God's presence you do not delight,
Oh, tremble at his absence. If your flight
Be at a distance, as if you did doubt him,
Consider well, and fear to be without him.
Lord, thou my Heaven art, my God, my Guide,
My wedded Husband; and my Soul's thy Bride.

On Hypocrisie.

The Hypocrite, with his deceitful eye,
Doth serve the Devil in God's Livery;
And therefore to the Lord so well is known,
Both Earth and Heaven doth his craft disown.
Man sees his Livery and cunning Art,
And hateth him; but God doth view his heart,
And hates him too. Men see his outward Zeal,
For which they do deride him. He, like steel,
Grows strong and stubborn, pleas'd with his own case,
Though God and Man do both abhor his face:
So that he in a Wilderness doth rove,
And never doth become a Canaan's Dove.
The sum of all his labours doth at last
Consume with the Almighty's dreadful blast:
And a dire doom, when he at Judgment stands,
Who hath required these things at your hands?
He that so cunningly did others cheat,
Took greatest pains his own Soul to defeat:
He steals his own Damnation, and can tell
(For he with sweat hath found) the way to Hell.
So that the Sinner openly prophane,
And Hypocrite, as they together reign
On Earth, although in different degrees,
They both at last lament their little ease.
Only two ways they finde unto their fate,
One steals to Hell thorow the Postern-gate,
The other keeps the open beaten Road;
But both at last in Tophet make abode.
Hypocrites habit is Formality;
But, Lord, cloath me with thy Sincerity.
Perhaps men may not of my state approve;
It matters not, so I obtain thy love.
Saints here but labour to peruse their story,
When they arrive to their eternal Glory.

On Pleasures.

In all things an immoderated use
Breeds a distate; and man, when grown profuse,
Doth glut himself with Pleasure: He that's wise
Esteems them chiefly for their novelties.
The pleasure of the body gives relief
No otherwise than adding grief to grief.
When Jupiter (as ancient Poets fain)
With all his might and art could not attain
Two great Antagonists to reconcile,
Pleasure and Sorrow, having paus'd a while
He took an Adamantine Chain, with that
Bound them together, so that then they sat
As fixt Companions: They that were unstable
But just before, were made inseparable.
Affection propagates our Pleasures growth;
Vertue's an Antidote against them both.
Pleasure is the Adulterate brat of Sense,
So very fading, she cannot dispence
To last while Artists shall her Picture frame,
And therefore Memory preserves her name.
All those delights that do the Senses please,
Are one days age, an Ephemerides.
What excellence may that be said to be,
Which the most excellent (as dangers) flee?
Time with the Pleasures of this World is spilt,
Full of the stain of sin, and sting of guilt.
Hannibal his honour lost, and duty,
Being entangled with a womans beauty.
Antonius his Cleopatra had;
Both were most valiant Captains: but the sad
Effects of Lust did like a Cloud o'recast
All their Atchievements, and their labours blast.
Lust is the bane of Kingdoms: done alone,
It would more common be than any one
Of all those Vices that corrupt the eye;
Heathens the first place give to Piety.
And Trismegistus this assertion brings,
Religion is the ground of publick things.
God did not cast man out of Paradise,
That man might make another by advice.
Be therefore wary, during time and leisure,
'Tis dangerous to take delight in Pleasure:
For 'tis a Syren doth deceive us all;
It gives us dainties, but they're mix'd with gall.
The Pitch and Tar of Sin so close do cleave,
That Pleasure waiteth only to deceive.
Riches seem pleasant things to banish Care,
But are at best but an intangling Snare.
Our Meat and Drink, when taken with excess,
Breaks forth to Surfeitings and Drunkenness.
Silver and Gold seem pleasant things, yet they,
Like thieves, from God do steal our hearts away.
That man that loveth pleasure shall be poor;
But God's right hand hath pleasures evermore.

On an Hour-Glass.

As I in haste did through a Chamber pass,
I had almost destroy'd a Christal Glass.
With fear affrighted, I too soon believ'd
That I had broke it; thereupon I griev'd.
But how much time more pretious than that sand
Have I neglected? and with ready hand
Pursu'd my folly, being round beset
With sins, yet I not thinking of regret.
Though that but Christal, I my self condemn,
But minde not Time, though every hour's a gem.
The thought of breaking that did me affright;
The other's minded not, though lost outright.
That were but casual, if it had been done;
But with consent my pretious Time hath flown.
A better Hour-glass may be had for cost,
But Time ill-spent is once and ever lost:
For toys our griefs can finde a certain leisure,
But have no vent for an unvalued treasure.
Lord, let that Hour-glass for its service win me,
(Not that stands by me, but) shall be within me.
Teach me to number so my days, that I,
Right soon, my heart to wisdome may apply.

Salve for the Sick.

Whenas some sharp Disease shall visit me,
I fear, with pain, I shall impatient be:
For I am Cholerick by nature made,
By temper tender, apt to be afraid;
And such a stranger unto sickness am,
'Twould prove a Lions conquest o're a Lamb.
O whither will my minde with wavering sail,
When a Disease shall over me prevail?
O whither will my giddy fancy stride,
When a Distemper's the unstable Guide?
Wilde-fire will sit upon my burning tongue,
When with a Feaver every Sense is stung.
Wherefore, O Lord, if it disclose my shame,
Let it give no dishonour to thy Name.
Teach me the Art of Patience whilst I'm well,
That when grown sick, that Vertue may excel.
In that day let me not assistance lack;
Lighten my burthen, or improve my back,
In God I'll trust when Life hath spun its length;
For In the Lord is everlasting strength.

On Perfection.

In Humane life there no perfection can
Be said to be an attribute of man.
Lust and the Senses have a constant Jar;
The Flesh and Spirit do maintain a War
Against each other: man may make his moan,
He perfect is in Imperfection.
None but the Lord that Badge of Honour wears;
But man may gain it with his Prayers and Tears;
Cannot enjoy it here, but he must fly
Where it is crowned with Felicity.
They are Cœlestial plants or flowers, both
Of Paradise, not of Terrestrial growth.
The best in this his Pilgrimage doth hault,
Like Jacob with one leg, 'tis Natures fault.
Though we have many tongues, as Paul, are apt
To climb like him, till i'th' third Heaven wrapt;
Though we, with Moses, have in Egypt sought
For all the Learning the Egyptians taught;
Though we (as Ezra did) should understand;
Each Article of every Command.
Within the Law of God. Though eloquent
In Scripture as Apollos, we indent
Too far with Sin and Satan, that our care
Hath no perfection, but a perfect snare.
We are but Scholars here, to use our Arts
In pious duties to improve our parts.
The clearest Christian hath some soil or spot:
Noah with Drinking did himself besot.
Peter with Perjury eclips'd his fame:
And with Dissimulation Abraham.
With loud Contention Paul and Barnabas.
The Psalmist truly doth express the case:
The sons of men are so profusely prone,
None perfect are, nor none good, no not one.
The Vertue that a just man hath, doth lie
In Pious works, and in Humilitie.
The Author to the Hebrews quotes the name
Of many Worthies blemish'd in their fame.
Gideon an Ephod made, and that let in
Idolatry; he Israel made to sin:
Had many Wives, to nourish his designe
Of Lust, and with those Wives a Concubine.
Barak, although a Souldier, waxed faint.
Sampson, a strong and a couragious Saint,
Defil'd himself with Strumpets. Wretched fate
Made Jepthe rash and inconsiderate.
David was tainted with two horrid sins,
Murther, Adultery, as if two twins
Or brethren; both have his great honour checkt.
Samuel observ'd his Children with neglect.
No Prince or Prophet but his weakness had,
Virtues have opposites in things are bad;
Yet they were men that did with God accord,
And were most highly honour'd by the Lord;
Faithful to God, obedient to his Law:
That Chrystal perfect is that hath no flaw.
Shew me a Garden that's without its weeds,
I'll yield man perfect by his words and deeds.
Yet let us not upon their errours play;
The Righteous man offendeth every day:
And if the righteous scarcely can be sav'd,
It plainly shews whole Nature is deprav'd.
Wouldst thou of a Perfection have thy share,
Repent, like them; for now they perfect are.

On a Rose-tree.

'Twas in September I observ'd a Tree
That then bore Roses; stranger 'twas to me.
Others of like kind round about it grew,
Yet all were barren, and those not a few.
The Gardner kindly did the reason give:
In May 'twas closely clipt, that it might thrive,
And bud in Autumn. Lord, had I been kept
Curb'd in my tender years, whenas I slept
Secure from punishment, my life had been
Grey in its Youth, and when grown aged, Green.
He that intends to win the happy Race,
Must learn in tender years to grow in Grace.

The Christians Alphabet.

An Angel good Satan himself can make;
But the Apostles true, bid men beware.
Christ had his Paul the drowsie to awake,
Daring even Death it self; such was his care.
Earnest in zealous works, did sharply tast
Fortunes ill will in stripes of cruel measure;
Great was his troubles: he did oft forecast
Honour for God, in counting Death his treasure.
In Prisons frequent, from the sight o'th' Sun;
Kill'd oftentimes, and yet he did revive;
Lashes five times he had forty save one;
Menacing terms did frequently receive.
Night and day in the deep, and shipwrack'd thrice;
Once was he ston'd, and three times beat with rods;
Perils came often; cold he was as Ice;
Quips oftner came than did his days by odds.
Render he did his thanks to God for all,
Such was his holy love and fervent Zeal,
Though first he was a persecuting Saul,
Undoing such as bless'd the Commonweal.
Wreaths crown his head because he was a Tree
Xactly good, too pretious for the flames,
Yielding such fruit as few have born but he;
Zealous for Heaven, where he in Glory reigns,
& so his Losses turn'd to be his Gains.

On Christ's Death.

An Hymn.

By St. Ambrose and St. Augustine.

Our tongues, O God, thy praise record;
We thee confess our Soveraign Lord.
To thee, Eternal Father, all
Who dwell on Earth, do prostrate fall.
To thee the Angels at all hours;
To thee the Heavens and heav'nly powers;
To thee with voice incessantly
The Seraphins and Cherubs cry,
Thou Holy, Holy, Holy one
Of Sabbath, Lord and God alone:
Fill'd is the Earth, the Heavens, the Skie,
With glory of thy Majesty.
The bless'd Apostles glorious Quire,
The Prophets whom thou didst inspire,
And all the White-rob'd Martyrs sing
Eternal praise to thee their King.
The holy Church does loudly sound
Thy blessed Name throughout the round
Of the whole Earth, confessing thee
Father of boundless Majestie.
The same is dutifully done
To thy sole Venerable Son:
And to the Holy Ghost that arms
The Soul with consolating Charms.
Thou, Christ, hast Kingly Glories won,
Thy Father's dear Eternal Son.
Thou, man to free from endless pain,
A Virgins womb didst not disdain.
That death subduing, didst unlock
Heav'ns Realms unto thy faithful Flock.
On God's right hand thou sit'st as bright
As in thy Father's radiant light.
Our Judge to come thou art esteem'd;
Thy servants therefore help, redeem'd
With thy most precious blood, and make
Us, with thy Saints, of Bliss partake.
Lord, save thy people in distress,
Thy Heritage vouchsafe to bless;
Rule and exalt them without end.
Our dayly blessings thee attend.
Thy glorious Name we magnifie
From age to age, eternally.
This day, sweet Lord, we now are in,
Preserve us from committing sin.
Have mercy on us, Lord, efface
Our sins with thy Cœlestial grace.
Let mercy on us, Lord, be seen
As in thy self our hopes have been.
Lord, I have fix'd my hopes on thee,
Then let me ne're confounded be.

On Christ's Cross.

The Cross.

The Emblem of Humility
Express'd in him, did on it die.
To it was nail'd the God of Life,
Who di'd in Love to end our Strife.
God had one Son who had no sin,
But all his Sons have crossed bin.

The Resurrection.

He's risen now, behold, the stone is gone
Which late was rolled to inclose the Son.
Had the weak Jews so little wit or grace
To trust to that, when he fills ev'ry place?
Earth is his foot-stool, yet he dwells on high;
Holy his Name, himself's Eternity.

The Ascention.

How nimbly, and with what a quick ascent
Heaven was scal'd by the Omnipotent!
But one days speedy journey; surely then
Sinners are sots, that won't be happy men.

An Adoration to the Lord of the Sabbath.

Of God.

He is the Author of the Worlds Creation,/Foundation.
The great and mighty Judge of mans Salvation,/Damnation.
The glorious Lord, and only God Above,/Of Love.
That both to men and Angels is—A God,/A Rod.
He did the World create, and by his hand
Or word, Foundations laid of Sea and Land;
Can save or damn, as he doth best approve;
Will be our God, or Rod, as we shall love.
Thou that canst hold the Winds within thy fist,
Have mercy on us, oh, thou God in Christ.

Of Christ.

He it is that gives us Peace,/Increase.
He to poor Souls cries, I'm your Jesu,/I.E.S.U.
He it is that is our Good,/Food.
The Saints with him do trust their Treasure,/Pleasure.
He it is can end our Life,/Strife.
He it is that gives us Breath,/Death.
He is to us a Judge and King,/Sting.
He is our Peace, Increase; our Jesu, and
An Ease to those that wait on his Command.
Our Good, our Food; our Treasure, and our Joy;
Our Life, to see no Strife shall us annoy.
He gives us Breath, can give us Death, as King,
And unto death he is become a Sting.
He punish can, or help us in our thrall;
For Christ is God's, and God is all in all.
Wouldst farther know what God is, silly Elf,
Go study first to be a God thy self.

God is Love.

The Remembrance.

Of Death.

O Death, forbear, I yet must live:
Stay, Death, till God your Warrant give,
And then where you see best, this heart
Most willing is to feel your Dart.
But, Lord, O let thy servants breath
Preserv'd be from the sting of Death.

Of Grief.

The tears come slowly, Lord, my sins remain:
O sting my shallow fords, and make them rain
Rivers of waters; or, if so thou please,
Send daring death my sorrows to decrease.
My grief is great, 'tis time to rise or fall;
Then cleanse me, Lord, from sin, and ease my thrall,
That I may say, O, death, where is thy sting?
And tell the world, The sting of death is sin.

A Christian and Death.

A Dialogue.

Chr.
Come, valiant Death, and welcome, do thy worst;
Shew me the power thou claimst, as being King.

Dea.
Poor mortal, know, alas, thou art but dust,
And I the Sexton that thy Knell must ring.

Chr.
Away, lean, half-starv'd wretch, go daunt a fool;
Think not to fright me with, Thy glass is run.

Dea.
Thou art my Scholar, therefore come to School;
Delays but waste that time which might be gone.

Chr.
Thou seemst a Student, for thou lookst so poor,
That Famine in thy face I plainly read.

Dea.
Come, silly wretch, you word it must no more;
See here's thy Glass, thy Doom, and thou art dead.

Chr.
Then boldly strike, thou dost the body kill,
My Soul shall wait upon its Master's will.

Dea.
Lie there, proud dust, all flesh is born to die.

Chr.
This is the Road unto Eternitie.

The Altar.

A broken A L T A R Lord, to thee I raise,
Made of a Heart, to celebrate thy praise:
Thou that the onely Workman art,
That canst cement a broken heart.
For such is mine,
O make it thine:
Take out the Sin
That's hid therein.
Though it be Stone,
Make it to groan;
That so the same
May praise thy Name.
Melt it, O Lord, I thee desire,
With Flames from thy Cœlestial fire;
That it may ever speak thy Praise alone,
Since thou hast changed into Flesh a Stone.

Death, Man, and Grave.

A Dialogue.

Death.
Come down, proud Lust.

Man.
To what? to Dust?

Grav.
I that you must,
and shall.

Man.
Thou thing of bones.

Grav.
That fetcheth groans,

Death.
From very stones,
and all.

Man.
From Dust I came.

Grav.
Thou must again.

Death.
Sin is thy bain
and thrall.

Man.
That's thee: away

Death.
With mortal Clay:

Grav.
Why do you stay?
you must.

Death.
Come, leave your groans.

Man.
To go with bones?

Grav.
You must go once,
poor dust.

Death.
Nay, do not frown.

Man.
Away rude Clown.

Death.
I'll strike thee down,
proud lust.

Man.
Then I submit; forbear your storms
Seeing I must return a Guest
To my Acquaintance old, the worms,
Farewel, fond World, I'll take my rest.

Grav.
I have a Charm will make you sleep;
And all you have you here may trust:
For Watchmen, not a few, I keep,
The harmless Worms, that are so just.
With care they do befriend him
That cometh here within this path.
Thus man one world of servants hath,
And when he on his Death-bed lies,
Another doth attend him.

Nature's Delight.

Of Flesh.

All Flesh is Grass, doth therefore rot.
For why?
Can man be born to live, and not
to die?
'Tis happiness to leave this life
and world,
And have our names, where joys are rife,
enroll'd.
The dead ne're fear what Death can do:
his blast
Will come no more; for why? that wo
is past.
Then to the Soul appeareth Love
and Joy:
For God will not his Turtle-Dove
destroy.
Then though a Torch-light here, 'tis better far
To be put out, and after rise a Star.

The Grave.

Though Clay, my Cottage is secure:
Princes do dwell with me;
And my foundations do endure
for aye.
Death waits on me, and with his dart
Sends me the stoutest he,
And, Champion-like, commands the heart
to stay.
Then be he Rich, or be he Poor,
A Spark, or else a Clown,
They lie together on the floor,
and so
They sleep as if they lay upon
The softest Bed of Down.
Troubles are fled, and Griefs are gone:
for though
The Body naked in the cold Earth lies,
The Soul sings Hallelujahs 'bove the Skies.

An Infant.

The Candle.

Like as vain man I downward grow,
My life is ever wasting;
I fall by fire, still waxing low,
As man did fall by tasting.
My house of Tallow doth decrease,
And I that am but Cotten,
Within one hour live and decease,
Am in the next forgotten.
O Lord, pour Oyl into my Lamp
To light me to thy home,
That when it shall extinguish't be,
I may a Star become.

The Ant.

Although a creature small,
yet all
My labour, pains, and care
('tis rare)
Is in the Summer to provide
Against the Cold and Winter-tide.
And though so small, yet I
an eye
Can have to things: for when
weak men
Waste time in Feasts and Riot,
I study for my Diet.
Idleness breeds Distempers, Povertie,
Gives room for Sin; ye Sluggards, learn of me.

The Thanksgiving.

Come, let's adore the gracious hand
That brought us to this light,
That gave his Angels strict command
To be our Guard this night.
When we laid down our weary heads,
And sleep seal'd up our eye,
They stood and watch'd about our beds,
To let no harm come nigh.
Now we are up, they still go on,
And guide us through the day;
They never leave their charge alone,
Whate're besets our way.
And, oh my Soul, how many snares
Lie spread before our feet?
In all our hopes, in all our cares,
Some dangers still we meet.
Sometimes the sin does us o'retake,
And on our weakness win;
Sometimes our selves our ruine make,
And we o'retake the sin.
O save us, Lord, from all those darts
That seek our Souls to slay;
Save us from us, and our false hearts,
Lest we our selves betray.
Save us, O Lord, to thee we cry,
From whom all Blessings spring;
We on thy Grace alone rely,
Alone thy glory sing.
Glory to thee, eternal Lord,
Thrice blessed Three in One,
Thy Name at all times be ador'd,
Till time it self be done.

Antiphon.

A Dialogue in three parts.

Chor.
Thanks be to the Lord on high,

Angels.
That gave his Son

Men.
For us to die.

Chor.
He that is the holy One,

Ang.
Lov'd us of old,

Men.
For us was sold.

Chor.
He that is the God of might

Men.
Made us of Dust,

Ang.
For us did fight.

Chor.
He that is the God most just

Ang.
Set us aright,

Men.
To us gave light.

Chor.
He that made the Heavens, Earth,

Men.
And all therein,

Ang.
He is more worth;

Chor.
He it is that knew no sin,

Ang.
Yet suffered death

Men.
To give us breath.

Chor.
Blessed he hung on the Cross

Men.
For our great gain,

Ang.
But his own loss.

Chor.
He that heal'd the Blinde and Lame,

Ang.
Yet sought as thief

Men.
For our relief.

Chor.
He that died with a kiss,

Men.
From wretched man,

Ang.
Is now in Bliss.

Chor.
He that can the Heavens span,

Men.
And do much more,

Ang.
Him we adore.

Chor.
He that was bound to Herod sent,

Men.
And spit upon,

Ang.
He is our Tent.

Chor.
He that melteth hearts of stone,

Ang.
With us doth stand,

Men.
Doth us command.

Chor.
He that pardon can our sin

Ang.
Hath broke our snare,

Men.
But we fall in.

Chor.
He with whom none can compare,

Men.
He gave us eyes,

Ang.
He made us rise.

Chor.
He was scourg'd with heavy lash,

Men.
For us lost blood,

Ang.
And us did wash.

Chor.
He it is that is the good

Men.
Great God alone,

Ang.
Heaven's his Throne.

Chor.
He that wore a Crown of Thorns,

Men.
That doth us keep,

Ang.
And us adorns.

Chor.
He the Shepherd of the Sheep,

Ang.
Our choicest stock,

Men.
Our only rock.

Chor.
Praise him then that did us make,

Men.
Doth us defend,

Ang.
And us did take.

Chor.
Bless his Name, World without end,

Men.
For his great love

Ang.
To us above.
Angels and Men, praise ye the Lord for aye;
Oh, all ye Nations praise the Lord, and say,
Amen.

The Bible.

The Dream.

I Dreamt my Death was but a sleep,
My Grave and Bed both one;
And when the morning forth did peep,
Life came, and Death was gone.
Since so it is, that none can be
Asleep but such as die,
O Lord, I'll sleep to all but thee,
And make my bed on high.

The Beatitudes.

Of Angels.

My Soul, in thy Devotions always say,
O God, my God, Lord, hear me when I pray:
Let not or Saint or Angel, though sublime,
Share of that honour which is due to him:
For if you give not God your Heart, your All,
You Cæsar rob, to pay your Tythes to Paul.
Nor ought we to the Saints to shew neglect,
As if the objects of our disrespect.
Dives in his distress cry'd out for water
To Abraham a Saint: It is no matter,
We know what Dives was, and will forbear
To follow him that ran into a snare.

Of Christ's Passion.

From Circumcision to the hour of death,
Alas sad fate!
Christ's Passions still kept even with his breath,
Such was his state.
He first was in a Manger wrap'd,
In dangers nurs'd, and often scap'd.
As he of Graces had the richest store,
So likewise he
Of Tears, of Sweat, of Blood, and yet much more,
Could not be free:
For Emulation then was understood;
As now it is, 'twas dangerous to be good.
And he that seeks for Peace 'mong men,
Shall finde it—But the Lord knows when.

On St. Paul's Conversion.

So shin'd that glorious Sun upon this Saint,
That falling down he did both fear and faint.
It was the Light of God that shin'd, whose weight
Might sorely press, coming from such a height;
Encompass'd round, so that he could not flee
From that same voice, why persecutest thou me?
From that same date St. Paul's Conversion came,
And he grew Master of a shining Fame.

On Christ's Praying.

Christ in the Garden prays, enclos'd with Trees,
And earnestly importunes on his knees,
That Cup might pass; but see his Son-like skill
In praying, Father, if it be thy will.
From whence I learn the duty of a Son,
It is to say, Father, thy will be done.

On Honour and Valour.

Honour and Valour being once at strife,
Which should atchieve most glory in their life,
Honour did much, went on, would not give o're,
Valour flew boldly on, and did much more.
The World's uncertain; Honour he was beat,
Yet Valour's head must serve for Honour's seat.

On Tinder.

To Tinder like,
each strike
That Satan gives
My Soul receives.
With ev'ry Match
a Catch,
My Soul does get
When he doth hit.
Hereafter I
will flie
Temptations all,
so shall
My Voice be rightly tun'd, and apt to say,
I'll worship none but God, and him obey.

The Litany.

On St. Michael the Archangel.

We praise thee, Christ, among the quires
Of Angels, who thy voice obey,
That art the life of Heart-desires,
Thy Father's Power and shining Ray.
Whole myriads of heav'nly Peers
Fight for thy cause in close aray:
But Michael, who thy Standard bears,
The Cross of Safety does display.
He the pernicious Dragon threw
Into the flames of Hell's Abyss;
The Captain with his Rebel-Crew,
He thundred from Cœlestial Bliss.
Under this Prince let's every one
Against Pride's Captain combat so,
As that the Lamb may from his Throne
Crown Glories upon us below.
To God the Father, God the Son,
And to the Holy Ghost in Heaven,
As hitherto it hath been done,
Let Glory evermore be given.

Oppositions.

God is light, and sin is dark;
God lives above, and sin beneath;
God is just, but sin's a Shark;
God is Life, and sin is Death;
God is Heaven, sin is Hell;
God is fair, and sin is foul;
God saves many that rebel;
Sin's Damnation to the Soul.
Adam in Paradise did stand,
Angels in Heaven by God's command;
But sin doth, with a gilded Dart,
Not only tempt, but wound the heart.
God doth entreat the Soul by love,
Sin with deceit the Soul doth move.
Sin laid the corner-stone in Hell;
Sin made this World a Monster swell.
In all to God 'tis flatly opposite,
It wants the good of Vertue and of Light.

On Thoughts.

Still I am thinking thoughts that are not good,
They are as common as my food,
And do increase like Beans in mud,
As thick as any Wood.
Suppose I harbour some that do no ill,
Nor yet no good, they hurt, when fill
To little purpose, lying still,
And such a hurt may kill.
When I am praying to the Lord my God,
They often on my Prayers have trod;
And when I hope'd to scape the rod,
My sins have still abode.
The reason sure why I am thus possest
With such a bold unwelcome guest,
(Unto my shame be it confest)
It is because his Nest,
With my consent before, was builded there,
Who now lies lurking like a Bear,
Watching my sinful Soul to tear,
When once got in his snare.
Lord, be my Surgeon, heal my wounded heart,
And give me grace, that by that Art
I may devise a Bolt or Dart
To cause such thoughts depart.
For with repentant tears it is confest,
Thou art a help to men opprest;
When we are most of all distrest,
Thou art our chiefest rest.
With fervent Zeal unto thy aid we flee,
Thou art our Rest; Truly our hope's in thee.

On Repentance.

On the Day of Judgment.

Ah, come it will, that dreadful day,
Which shall the World in Ashes lay.
As David and the Sibyl both could say.
How men will tremble and grow pale
When Justice comes with Sword and Scale,
To weigh the faults, and sort the fates of all!
A Trumpet first shall rend the Skies,
And all, whereever laid, must rise,
And come unto the Bar in Pris'ners guise.
Nature and Death amaz'd will stand
To see each one rebodied, and
Brought to reply himself to each demand.
A written Book lie open shall,
Containing each ones Charge; and all
By those grand Evidences stand or fall.
Then sits the Judge himself, and tries;
No shifting from All-seeing eyes,
Nor scaping seen, whoe're deserves it dies.
Oh then poor I! what shall I do?
Which Friend or Patron take me to,
When Saints themselves are scarce secure from wo?
Dread Lord, to thee thy self run I,
Who sav'st the sav'd without a why,
And so mayst me, thou source of Clemencie.
Think, who did once thy pity move,
And drew thee from thy Throne above,
Cast me not off at last, thy former Love.
Thou tir'dst thy self in seeking me,
And for my sake di'dst on a Tree;
Let not in vain such pangs and labour be.
True, thou hast dealt thy mercies home,
Yet acts of grace mayst deign to some
At least, before that day of Reckoning come.
I guilty am e're thou me try,
My looks and blushes me descry;
But Mercy, Lord, O Lord, do not deny.
Thou, who didst once a Magd'len spare,
And of a Thief condemn'd took'st care,
Bidst me, by these examples, not despair.
Not that my Prayers ought can claim,
But thou art good, be still the same,
That wretched I burn not in endless flame.
When from the Goats thou shalt divide
Thy Sheep, let me with thee abide,
Plac'd in Eternal Bliss, on thy right side:
And then (those great Assizes done,
The Curs'd to flames tormenting thrown)
Say, Come ye blessed, meaning me for one.
Lord, this I beg on bended knee,
With heart contrite as ashes be,
That thou take care both of my end and me.

On Sighs and Groans.

Knots.

On Age.

The Painter's Pencil sure must go astray
In painting to the life a lump of Clay,
Who does but seem to live, dies every day.
How can he lively paint a man that hath
The cold effigies in his face of Death?

On Man and Wife.

Silence and Patience are the Twins that make
Concord 'twixt Couples never to forsake.
A Husband good in Words ought to be wise,
In Conversation wary, hating lies:
Careful Provision ought he to provide.
In ordering circumspect, a careful Guide;
A Father, Master, and a Friend beside.
The good Wife, when abroad she should be grave,
Discreet in governing at home, and have
Patience to bridle Passions when they move,
Learning her Husband to obey and love:
Kinde to her Neighbours, courteous unto all;
Careful of Children, be they great or small.
But chiefly herein there should be no flaws,
She should her Husband fear, and he the Laws.

The free Prisoner.

What though a Prisoner I am now?
Time doth allow
Instead of liberty, to walk,
To write, or talk.
What though Distempers make me sicken?
They do me quicken.
My body in confinement lies,
But my Soul flies.
What though by nature I am dumb?
Then I be become
A silent sinner, and my tongue
Doth no man wrong.
Or what although I loose my sight?
Yet if the light
Of Divine Graces shine in me,
My Soul can see
Let sorrows come when God thinks best,
They are my Rest:
For in afflictions 'tis my Psalm,
The Bruise's Balm.
If I'm afflicted in this World,
I am but hurl'd
To Heaven, where all pleasures stand
At God's right hand.
Th'afflictions of this world of care
Cannot compare
To those blest Mansions Christ hath wrought,
And dearly bought.
Dear may I say, because his blood
Is that choice flood
That drowns my sorrows and my grief,
Gives me relief.
Thus all things work together for their good,
That have lov'd God, and for his honour stood.
A Jayl's the centre of this Iron-age,
Yet not my Prison, but mine Hermitage.
He that can boldly dare, yet justly do,
Fortune's his Subject, and his Vassal too.

On Sunday.

The Petition.

Faith's Mystery.

On the Judgment.

On the Pharisee and the Publican.

Two men into the Temple went to pray;
The one a Pharisee, who thus did say,
I thank thee, God, I am no common man,
No unjust person, As this Publican;
Twice in the week I fast from my excess,
And I give tythes of all that I possess.
The humble Publican at distance stood,
With head and eyes dejected, as if food,
Or heavenly Manna then was to be found
Carelessly scatter'd on the dusty ground:
But as in bitterness of Soul distrest,
He with his hand smote on his troubled breast,
Of his Petition this was the beginner,
O God be merciful to me a sinner:
The other shew'd (rather than Zeal) his pride,
But the poor Publican went justifi'd.
God doth delight the proud look to abase,
And on Humility bestows his grace.

To God the Father.

Before the closing of the day,
Creator, we thee humbly pray,
That for thy wonted mercies sake,
Thou us into protection take.
May nothing in our mindes excite
Vain dreams and fantoms of the night.
Our Enemy repress, that so
Our bodies no uncleanness know.
To Jesus, from a Virgin sprung,
Be Glory given, and Praises sung.
The like to God the Father be,
And holy Ghost eternallie.

To God the Son.

Let others take their course,
And sing what Name they please;
Let Wealth or Beauty be their theam,
Such empty sounds as these.
I never will admire
A lump of burnish'd Clay;
For though it shines, it is but dust,
And shall to dust decay.
Sweet Jesus is the Name
My Song shall still adore;
Sweet Jesus is the charming Word
That does my Life restore.
When I am dead in grief,
Or, what is worse, in sin,
I call on Jesus, and he hears,
And I to live begin.
Wherefore, to thee, bright Name,
Behold, thus low I bow,
And thus again; yet is all this
Nothing to what I owe.
Down then, down bow my knees
Still lower to the ground,
While with mine eyes and voice lift up,
Aloud these Lines I sound:
Live Heaven's glorious King,
By Angels bright ador'd;
Live, gracious Saviour of the World,
Our chief and only Lord:
Live, and for ever may
Thy Throne establish'd be;
For ever may all hearts and tongues
Sing Praises unto thee.

To God the Holy Ghost.

Come into us, Holy Ghost,
From thy bright Cœlestial coast,
Send us a resplendant Beam:
Come, thou Father of the Poor,
Come, thou willing Gift-bestow'r,
Come, thou heart-reviving Gleam,
Thou, of Comforters the best,
Thou, the Souls delightful Guest,
A refreshing sweet relief;
Thou in toyl a resting seat,
Temper in excessive heat,
Solace to a Soul in grief.
O thou blessedest of Lights!
Those that love t'observe thy Rites,
With thy self their bosoms fill.
While thou'rt absent, nothing can
Be regardable in man;
Nothing can he act but ill.
What is sordid, mundifie;
Water, what is over-dry:
What is wounded, render sound;
Pliant make what's hard to yield;
Cherish what with Cold is chil'd;
Govern what is vagabond.
In the faithful that confide
In thy mercies, cause reside
All the train of Sev'n-fold Grace,
Give what Vertue's merit is,
Give th'accomplishment of Bliss,
Joys of an eternal Race. Amen.

On the Holy Trinity.

In Sacred sheets of either Testament,
'Tis hard to finde an higher Argument,
More deep to sound, more busie to discuss,
More useful known, unknown more dangerous.

On Christ's Nativity.

Mysterious Miracle! the same should be
A Lamb, a Shepherd, and a Lion too!
Yet so was he
Whom first the Shepherds knew,
And readily became
Sheep to their Shepherd-Lamb.
Shepherd of Angels, Men; and Lamb of God,
Lion of Judah: by these Titles keep
The Wolf from all thy harmless Sheep.
Let the whole World flock to thy Fold,
Jews and Gentiles, may they all come
In multitudes not to be told,
Thy Lambs that wander bring them home.
Glory be to God on high,
Glory to the Deity.

On Christ's Triumph to Jerusalem.

Behold, we stay;
Lord, come away:
Thy Road is ready, and thy Paths made strait,
With languishing expect and wait
The Consecration of thy beauteous feet.
Ride on triumphantly; see, Lord, we lay
Our carnal lusts and wills all in thy way.
Hosanna! welcome to our hearts: Lo here
Thou hast a Temple too, and full as dear
As that of Sion; but more full of sin,
Nothing but Thieves and Robbers dwell therein.
Then enter, Lord, chase them, and cleanse the floore;
Crucifie all, that they may never more
Profane that holy place
Where thou hast chose to set thy face:
And if our stubborn tongues shall be
Mute in the praises of thy Deitie,
The stones from out the Temple-wall
Shall cry aloud and call,
Hosanna! And thy glorious foot-steps greet.

The Shepherds Dialogue.

In three parts.

Chor.
What an Almighty God have we!
Great, great, as is our Miserie.

On Christ's Birth in an Inne.

Bless'd be that Virgin travel'd without pain,
And lodg'd within an Inne,
A splendid Star the signe:
No greater guest did ever come that way;
For therein lay
The glorious Lord of Night and Day,
Who doth o're Heav'n and over Angels reign.
He came i'th' time of great Augustus tax;
All cry'd, He comes
To pay the sums,
Or ransom of our lost Humanitie,
To set us free
From an Impious Emperie
Of Satan, Sin, that then bore sway.
Inspire our Hearts to be thy lodging place;
In each ones brest
Take up thy rest:
Temples are fitter for thee than an Inne,
And let not sin
Profane the Sacred Deity within,
So to defile the Ornaments of Grace.

Of Thoughts.

To think upon the Pow'r of God, doth awe me;
To think upon Gods Justice, doth affright me;
To think upon the Love of God, doth draw me;
To think upon God's Mercy, doth delight me:
To think upon God's Bounty, that doth please me;
To think upon God's Favour, doth endear me;
To think upon God's Goodness, much doth ease me;
To think upon God's Promises, doth chear me.
Thus thinking what I think, doth make me say,
The more I think, the more methinks I may.
Lord, let my thoughts so firmly fixed be,
That I may think on nothing more than thee.

To the Creator.

Divine Creator, bear in minde,
That thou, of our Corporeal kinde
The form didst take, when heretofore
'Twas thee a Sacred Virgin bore,
Bless'd Mary, pre-ordain'd to be
Mother of Grace and Clemencie:
Defend us from our mortal foe,
Receive us when from hence we go.
Jesus, all glory to thy Name,
Born of a Virgin; and the same
To th'Holy Ghost, and Father be,
Through Ages to Eternitie.

The Godly Garden.

A Godly heart's a Garden full of Flowers
Well kept and trim'd, where Herbs of Grace do flourish,
Tears of unfeign'd Repentance are the showers
That kindly do those Herbs refresh and nourish.
Faith is the Prime-rose that doth first appear,
Which being rooted well, stands firm and fast.
Then grows for ev'ry Season of the year,
The choicest Flowers for odour, or for tast.
If Weeds amongst them spring to give offence,
The Gard'ner plucks them up, and casts them thence.
Lord, give me Grace to keep my Garden so,
That nothing there but Herbs of Grace may grow.

The Soul's Alarm.

Awake, my Soul, chase from thine eyes
This drowsie sloath, and quickly rise
Up, and to work apace.
No less than Kingdoms are prepar'd,
And endless Bliss for their reward
Who finish well their race.
'Tis not so poor a thing to be
Servants to Heav'n, dear Lord, and thee,
As this fond World believes;
Not even here, where oft the wise
Are most expos'd to injuries,
And friendless vertue grieves.
Sometimes thy hand lets gently fall
A little drop that sweetens all
The bitter of our Cup:
O what hereafter shall we be
When we shall have whole draughts of thee,
Brim-full, and drink them up!
Say, happy Souls, whose thirst now meets
The fresh and living stream of sweets,
Which spring from that bless'd Throne;
Did you not finde this true, even here?
Do you not finde it truer there,
Now Heaven is all your own?
O yes, the sweets we taste exceed
All we can say, or you can read;
They fill, and never cloy.
On Earth our Cup was sweet, but mix'd,
Here all is pure, refin'd, and fix'd;
All quintessence of Joy.
Hear'st thou, my Soul, what glorious things
The Church of Heav'n in triumph brings
Of their bless'd life above?
Chear thy faint hopes, and bid them live;
All these thy God to thee will give,
If thou embrace his love.
Great God of rich rewards, who thus
Hast crown'd thy Saints, and wilt crown us,
As both to thee belong:
O may we both together sing
Eternal praise to thee, our King,
In one eternal Song.

On Greatness and Goodness.

Greatness is with a strong desire affected,
And often sought with hazard, cost, and pain.
Goodness, of greater worth, is less respected,
Priz'd as a thing both needless is, and vain.
Greatness aspires, and sets it self on high,
While Goodness walks below with humble pace:
The first is follow'd with an Eagle's eye,
The last is thought unworthy of the Chace.
But Greatness seeks that which is transitory,
And Goodness aims at Grace, which leads to Glory,
Lord, let thy Grace my mundane thoughts defeat,
That I may study to be Good, not Great.

The Soul's Yearnings.

My Soul pants towards thee,
My God, Fountain of Light and Life:
Flesh strives with me,
Conclude the strife,
That so in blessed peace I may
Unclay
My Spirit; that done, swiftly take
My flight to thy refreshing Spring,
Where for thy sake,
Who art my King,
I may wash all my griefs away
That day,
And conquer Sin and Death.
Thou great Triumpher o're the Grave,
Whose life and breath
Was spent to save
A wretched World, make me be stil'd
Thy Child;
And grant that when I die
And leave this World, that then my Soul
Above the Skie
Thou wilt enroul,
That in thy arms for ever I,
Even unto Eternity,
May lie.

The Divine Inquest.

Tell me, you bright Stars that shine
Round about the Lambs high Throne,
How though bodies once like mine,
How you are thus glorious grown?
Heark, with one voice they reply,
This was all our happy skill;
We on Jesus fix'd our eye,
And his em'nent followers still.
As we clearly saw their mind
Set and rul'd, we order'd ours;
Both this state alone design'd,
Up towards this strain'd all our pow'rs.
Taught by Temp'rance, we abstain'd
From all less for greater goods;
Slighting little drops, we gain'd
Full, and sweet, and lasting floods.
Arm'd with Fortitude, we bare
Lesser evils, worse do flie;
Mortal Death we durst out-dare,
Rather than for ever die.
Justice we observ'd, by giving
Ev'ry one their utmost due,
That in peace and order living,
All might freely Heav'n pursue.
Prudence govern'd all the rest,
Prudence made us still apply
What was fittest, what was best
To advance great Charity.
On those golden wheels of Grace,
That Love's fiery Chariot bear,
We arriv'd at this bright place;
Follow us and never fear.
O sure Truth, O bless'd Attesters;
O that all the World may prove,
Of both these, such strong digesters,
That both these may feed their love.
Him who made us all for this,
Him who made himself our way,
Him who leads us unto Bliss,
May all praise, and all obey.

The Sinners Tears.

Shed forth apace, and make a Bath
To cure my Soul of sin;
Haste out, for God a bottle hath
To keep ye in.
Every Tear is worth a Crown;
It lifts the Soul to Heav'n,
Supports the same from sinking down
To filthy Leav'n.
They're comfort to the Heart, they're ease,
Embassadors to God,
To beg he may his wrath appease,
And spare his Rod.
They're holy Messengers of Saints,
Sent to him to impart.
They're godly sorrows: each Tear paints
Their grief of heart.
Then flow amain, and weep those fords
Or little Rivers dry,
And when I've vented all my hords,
Then I
Will groan because no longer cry;
And die,
That I may live eternally.

On St. John's day.

Today
Let's sing
Joy to the friend of Heaven's King.
He in his bosom lay,
Secur'd the Keys
Of his profound and hidden Mysteries.
Those to the World dispensed by his hand,
Did make it stand
In admiration to behold that light
Happily came
From the Throne of the Lamb,
And to invite
Our sinful eyes (which nothing else could see
But Fire and Sword, Hunger and Miserie,)
Anticipating by their ravish'd sight
The beauty of Cœlestial delight.
Great Lord of all, O hear me when I pray,
That when my heap of Clay
Shall fall away,
O let thy gracious hand support me up,
That on the Lambs rich Viand I may sup:
And that in this last supper I
May with thy friend in thy rich bosom lie
For ever, to eternitie.

Acknowledgements.

My God, had I my breath from thee,
This hour to speak and sing?
And shall my voice, and shall my song
Praise any but their King?
My God, had I my Soul from thee,
This pow'r to judge and chuse?
And shall my Brain, and shall my Will
Their best to thee refuse?
Alas, not this alone, or that,
Hast thou bestow'd on me;
But all I have, and all I hope,
I have, and hope from thee.
And more I have, and more I hope,
Than I can speak or think;
Thy blessings first refresh, then fill,
Then overflow the brink.
Glory to thee, Immortal God,
O great Co-equal Three:
As at the first beginning was,
May now and ever be.

The Wish.

Oh, that I once were in that City
Where Hallelujah is the Ditty,
Where Contemplation is the Diet;
Sure that's the place where man is quiet.
Oh, that I once were in that Court
Where all good Spirits do resort,
Where Love, and Joy, and Grace abound;
Sure that's the place where man is crown'd.
Oh, that I once could fly the way
From my unfurnish'd house of Clay;
For should my Landlord sue for Rent,
Too late it would be to repent:
But sighs and tears will pay my score;
He's merciful, and asks no more.
Then whilst thy Fountain hath one Tear to yield,
Weep, oh my Soul, and to th'Elizium field
Swim in a River of Repentant Tears;
Thy Rent is paid, and thou art freed from fears.

The Caution.

Open thine eyes, my Soul, and see
Once more the light returns to thee.
Look round about, and chuse thy way
Thou meanst to travel o're to day.
Think on the dangers thou mayst meet,
And always watch thy sliding feet.
Think where thou once hast fall'n before,
Observe the place, and sin no more.
Think on the helps thy God bestows,
Contrive to steer thy life by those.
Think on the sweets thy Soul doth feel
When thou dost well, and do so still.
Think on those pains that shall torment
Those sinners bold that ne're repent.
Think on the joys that wait above,
To crown the head of holy Love.
Think what at last will be thy part,
If thou go'st on where now thou art.
See Life, and Death, set thee to chuse;
One thou must take, and one refuse.
O Lord, be thou my perfect Guide,
So shall I never step aside.
Still make me walk, still make me tend;
Be thee my way to thee my end.
All Glory to the sacred Three,
One undivided Deity:
As it hath been in Ages gone,
May now and ever still be done.

Of Life.

An humane life is but a Play of Passion;
What is man's Mirth but Musick of Division?
Our Mothers Wombs the Tyring-houses be,
To deck us up for Time's short Tragedie:
The World's the Stage; Heav'n the Spectator is,
To sit and judge who'ts doth act amiss:
The Clouds that shade us from the scorching Sun,
Are but drawn Curtains till the Play be done.

The Power of Prayer.

The Sun by Pray'r did cease his course, and staid;
The hungry Lions sawn'd upon their Prey;
A Walled passage through the Sea it made;
From furious fire it banish'd heat away:
It shut the Heav'ns three years from giving Rain;
It open'd Heav'ns, and show'rs pour'd down again.
O may our Pray'rs, dear Lord, approach to thee;
Petitions hear, and then propitious be.
Teach us to praise thy Name with one accord,
That we may sing due praise to thee, O Lord.

God and Cæsar.

Render to Cæsar, and to God, &c.

'Tis God's command we should be just: why then
Let's not wrong him, giving his right to men.
Honour to God it is our due to render,
And Cæsar's due we justly ought to tender.
To both we stand indebted; all we have
Must Cæsar's be, if Cæsar please to crave.
What matter is it? wherein lies the odds?
We all are Cæsar's, Cæsar's all is Gods.

Gabriel and Mary.

The Salutation which the Angel brings,
Imports, that joys come and depart with wings.
Gab.
—Hail, blessed Mary, never cast thy mind
To trace the passage of this pleasing wind.

Mary.
—What voice is this that calls me blessed? when

Gab.
—Stay, wandring thoughts, 'tis I: thou'rt bless'd agen,
Blessed of women.

Mary.
—Oh, I faint, I die.

Gab.
—Eternally thou liv'st: Again, 'tis I;
God hath thee favour'd so, as to entomb
A blessed Saviour in thy blessed Womb.

Mary.
—How shall this be? alas, my Lord, how can
I bear a Childe, that never knew a man,
But am a Virgin pure?

Gab.
—Farther attend:
Of his Dominions there shall be no end.
Thou shalt be shadow'd by the Holy One,
And what thou bearest shall be call'd his Son.

Mary.
—Then, Lord, behold thy Hand-maid, let it be
As thou hast said, All shall be bless'd in me:
That Angels may rejoyce, and Men may sue;
That Devils may believe, and tremble too.

Judeth's Prayer.

Thus lowly on my face, with Sack cloath spread,
To God on high, with Ashes on my head,
I come to pay my Vows; to him alone,
The Lord God of my Father Simeon,
Who with his Sword became a just Revenger
On a (Virginity) polluting stranger.
O Lord, my God, I pray thee bow thine ears
Unto my Pray'rs, accompani'd with tears.
The Widow of Manasses lifts her voice,
Let all that put their trust in thee, rejoyce.
Behold, O God, (though Enemies may smile)
An Israelite in whom there is no guile;
To thee I trust; Experience teacheth well,
They're not all Israel are of Israel.
Th' Assyrians do multiply each hour
With Horse and man; they glory in their pow'r;
They trust in Shield, in Spear, in Bowe, and Sling,
Not knowing thee the Lord, whose breath can bring
Destruction to them all, and lay their Fame
In Ashes; God, the Lord it is thy Name.
Gird me with strength unto the Battel, Lord,
Teach me to manage Holofernes Sword;
Turn thou its edge until, at thy command,
Thy servant Judeth take it in her hand;
Then be my Battel-ax, for, Lord, with thee
I'll Kingdoms ruine, and make Nations flee:
The Horse-man and his Rider shall no more
Isr'el defie; their Captains shall adore
Nebuchadonezor no longer; for thy Rod
Shall make them understand that thou art God.
I, though a widow, have conceiv'd a pow'r;
But my designes lie harbour'd in a Bower
Of pleasing fancies: for, O Lord, at length
I must to thee for Judgment and for Strength.
Let my deceitful lips finde craft to smite
Th' Assyrian Prince, and those in him delight:
Bring down their pride, that they may understand
Thou canst work wonders by a womans hand:
For, Lord, thy power is not bound by scope,
Thou sav'st in dangers when there is no hope;
And in thy Name I'll go, and dare to do,
That those
Thy Foes
Shall fear and tremble too.

Judeth and Holofernes.

Hol.
Be of good comfort, woman, let not fear
Presume to have an habitation here:
I never injur'd any man or thing
That willing was to serve the Earth's chief King.
What now is hapned to thy people, they
By their perverseness have hewn out the way:
But, fairest of your Country, let me know
Whither your wandring Beauty means to go?
And why thou fledst to us, leaving those whom
Dame Nature hath commanded from thy Womb,
Thy name in golden Letters to entomb?

Jud.
Receive the Cause thy Hand-maid shall relate,
Who will resolve in truth the same to state:
Follow the way thy servant shall direct,
And God will thee undoubtedly respect.
As lives Nebuchodonozor thy King,
Who sent thee to support each living thing;
Man shall obedience pay to thee, and all
The Beasts, Fowls of the Air, and Cattel, shall
Live under thy command: for we have hear'd
Thy wisdome makes thine Enemies afeard.
Most true it is, a Sword is not the Rod
Can scourge our Nation, till against their God
They sin: Now Death hath got the upper hand,
Their Meat and Water fail, they're at a stand
What to do next, and do resolve to cause
Some things to be consumed, which the Laws
Of God have held unlawful; Tenths of Oyl
Which was once for the Priests, is now for spoil.
A License from the Senate they expect,
As if that Cloak can cover their neglect:
Now when 'tis brought, they'll doat without delay,
And Justice shall condemn them that same day.
And I thine Hand-maid, knowing this, am fled,
To work such wonders with thee, when they're spread,
Those that shall hear, shall stand astonished.
Thy servant serveth God both day and night,
And is religious, trusting in his might.
Let then thine Hand-maid to the Valley go,
And pray to God, then shall she surely know
The time that they intend to act their sin,
And consequently when thou may'st begin
To seize upon Judea for thine own,
And make their great ones to become as none.
And it shall come to pass that there shall be
Not one shall dare to lift his hand to thee.
Thus will I lead thee through the midst of them,
Until thou com'st before Jerusalem;
And in the midst thereof thy Throne shall stand,
And give to Nations far and neer, command.

Hol.
God's strength be with thee; sure he sent thee here
T'encourage us, and put our foes in fear.
Your Beauty and your wisdome do conspire,
The World should Judeth's vertuous name admire.
Proceed, fair Lady; surely if thou do
As thou hast spoken, then will I be true
To thee, and to thy God, and thou shalt dwell
With Nebuchodonozor. We will tell
The Nations how thy Vertues do excel.
Here's Wine enough; when this is gone, we'll then
Revive the Banquet with the blood of men.

Jud.
My Lord, now will I drink, because my state
Is more by much exalted now of late
Then e're it was, since Nature did display
Over mine eyes the banner of the day.

Hol.
This Wine benums my joynts, my limbs do feel
As if each one would with the other reel.
Since so it is, I'll stretch me on my bed.

Jud.
Do so, my Lord—And I'll secure thy head.
Thou need'st not fear those at Jerusalem;
They shall not come to thee, thou go'st to them.

Judeth's Song of Thanksgiving.

With Timbrels and with Cymbals raise
A tune, wherewith our God to praise.
Divinity, afford me Balm
For sins, and skill to sing a Psalm
Of praise to God did Heaven frame.
Exalt him, call upon his Name:
He breaks the Battels of the strong,
And I that was the Camps among
Of proud King Assur, even then
When Israel seem'd a Prey to men,
Then did the Lord direct my ways;
I came from thence to sing his praise.
Out of the Mountains from the North
The Enemy came thundring forth.
Their strength did threaten dismal ills,
Their numbers covered the hills;
He brag'd he would my Borders burn,
And make Jerusalem an Urn;
And kill my young men with the Sword,
Dash Infants brains against the board,
And make my Virgins prove their spoil;
But God prevented hath their toyl:
A Female hand
By his command
Hath conquer'd the Assyrian Land.
Our mighty foe, he did not fight,
Nor did the Sons of Titans smite:
Neither did Giants force his care,
But Beauty was his only snare.
The daughter of Merari went
With resolution to the tent
Of Holofernes, drank him dead,
And safely brought away his head.
Thus, Lord, I ventur'd to commit
Two sins, and sacrifice my Wit.
But with a chast and holy eye
I shun'd ways of Carnality.
My people, Lord, I knew should live,
And thou art ready to forgive.
I boldly went, was not afraid,
Because assured of thine aid;
And to allure, I thought it good
The Garments of my Widowhood
To lay aside, and did attire
My head, to raise my beauty higher.
My Sandals ravished his eyes,
And he became my beauties prize:
For then to give his pride a check,
I strook his Fautchin through his neck;
Which act did make
The Persians quake;
The Medes stout hearts did likewise ake.
Thus my exterminating arm,
By inspiration, did alarm
A mighty Host, and did destroy
Their chief Commander, once their Joy.
A new Song to the Lord I'll sing:
Thou art a great and glorious King,
Wonderful in strength and might,
Invincible, the God of Fight:
To praise thy Name all things accord,
For thou mad'st all things with a word:
In thee all Creatures shall rejoyce,
Not any can resist thy voice.
Mountains and Waters shall remove,
Rocks melt as wax, if they not love.
Shall man be subject to obey,
And his Inferiours go astray?
Do we not see, year after year,
God's merciful to them that fear?
All Sacrifice too little is
For him that is the God of Bliss.
The saviour of the heart is sweet,
And he that fears the Lord is great.
Wo to those Nations that arise
Against my Kindred: they a prize
Shall be to Worms; their flesh, as meat,
The Ravens of the field shall eat,
Whilst in Bethulia all my days
I'll spend to celebrate his praise.

On Man's Creation.

We were created with a Word, a Breath;
Redeemed with no less than Blood and Death:
How much a greater labour is it then,
Sinners to cleanse, or breathe Souls into men?

The Mornings Ejaculation.

Now, that the Day-star doth arise,
Beg we of God with humble cries,
All hurtful things to keep away,
Whilst we in duty spend the day:
Our tongues to guide so, that no strife
May breed disquiet in our life:
To shut the casement of our eye,
Lest it admit of vanity;
Preserve the heart both pure and free
From vain, and troubled phantasie:
To tame proud flesh, while we deny it
A full cup, and a wanton diet;
That when the day-light shall go out,
Time bringing on the night about,
We, by leaving worldly ways,
May in silence sing God's praise.

The Evenings Ejaculation.

On Tears.

Tears! the sweet Musick of harmonious Souls;
Angels rejoyce, and ready are in shouls
To dance thereto; it is their heav'nly skill,
Their Master's bottle, with such pearls to fill:
And when the Soul in Sin's consumption lies,
No Balsam's better than the briny eyes.
God loves not waters of a common ford;
All Rivers are not pleasing to the Lord.
When Esau wept, it was to think upon
His Brothers fraud; with indignation
His Tears were mix'd, his whispring thoughts within,
Cry'd, 'Tis my loss I prize beyond my sin.
Tears of Dissimulation too, invite
Men to believe, God knows the Hypocrite.
When in devotion we our Case impart,
We should remember, God requires the heart.
Tears of Contrition give the piercing voice,
At which both God and Angels do rejoyce:
Such as were Mary Magdalens, who spent
Full thirty years in weeping, to repent.
St. Peter likewise, waking, look'd as sleeping,
His face b'ing surrow'd with continual weeping.
The Spouse, of whom in Canticles, her fears,
Like pools of Heshbon, glaz'd her eyes with Tears.
As Musick on the water sounds more sweet
Than on the land, so Pray'rs, with Tears, they greet
Almighty God with prevalence: all hours
God listens to effectual Oratours.
Then let our Tears into a deluge flow,
To drown our sins, and wash away our woe:
May they shoot forth like showers in the Spring,
To bathe our Souls in; 'tis an Offering
Well pleasing to the Lord. When Peter wept,
He look'd more lovely than as when he slept.
David pathetically ever sung,
When Heart and Harp with Penitence was strung:
When to repose he laid his weari'd head,
Not Diamonds, but Tears adorn'd his bed.
And in the sacred Quire there's much more mirth
For one repentant sinner (so by birth)
Than persons just, Repentance needing none,
Though of an hundred there should want but one.
To Heav'n comes none but what are pure and cleer;
Heaven would not be Heav'n, if Sin were there.

On Humane Frailty.

The World's a Monster,
And a humane life
So full of strife,
That a dry morsel better may suffice
With quiet, than contentions sacrifice.
Man is conceiv'd
In sin; when born
Become a scorn;
Addicts himself to vanities and lyes;
Poysons himself with sin, then bursts, and dies.
Then, O my Soul,
That thou may'st thrive,
Fix thus to live:
Serve God, and love thy Neighbour; not for gains,
Self-service will but cheat thee for thy pains.
Consider well,
Thou canst not buy
Eternity,
But pious Pray'rs and Tears must be thy cost;
For Heav'n is not so soon obtain'd as lost.
Prepare thy heart,
For that's the room
Where God must come:
Then mind not things that are but transitory,
But entertain thy God, the King of Glory.
He when he comes
Will be thy Guest,
Himself the Feast.
Of Earth no expectation thou canst have,
But live a sinner, to become a slave.

On the worth of Wealth.

The good that is in Riches doth consist
In the right use thereof: for if we list
To shew it in its lustre and its worth,
It must be us'd like Ointment poured forth.
The womans box, if it had not been broke,
Its vertue (like the dumb) had never spoke.
So hoarded Wealth that hath much labour cost,
By being so recluse, its worth is lost:
The sweet refreshments of those glittering Embers
Infuse a heat in Christ's distressed Members.
He that is covetous may justly write
On rusty heaps, This ore corrupts my sight:
They breed but Care, and are for nothing good;
Might cloath the Naked, finde the Hungry food.
Chrysostome well observes, he is not rich
That lays up much: He is more happy which
Doth much lay out, but not in ways profuse;
It's all one, not to have, and not to use.
He that relieves the Poor with what he hath,
Makes for himself a purging healing Bath.
He that hath pity on the poor, doth lend
Unto the Lord: and God's our firmest friend.

On Formal duty.

Tradition doth of Ovid thus relate:
His Father with him holding strict debate
On Poetry, commanded him rehearse
The profits (not the pleasures) of a Verse,
By words as well as frowns, did plainly threat.
Ovid, when thus in danger to be beat,
Beg'd mercy of his Father for his Crime;
But in his begging made this warbling Rhyme:
Father, on me pity take,
Verses I no more will make.
How many promises, Lord, do I gather,
When I in Prayer petition thee, my Father?
I promise to forsake all sinful snares,
And yet I sin, even when I say my Prayers.
The weakness of my Prayer, time being spilt
In vain, serves only to increase my guilt:
For when at Prayers I seem to wish them past,
As Jews the Pass-over did eat in hast.
Bodily-motion is the cause of heat;
But in Devotion we should sigh, not sweat.

Advice to Prisoners.

On Vain-glory.

In his devotions unto God, the Lord,
He gives no Alms unless upon Record;
And if his good deed happens to appear,
'Tis often sent to the Almighty's ear:
Pharisee-like, Behold, Lord, all my store,
Half of the whole I give unto the Poor.
Twice in the week I fast, and do bestow
My Alms on those whom I deserving know.
If an ill fortune doth molest his minde,
He's apt to think God shews himself unkinde;
As if it were decreed he should inherit
Heaven, therefore upbraids God with his merit.
He can fulfil Commandements, to try
An earning God with superfluity.
In pious bounties lies upon the lurch,
And writes them in the windows of the Church:
Bare heads in concourse of a publick street,
Tickles his fancy more than doth his meat.
Stands at his door taking his Fork from sheath,
And though his stomach's empty, picks his teeth.
And when abroad, he's first that doth begin
To call for Pheasants at a common Inne:
Cheapens rich Jewels, slighting those are worse,
Although he hath no Earnest in his purse.
He's ever on the stage to shew his Art,
And when abroad, still acts a glorious part:
Thinks all men view the Vertues of his mind,
When he's indeed a Bladder full of wind;
Skin full of words, unnecessary tool,
The Fool's great Idol, and the Wise man's Fool.
He that is truly wise is silent found;
The emptiness of knowledge makes a sound.

On Peace.

I Sought for Peace, but could not finde;
I sought it in the City,
But they were of another minde;
The more's the pity.
I sought for Peace of Country swain,
But yet I could not finde,
So I returning home again,
Left Peace behinde.
Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell? said I,
Methought a voice was given,
Peace dwelt not here, long since did fly
To God in Heaven.
Thought I, this Eccho is but vain,
To folly 'tis of Kin:
Anon I heard it tell me plain,
'Twas kill'd by sin.
Then I believ'd the former voice,
And rested well content,
Lay down and slept, rose, did rejoyce,
And then to Heaven went;
There I inquir'd for Peace, and found it true;
An Heav'nly Plant it was, and sweetly grew.

Prayer for Peace.

Blessed Saviour, God of Peace,
When storms arise, or shall increase,
Say thou the word, and they shall cease.
Allay their fury, quench their rage,
Whose factions would disturb the Age,
Their fiery zeal do thou asswage.
Be thou a Comforter to those
That never do the Truth oppose,
Them strengthen, and convert their foes.

On Mercy.

Mercy is comfort to the Poor;
'Tis that the Rich desire:
Lord, we thy Mercies do implore;
'Tis that the Saints require.
Mercy it was that gave us life,
To move, to think, or say;
Mercy is Physick for our grief,
And teacheth us to pray.
O how can we for mercy call,
That have so wicked been!
Our Parents gave us such a fall,
'Tis hard to rise agen:
Yet 'tis for Mercy still we crave,
'Tis that which must us raise;
Mercy first made, and now will save,
And teach us how to praise.
Our sins increase more than our days,
Yet Mercy lets us live;
'Tis God that we for all must praise,
That doth these mercies give:
And shall we still run on the score,
Not paying any part
Of what we ought to him before?
He asketh but a heart.
My Soul, pay what thou canst of all thy store;
He that pays nothing, ever owes the more.

The Swine.

Lord, I am thine,
Although possest;
O be thou mine,
And give some rest
To me a beast.
O Christ, be good
To sinful man,
And with thy blood,
Lord, wash me clean:
Be thou my food,
My staff, my stay;
My King, my God,
And thee alway
I will obey.
Command my sins into the Sea,
That I may praise and honour thee.

The Penitent.

Lord, I'm a sinner, and my sins increase
To such an unknown sum,
That should my rockie heart and eyes,
Nay, my whole Microcosm, a flood become,
And drown it self in Tears, 'twould not suffice
To name my score,
Not then to pay:
But, Lord, thy blood is my rich store,
Thou art the Patron of the Poor;
But all the Balsam of thy blood,
Alas, I know will do no good,
Unless I wash my griefs with Tears before.
O thou whose sweet and pensive face
To laughter never gave a place,
Instruct mine eyes,
Without delay,
To melt away,
And then the less of Balsam will suffice.

The Soul awaked.

Lord, we again lift up our eyes,
And leave our sluggish beds;
But why we wake, or why we rise,
Comes seldom in our heads.
Is it to sweat, and toyl for wealth,
Or sport our time away,
That thou preserv'st us still in health,
And giv'st us this new day?
No, no, unskilful Soul, not so,
Be not deceiv'd with toys;
Thy Lord's Commands more wisely go,
And aim at higher joys:
They bid us wake to seek new Grace,
And some fresh vertue gain;
They call us up to mend our pace
Till we the prize attain.
That glorious Prize, for which all run
Who wisely spend their breath;
Who, when this weary life is done,
Are sure of Rest in Death.
Not such a rest as here we prove,
Disturb'd with Cares and Fears;
But endless Joy, and Peace, and Love,
The Pleasures of the Spheres.
Glory to thee, O bounteous Lord,
Who giv'st to all things breath;
Glory to thee, Eternal Word,
Who sav'st us by thy death.
Glory, O blessed Spirit, to thee,
Who fill'st our Souls with Love;
Glory to all the mystick Three,
Who reign one God above.

St. Paul's Petition.

From Enemies, where're they be,
My God, do thou deliver me:
From them that do against me rise;
From private Foes inventing lyes;
From bloody men, who loving strife,
Endeavour to ensnare my life.
The Mighty are against me bent,
Because I sinn'd, and do repent.
Arise, and visit with thy Rod
Those Enemies of thine, O God;
Their follies shew, that they may be
At last, true followers of thee.

On the Conscience.

Corruption now adays doth spring so fast,
So regarded,
And rewarded,
That if my tender Conscience would be sold,
Or if for it a Dispensation
Could be but got,
I doubt it not,
I'd store up wealth in this our Nation.
One spark of Flattery would so increase
My evil goods,
So that my woods
Would make a lasting fire, when I decease.
The World's fond love might easily be bought,
If I could tell
The way to sell
The little honesty that I have got.
Were but this World my home, perhaps I might
Be apt to trade,
But here things fade:
Give me the Riches wherein Saints delight.
Though now I live in a corrupted Cell
Which doth annoy,
I would enjoy
The peace of Conscience there where Angels dwell.
Love upon Earth is good whilst that doth last;
But the choice love
Of God above
Is everlasting, and doth never wast.
Tush, wicked World, Heav'n is my Merchandize;
If in my way
My sight should stray,
My home shall be the curtains of mine eyes.
A desp'rate fate it is the Worldlings run,
A Pearl to sell
To purchase Hell:
They must be great, or to be just undone.

St. Austin's Prayer.

Before thy holy eyes, O Lord,
We sinners heartily accord,
Humbly to own our griefs of heart
Are nothing to our just desert.
The evils we have done, exceed
What we can write, or may be read.
Our Consciences our Souls affright,
And say, Thy Chastisements are light.
We feel the punishments of sin,
And yet we do persist therein.
Weak Nature faints at ev'ry scourge,
Yet perverse wills do dayly urge.
Our restless minds do still provoke
Thy Justice, and despise thy Yoke.
We sigh away our days in grief,
Yet sorrow gives us small relief:
For when our sighs do once expire,
We wallow in our former mire.
If we repent, 'tis at a rate,
That we had need repent for that.
If thou revenge our stubbornness,
Thy Justice doth our hearts depress.
Thy anger fills our Souls with fears;
We weep, but soon forget our Tears.
If thou stretch out thy hand, we then
Promise to turn to Saints, from men;
But if thy Sword suspension shows,
We then forget to pay our Vows.
If thou dost strike, we pardon crave;
And when thou pardon letst us have,
We sin again, and ne're give o're,
With provocations more and more.
Thus we our guilty selves accuse,
Thus we thy mercies do abuse;
Yet Mercy, Mercy, still we cry,
Or we are drench'd in misery.
Then, Lord, O let thy goodness give
Those streams by which the Angels live;
Our Souls inspire, amend our days;
Touch thou our tongues, and we shall praise.
All glory be to God on high,
The Father of Eternity,
To Three in One, and One in Three.

The Believer.

Happy is he that doth
The truth
Believe; for he it is
Shall kiss
The Son of Righteousness, shall surely come
By his believing, to believers home.
Let thy belief be true;
But few
There are that do make that
Their State.
Abraham left a Pattern good behinde him;
But few there are that seek him, less that finde him.
I do believe a Tree
Will be
Pleasantly green, when I
With eye
In Winter judge how leaveless then it stood;
But I confirm it when I see the Bud.
In Thomas 'twas a fault
To hault
In waving Faith, until
His will
Was satisfied; but 'twould a madness been
So to continue, having felt and seen.
Belief, it may indeed
Exceed
The strength of Reason, yet
Doth let
No opposition in: Faith likewise will suspence,
'Twill get above, but not against the Sense.
Whilst Faith assures I eat
My sweet
Redeemer, with direct
Effect,
Sense cannot so in ignorance allure me,
As that I eat not bread, but will assure me.
Although I see not all that I believe,
Yet those things that I see I must believe.
Christians must guard their mouths, and watch their actions;
Be pure in heart, and keep their faiths from factions.

On Christ's Nativity expected.

When, blessed Lord, shall we
Our safe Salvation see?
Dear Lord, arise,
For our faint eyes
Have long'd all night, and 'twas a long night too:
Poor man could never say,
He saw more than a day,
One day of Eden's seven;
The guilty hours were blasted with the breath
Of sin and death,
And have e're since worn a Nocturnal hue.
But in thy birth is hopes, that we
At length a splendid day shall see.
Wherein each poor neglected place,
Grac'd with the Aspect of thy face,
Shall glister like the porch and gate of Heav'n.
How long, bless'd Lord, how long?
The Nations thirst, and throng:
All humane kinde
Are now combinde
Into one body, wanting thee, their Head.
Large is our multitude,
And almost vile and rude,
Headless, Great God, for lack of thee,
Unhappy for the want of thy bless'd face;
Then come apace,
And thy bright self to our dull body wed,
That thorough thy Almighty power,
Each part that hath confusion wore,
May order take, so to appear
Fresh as the dawning of the year,
When thou, dear Lord, shalt so united be.

The Call.

Come away, my Lord, my Life,
Thy presence doth preserve from strife.
Come away, my Lord, my Way,
Thy presence teacheth to obey.
Come away, my Lord, my Truth,
Thy presence turneth Age to Youth.
Come away, my Lord, my Light.
Thou dost both Sin and Satan fright.
Come away, my Lord, my Feast,
That my poor Soul may be thy Guest.
Come away, my Lord, my Strength,
By thee my days have health and length.
Come away, my holy Joy,
Guard my Rejoycings from annoy.
Come away, my dearest Love,
Lord, let my Call thy presence move.
Come away, Divinest Lamb,
My sins deface, that seek to damn.
Come, my Shepherd, come away,
Thy Flock in danger are to stray.
Come, my Safeguard, and my Shield,
In Fights assist me, lest I yield.
Come away,
Lord, hear my Call;
Make no stay,
Thou All in All.

The Extasie.

Such a Lord and such a Life,
Whose presence bringeth Pleasures rife.
Such a way as leads to Bliss,
Who walks therein can't walk amiss.
Such a Truth whose Ray defies
The Father and the Prince of Lyes.
Such a Light as leads us to
Eternal Comforts not a few.
Such a Feast as doth rejoyce,
Compounded of the best and choice.
Such a Strength as doth defend
Not for a day, but to the end.
Such a Joy that giveth store
Of Pleasures, lasting evermore.
Such a Love as heard my cry,
Though sin made me his enemy.
Such a Lamb whose sweet abode
Makes ev'ry Saint a Lamb of God.
Such a Shepherd of his Sheep,
There's none can stray whom he doth keep.
Shuch a Shield and such a Sun,
Defends and shines till all is won.
Open, my heart, and such a God receive;
He's All in All to them that do believe.

Delights of the Minde.

Jesus, the only thought of thee
Fills with delight my memorie;
But when thou dost thy presence show,
Heav'n seems into my breast to flow.
No Theam so sweet for voice can be,
Nor to the ear such harmonie.
No heart can thoughts for charming frame
As Jesus his most pretious Name!
Jesus, when for our sins we grieve,
Thy mercies all our wants relieve.
If good to those that seek thy Grace,
What art thou when they see thy face?
Jesus, in whom we comfort finde,
Fountain of Life, Light of the Minde:
Thou dost our hearts with comforts feed;
Our utmost wish thy gifts exceed.
No Eloquence of Tongue can teach,
Nor art of Pen this secret reach;
Only th'experienc'd Soul does prove
What sweets they taste who Jesus love.
Him then I'll seek, retir'd apart,
Shutting the world out of my heart;
And midst my business him I'll strive,
With fresh pursuit still to retrive.
Early with Magdalen, I'll come
A Pilgrim to my Saviour's Tomb;
Weeping my sins in mournful cries,
I'll seek him with my minde, not eyes.
My Tears shall on his Grave distill,
And faithful Sighs the Garden fill:
Prostrate before him on my face,
His sacred feet I'll fast embrace.
Jesus, in thy bless'd steps I'll tread,
Striving to follow where they lead:
Nor shall my Soul give o're to mourn,
Till to thy favour I return.
O Jesus, most admired King,
Who didst triumph o'r deaths sharp sting,
Thy mystick sweetness first excites,
Then satisfies all appetites.
Thy quickning visits Life bestow,
Thy lights true good so cleerly show,
That they who once have relish'd thee,
Know all the World's meer Vanitie.
Come then, dear Lord, possess our hearts,
Enflame our loves with thy chast darts;
All Clouds of errour drive away,
And change our Night to thy bright day.
To thee our hearts and voices sing,
To thee our vows and pray'rs we bring;
That when we end this life's short race,
In Heav'n with thee we may have place.

On Death.

O Death, the Serpents Son,
Where is thy sting? once like thy Sire,
With Hellish torments, ever burning fire;
But those dark days are gone.
Thy peevish spite buri'd thy sting
In the sacred and wide
Wound of a Saviour's side.
Now thou'rt become a tame and harmless thing,
A toy we scorn to fear:
For we hear
That our triumphant God to conquer thee
For the assault thou gav'st him on the Tree,
Hath took the keys of Hell out of thy hand,
And forc'd thee stand
As Porter to that gate of Life.
O thou who art the gate, be pleas'd that he,
When we shall die
And that way flie,
May ope the Courts of Heav'n to us through thee.

On Judgment.

Judge of the World, we wretched sinners quake,
Our Consciences do ake;
And well they may, whenas we think
Of the fierce dreadful fire
Of thine Ire,
And Phials thou shalt make
Us sinners drink:
For thou the Wine-press of thy wrath wilt tread
With feet of lead.
Wretched notorious dust! what uncouth place
Can shelter from thy face?
The Earth will shrink out of thy sight;
The Heavens too, that cannot erre,
Then shall fear
Thee and thy Laws, and from thee take their flight:
So burnt with glory, their bright eyes shall, dead,
Burst from their head,
Great God, can we,
Thy Enemies, abide to see
Such a glorious Majesty?
We beg thy mercy, Lord: Thy Judgment-seat
We dare not to intreat,
For we are all condemned there.
Lord, then O cast a look
On thy Book
Of Life; behold, we read
A Saving Jesus here,
And in that Name our sure Salvation see:
Lord, make us free,
And cross within
Our scores of sin;
That cancel'd, all our debts are paid by thee.

On Heaven.

Bright glorious Lord, uncircumscribed Treasure
Of everlasting Pleaiure,
Thy Throne is placed far
Above the richest Star;
Where thou prepar'st a splendid place
Within the glory of thy face.
That each Spirit
May inherit,
Who builds his hopes upon thy merit,
And thee adores with holy charity.
No ravish'd heart, seraphick tongue, or eyes
Inspir'd, can once surmise,
Or speak, or think, or see,
So bright Eternity.
The glorious King's transparent Throne
Is of pretious Jasper-stone,
Where the eye
O'th' Chrysolite
With a Skie
Of Di'monds, Rubies, Chrysoprase;
But above all, thy brighter face
Speaks an eternal Charity.
When thou thy Jewels bindest up, that day
Forget not us, we pray;
But there where the Peryl lies,
Christal too, above the Skies,
That there thou mayst afford us place
Within the glories of thy face,
And enroul
Each ones Soul
In the Scroul
Of Life and Blessedness, that we
May praise thy Name unto Eternitie.

On Hell.

Dismal darkness, sad, and sore,
An everlasting Night;
Groans and Shrieks, when sinners roar
In their abyssful plight
No corner there but hath a Snake
Breeding in the infernal Lake:
Heaps of Fire, and Beds of Snow,
Are the chief delights below.
A Viper springing from the fire
Is his hire
That prizeth moments to Eternity.
O thou God of Day and Night,
Fountain of eternal light,
Allelujahs, Hymns, and Psalms,
Holy Coronets of Palms,
Adorn the Temple evermore.
Almighty God,
Let not thy Iron Rod
Bruise our bones with an eternal pressure;
Let thy mercy be the only measure.
If thou shouldst hoard up wrath in store,
We shall all die,
Not one be left to glorifie
The Lord, and tell
How thou preserved hast our Souls from Hell.

The Salutation of Saints.

Jesus, who man's Redeemer art,
The solace of each godly heart;
The ransom'd World's great Architect,
Chast light of Souls which thee affect.
What mercy conquer'd thee, my God,
That thou wouldst bear our sinful load?
And innocent wouldst death endure,
That us from death thou mightst secure.
Still let commiseration press
To give our damages redress;
And by fruition of thy sight,
Inrich us with a blessed light.
Thou guide to Heav'n, and path to Rest,
Be thou the scope of ev'ry brest;
Be thou the comfort of our tears,
Our sweet reward above the Spheres.

On Pride.

The proud man looks that ev'ry one should shew
A Reverence to him, though none they owe.
I'll value such, as we do coyn, set forth
Just what they go for, rather than their worth.
Pride unto Reason seemeth ever strange;
Is Reason absent? there 'tis Pride doth range.
And then for Reason, there is none beside
That is so highly opposite to Pride:
For Reason maketh Art Dame Nature's ape,
And Pride turns Nature out of Nature's shape.

Jeremiah's Lamentation For Jerusalem's Desolation.

Consider, Lord, the wretched, poor, and vile;
A glorious City! no, sh'as lost that stile;
She and her joys are under an Exile.
Behold, and see;
Thou, Lord, as in a Wine-press, hast her trod,
And crush'd her Virgins with an Iron Rod:
Sin was the cause; but, Lord, thou art her God.
May it please thee,
To wipe away her Tears that do pour down,
Cause thou that art the Comforter, dost frown;
O let repentant Tears offences drown,
And send relief.
O all ye passing by, behold her sorrow;
Jerusalem, Jerusalem would borrow
Tears of ye all; but none will say, Good morrow;
The more's her grief.
Her Sucklings sigh, and cry for Corn and Wine,
Whilst she her self for want thereof doth pine.
Jerusalem, was ever grief like thine?
Behold, and weep;
She that was call'd the Joy of all the Earth,
Is Desolation now, and nothing worth:
Her sorrows to her Enemies are mirth.
Her Lovers sleep.
The apples of her eyes do finde no rest,
Their streams o'reflow the flood-gates; she's distrest,
And sorrow doth become a constant guest:
Doth never fail.
Her old and young ones, both lie on the ground;
Her Priests, and Prophets, thou dost deeply wound;
Terrours on ev'ry side beset her round
On hill and dale.
Wormwood besots, she seems as she were drunk;
This angry tempest hath her treasure shrunk;
She that was full of people, now is sunk,
And desolate.
Her Soul's remov'd from any glimpse of Peace;
Prosperity is fled; there doth increase
But sad effects of groans, which never cease;
Such is her fate.
They that on Delicates were wont to feed,
In Dust and Ashes now lament their need:
Jerusalem is bow'd, and broke indeed;
But God is just.
The Enemies they did her Maidens finde,
And ravished; her Young men forc'd to grinde:
Consider, Lord, how she with grief hath pinde
Upon the dust.
Remember, Lord, her Wormwood and her Gall;
Oh hear her sad complaints, and ease her thrall:
Lord, hear my Pray'rs and Tears, for her I call,
In mercy see.
Oh, lay that darksome Cloud from off thy face;
One smile will say, thou think'st upon her case:
Oh hear, and help her, Lord, of thy good grace,
Thou glorious Three.
Judge and revenge her cause, O Lord, my God;
Behold her scorners, how they mock and nod;
In mercy towards her withdraw thy Rod.
Lord, let her cry
Unto thee fly,
And let her not
Be quite forgot,
As if, O Lord, she never were,
That she may sing
Of thee her King,
That unto thee none may compare.

On Sin.

Sin is such an uncouth thing,
I cannot well define it;
Death doth own it is his sting,
God bids me undermine it.
But it so cunning is, that when
I think to win the day,
It now comes over, under then,
And blows my baits away.
It seiz'd my Parents, and beguil'd
More learned men than I;
And when I think it is most milde,
I have most cause to fly.
At Church when I Devotion have,
It hovers o're my book,
And bids me think upon my Grave,
And off the other look.
Invisible it is, no doubt,
And felt before 'tis seen;
It subtilly can wheel about,
And like an Angel seem.
Good deeds I know accepted are,
And will be evermore;
But if I do not well, I fear
Sin lieth at the door;
Sin, as a Serpent, cunningly
Doth lurk upon the scout,
That if my foot but tread awry,
My sins they finde me out.
If I with Brother break my word,
The fact may not be great;
But if I sin against the Lord,
Who shall for me intreat?
Many the faults are of my Youth,
I have been oft misled;
But they are blessed, saith the truth,
Whose sin is covered.
Wherefore, O Lord, I will confess
What in those days I did;
O grant thy merciful redress,
And let my sins be hid.
But I with heart and knee will bow,
In duty to adore thee;
Then recollect, and study how
To set my sins before me.
Shap'd in Iniquity I was,
A wretch of little worth:
In sin my Mothers womb, alas,
Conceiv'd, and brought me forth.
Lord, with thy grace enrich my heart,
Take out the filth therein;
Let fools pursue their idle Art,
To make a mock at sin.
Wo unto them their sins do draw
With ropes, them fast to tie;
That bind Iniquity their Law
With cords of Vanitie.
If sinners could but count their score,
They'd fear a future doom:
Let him that sinneth, sin no more,
Lest worser things shall come.
Whoso doth his transgression love,
Careless, or lose, or win,
He strangely doth himself approve
To be a slave to sin.
Lord, fix my heart still towards thee,
Especially at Pray'r,
Lest my Petition on my knee,
Become to me a snare.
Surely the quintessence of sin,
Satan that Judas is;
He turns a murtherer, when in
Leads the poor Soul amiss,
And kills it with a kiss.

The Check.

Peace, rebel Sin, and dare not to rebel,
For thou art dead
Without the Law; and thou that cam'st from Hell
Art Captive led.
How durst thou say to him that dwells on high,
The Holy One,
Look on the World where all my wealth doth lie?
'Tis all as none.
Or yet, how durst thou say unto the Christ,
If there be none
Like thee, or if by thee men do subsist,
Make bread of stone?
I read, the sting of Death is sin; but yet
Sin, that came first;
Poor Infant-man no sooner on his feet,
But fell, and burst.
'Tis said, that sin the Child is of the Devil;
But sin, thou art
His elder, and the very self-same evil
Caus'd him to start.
Then prithee say,
What is thy name? for Death and Devil, they,
Right understood,
Are both too good.

To the God of Heaven.

Bright builder of the heav'nly Poles,
Eternal light of faithful Souls!
Jesus, Redeemer of Mankinde,
Our humble Pray'rs vouchsafe to minde;
Who, lest the fraud of Hell's black King
Should all men to destruction bring,
Didst by a strong impulse of Love,
The fainting World's Physician prove.
Who from a sacred Virgins womb,
Didst an unspotted Victim come
Unto the Cross, to cleanse the sin
The wretched World was plunged in:
The sound of whose high Pow'r and Name,
No sooner any voice can frame,
But all in Heav'n, and those that be
In Hell, bow down their trembling knee.
Thee, Christ, who at the later day
Shalt be our Judge, we humbly pray,
Such Arms of heav'nly Grace to send,
As from our foes may us defend.
Be glory giv'n, and honour done
To God the Father, and the Son;
And to the Holy Ghost on high,
From Age to Age eternally.

The Flower.

O That I were a lovely Flower
In Christ his Bower;
Or that I were a Weed, to fade
Under his shade.
But how can I a Weed become,
If I am shadow'd with the Son?

On Darkness.

How, Sinner! Darkness better far than Light
To be preferr'd? It is because the Night
Draws a thick Curtain over your black deeds;
But God's All-seeing eye no Curtain heeds.
If he should shew severity to men,
And you in Hell, you'd hate your Darkness then.

On Love and Hatred.

I Love too much, to hate what I should love;
I love too much, to love what I should hate.
My Love and Hatred in wrong Centres move,
Such hateful love, God doth abominate.
I love not Goodness, neither hate I Evil:
My Hate to Vertue's hot, to Vice is cold.
I love too little God, too much the Devil;
My Love and Hate, wrong Objects do behold.
Lord, change my Love to Hate, my Hate to Love,
That so thy Justice may of both approve.

On Justice and Mercy.

Justice doth call for Vengeance on my sins,
And threatens Death as guerdon for the same;
Mercy to plead for pardon then begins,
With saying, Christ hath undergone the shame.
Justice shews me an angry God offended,
And Mercy shews a Saviour crucifi'd:
Justice says, I that sinn'd must be condemned:
Mercy replies, Christ for my sins hath di'd.
Grim Justice threats with a revengeful Rod;
Meek Mercy shews me an appeased God.
Lord, though my sins make me for Justice sit,
Through Christ let mercy triumph over it.

On Food.

A Man with all things needful may be fed;
God for both Soul and Body Food hath sent.
That for the Body is material bread,
And for the Soul his Word's the nutriment.
If Bread I want, my Body then must perish;
Without the Word, my Soul will fail to thrive:
He that sends both, sends both of them to cherish,
To keep both Body and the Soul alive.
Famine of Bread is a destructive Curse;
But Famine of the Word is much more worse.
Lord, to my Soul thy Heav'nly Food apply;
Give that a life, although my body die.

Christ, All in All.

Christ is the Rock on which my Faith must build;
Christ is the Staff on which I safe may lean;
Christ is for my defence the safest Shield;
Christ is the Fountain that must wash me clean.
Who builds not on that Rock, doth build on Sand;
Who leans from him, trusts to a broken Reed;
He falls that fights not under his Command;
His Blood alone doth make me clean indeed.
Christ cleanses, saves, supports my feet from fall:
He is my only Rock, my All in All.
Lord, to my Soul such Heav'nly Grace impart,
Thou may'st be Lord and Tenant of my heart.

I would, but cannot.

I Would be rich, but Riches fly away;
I would be great, but 'tis with Envy blended;
I would be fair, but Beauty doth decay;
I would be brave, but 'tis with Pride attended.
I would be worldly-wise, but that is Folly;
I would be strong, but 'tis a Beast-like guise;
I would be thought religious, that's unholy;
I would be learned, but it makes not wise.
These vain Endowments soon draw to an end;
To each there is a But that doth attend.
Thus Fate, who stops the race of worldly glory,
Shews such Endowments are but transitory.

The Voyage.

The World's a spacious Sea that's large and wide,
And man a little Barque that sails therein;
His thoughts do drive him like the Wind and Tide;
The shelf that threatens shipwrack is his Sin.
His Heart's the Pylot that this Ship doth guide;
Faith is the Freight with which he freely trades;
His Anchor, Hope: Thus doth he safely ride;
Heav'n is the Haven where the Barque unlades.
Needs must the Merchant in his Voyage thrive,
That safely doth at such a Port arrive.
Lord, be thou Pylot to this Ship of mine,
That both the Ship and Lading may be thine.

The Careless Christian.

I Do desire my Prayers may be heard,
Yet I my self regard not how I pray;
I fear God's wrath, yet have I no regard
To what I do, or what I think, or say.
I know his Promises are just and true,
Yet do I live as I believ'd them not:
I hear he Judgements hath for each ones due,
Yet careless I not terrifi'd a jot.
Searching my heart to finde the cause of this,
I find that in my heart no grace there is.
Lord, since thy Grace will rectifie my course,
Grant me that Grace which breedeth true remorse.

On Life and Death.

The life I live on Earth uncertain is,
Being attended with a certain death,
Which will produce eternal Bane, or Bliss,
Waiting the expiration of my breath.
It doth behove me then to have a care
How I my short and pretious time do spend,
Lest I, through sin, be trapt in Satan's snare;
Griefs then beginning when my life doth end.
Lord, grant as Life and Death do here begin,
My Life may be to grace, my Death to sin.

The Seeker.

Away, fond Youth,
Vertue is hid in Truth;
Your Vanities can no contentment bring,
Alas, give o're,
Thy pleasure's but a sore,
Honey at first, but in the end a Sting.
Seek not in vain,
So to augment thy pain;
Such is thy grief, that nothing surer is.
Fond Youth, give ore,
Woo not a festring sore;
When thou hast found, thou'lt wish that thou didst miss.
Love not this world, but minde the things above;
In seeking so, thou shalt finde love for love.

The Steward.

It is not much I have, yet I have more
Than some that live more splendidly than I.
Although I am not rich, I am not poor,
But have enough to vanquish penury.
All that I have is lent me, and I must
Give an account to God how I do use it;
Or if I hide it up, and let it rust,
Or by miss spending wastfully abuse it,
It had been better I had poorer been,
Than ti'd a slave (in chains of gold) to sin.
Lord, grant my Talent so on me bestown,
May be employ'd as thine, and not mine own.

The Cœlestial Painter.

O Thou most holy God of Bliss,
Who paintst the Heaven's centre cleer,
In burning brightness fair address,
With goodly lights, as doth appear.
Who on the fourth day didst ordain
The fiery circle of the Sun,
And for the Moon an order set,
And Stars their wandring course to run:
That thou might'st give the Nights and days
Divided bounds to keep them in,
As an allured mark to know
How duly all the Months begin.
Illuminate the heart of man;
Wipe out the soulness of the minde;
Cast down the heaps of our misdeeds;
The bands of guilt do thou unbinde.
Grant this, O holy Father most,
And eke the Son equal to thee,
Together with the Holy Ghost,
That reigns in all Eternity.

The Holy Innocents.

Hail, you sweet and budding flowers,
Whom (when you life began to taste)
The enemy of Christ devours,
As whirlwinds down young Roses cast.
First Sacrifice to Christ you went,
Of offered Lambs a tender sort,
With Palms and Crowns, you, innocent,
Before the sacred Altar sport.
Glory, O Lord, be given to thee,
Whom the unspotted Virgin bore;
All glory to the Trinitie,
From all, both now and evermore.

To the Divine Creator.

O God, which diddest man create,
And hast alone all things assign'd,
The Earth to bring forth savage Beasts,
And creeping things each in their kind.
Great bodied Creatures are ordain'd
By thy great Word and Will, to live,
In times and seasons man to serve,
To whom they all subjection give.
Put from thy servants far away
What to uncleanness may allude,
It self in manners to suggest,
Or in our actions to intrude.
Give us the recompence of joys,
And yield to us thy graces free;
In sunder break the bands of strife,
Confirm the bands of Unity.

The New Birth.

A Multitude of Creatures do agree
To give their Documents to wretched man,
As Emblems and Examples, whereby he
May learn to write himself a Christian.
The Eagle casts her bill, the Ass his hair,
The Peacoak sheds his plumes, the Snake his skin;
And shall not Man, a Creature far more fair,
Renew himself by shaking off his sin?
Old sins retain'd do fester as they lie;
To the new man belongs felicity.
He that would clear himself from worldly slain,
To sin must die, to life be born again.
Die to the flesh, and if you would inherit
Eternal life, be born then of the Spirit.
This is the Birth a Christian should prefer;
For being born of God, he cannot err.
Lord, let thy Grace my idle thoughts subdue,
That I may change the Old man for the New.

Degrees of Love.

If I a Creature love, it may not know
The Channel whence my flood of Love doth flow:
But God knows all mens hearts, and will approve
Of love to him; for God himself is Love.
If I a Creature love, it no regard
May have to make amends; God doth reward.
But when my kinde affections do intrude,
The Creature answers with ingratitude.
If I a Creature love, that Creature may
Be captious, peevish, making me its prey.
The love of God exceeds the love of men;
For loving him, I've love for love agen.
A humour too, may make a Creature fly me;
But loving God, I have him always by me.
If I a Creature love, that very thing
On which I dote, may prove to me a sting.
But to love God, brings comfort, joy, and ease;
For he's the everlasting Prince of Peace.
If I a Creature love, my care must be
For that; but God will Angels charge with me.
If I a Creature love, my hearts desire
Is all inflam'd but with Terrestrial fire;
But loving God, my Soul and Senses feel
The holy flames of a Cœlestial Zeal.
If I a Creature love, for face, parts, limb,
That moves; God dwells in me, and I in him.
If I a Creature love, it doth not know
All my affairs; God knows whate're I do.
If I a Creature love, it doth deceive me;
If I love God, he's ready to relieve me.
If I a Creature love, much pain and grief
Attend; but loving God, I finde relief.
If I a Creature love, we both must die;
But God gives life to all eternitie.
If I a Creature love, I oft behold
Those slights and faults, which make my love grow cold;
But if on God I firmly fix my love,
The love of God doth make my love improve.
He is so good, so noble, rich, sweet, fair,
Mighty and wise, so exquisitly rare,
I'll court his love (as he hath taught) with Prayer.

Bad at Best.

My Practice gives the lye to my Profession;
I give too large a rein unto my Will;
I do not grieve enough for my Transgression,
But do delight in contemplating ill.
I wish for Heav'n, but tread the path of Hell;
I love the day, but more the deeds o'th' night:
Little I have, yet that I use not well;
I covet much, but covet not aright.
Good deeds ill done, run clearly 'gainst the byas;
Wishes and words are winds, our deeds must try us.
My ways are evil, sin doth too much attend them;
Open mine eyes, O Lord, and I shall mend them.

Time's Travel.

The uberous womb of Time, since its creation,
Innumerable issues hath brought forth,
Of strange, and of prodigious generation;
And glorious things of beauty and of worth:
It's never barren, but is ever breeding
Unwonted forms, and various shapes of things.
It was, it is, and will through time succeeding,
Continue labouring. The fruit she brings,
Savours of goodness, but much more of evil;
Extols the Maker, but adores the Devil
Lord, since there is a time to laugh, to weep,
'Tis high time I awake out of the sleep
Of sin and death, O then propitious be,
And in due time let true Repentance free
My Soul, and I'll be convert unto thee.

The Widows Mite.

Room for a wealthy Benefactor; he,
Behold, draws neer unto the Treasury:
Others approach with their abundant store,
But here's a Widow, who, although she's poor,
Hath outdone all, her bounty to display;
For her's was giv'n, and theirs but cast away.
And she was noted for a true believer;
For God delighteth in a cheerful giver.

Gabriel and Zacharias.

Gab.
Bless'd Zacharias, cease to be afeard,
A John shall call thee Father, thou art heard.
He shall be richly stor'd with Grace and Mirth;
The God of gods shall celebrate his Birth.

Zac.
O Lord, whereby can I know this? my life
Is well-nigh spent; likewise my ancient Wife,
Her years are so in number, I am bold
To say, for bearing Children she's too old.

Gab.
Is any thing impossible to God,
Whose Power can do it with a word, or nod?
I that am Gabriel, am sent down from high
To do this message from the Deity:
And seeing thou believ'st not what I say,
Behold, thou shalt be dumb until that day.
Then will I loosen that which now I strung;
Thou shalt have John, & with that John a tongue.

On Alexander the Great.

Thou Earth's great Monarch; to thy Valour's praise,
Be it recorded, thou didst spend thy days
In Mars his School; but one thing did remain,
Thou shouldst have made thy Piety thy gain,
Not Ostentation. Flesh was made thy slave,
But wherein didst thou Satan's works deprave?
Those being vanquish'd, thou might'st take thy rest,
And weep for joy, as being stout and blest.
Alas, his Conquests are as good as none,
That fights for Worlds, and never finds but one.

Jesus Wept.

Hence may we see Tears are the only things,
When watring well, revives our fading Springs.
Martha and Mary sprinkling pious Tears
Over their Brother, four days freed from fears.
With the sole help of Jesus, when they wept,
His Tears and theirs reviv'd a Saint that slept:
The very words, Come forth, bore such a sound,
Laz'rus straight came, but left death in the ground.
Such love our Saviour shew'd his friend, his eye,
That knew no sin, could weep, when he should die.
The Antients have this observation kept,
Jesus was never seen to laugh, but wept.

Martha and Mary.

As Contemplation is the bane of ill,
By that our good is so continued still.
Happy that house which never doth miscarry,
Yielding a Martha to complain of Mary.

On Worldly Gain.

This World yields nothing more than Cares and Crosses,
Yet my forc'd heart dotes on it ne'retheless;
If I cast up my gains, they are but losses:
For more and more I languish in excess.
It shews varieties of sweet content,
Alluring me with fair and golden baits;
But in the taste I finde them different,
No real pleasures, but meer counterfeits.
Delusions are the knacks that do excell
For cheats; they shew us Heaven, lead to Hell.
Lord, plant thy heav'nly wisdome in my heart,
That world and worldly things I may desert.

On St. Peter's Perjury.

Sheathe up that sharp keen Sword, which did befriend thee
In smiting him who gave his ear to end thee;
But yet consider, he that doth falsely swear,
Is by the Law condemn'd to loose an Ear.
I tell thee, Peter, e're the Cock crow twice,
Thou art my friend that shalt deny me thrice.
But, Peter, thou art favour'd, take't from me,
Instead of paying one Ear, thou hast three.

On Pusillanimity.

Religion made the Martyrs dare, and die;
Honour abhors to dread an Enemie.
Our Actions try our Courage, and our hearts
As Icie weather with its chilly smarts,
Do try our health: and this we yearly find,
Withered leaves fall with the breath of wind.
As rotten Bows no longers hold debate
With strength, but break when they're opprest with weight,
So Earthen Vessels may be said t'expire,
Expos'd when empty to the heat of fire.
This trivial passion of Faintheartedness,
Dispirits man, and makes a dull impress
Upon his body, as if there were writ,
Here stands a house, but no one dwells in it.
Cowardise doth express a man to be
An easie prey unto his Enemie:
Whose cruel mercy suddenly is spent,
Whilst for the Victim no man doth lament.
He grew in misery, became forlorn,
Was both to friend and to his foe a scorn.
The righteous man is bold, bids fear adieu;
The wicked flee, when no man doth pursue.

On the Spring.

On Science.

Many for Science seek with care and Art,
When Conscience is the Science of the heart;
Yet that most sacred Knowledge is become
In mens esteem, of Knowledge but the scum.
When as the Heart with Conscience doth converse,
Infinite mysteries they then rehearse.
A Conscience good and pure, relies upon
The sacred Title of Religion:
That is a Knowledge puffs not up to boast,
But is the Temple of the Holy Ghost:
Built so for Beauty, equalled by none,
Rich as the Temple of a Solomon,
The fruitful field of Benediction.
The joy of Angels, and the Sinners sting,
The Subjects ark, the treasure of the King.
An Habitation for the Saints abode,
The Book of Life, the Princely Court of God:
The Book that's seal'd to keep Deeds from decay,
And to be open'd at the Judgement-day.
A rich Perfume, and a most happy Guest,
A pleasant Friend, and a continual Feast.
A Castle, Tower, a Rock to build upon,
A certain Fabrick of Salvation.
The poor man's Comfort, his most trusty Staff;
The rich man's Elegy and Epitaph
Wouldst thou be farther in this Science read?
Then Purge thy conscience from all works are dead.

On Drunkenness.

This is a Vice that fights without defence;
He that doth finde this sin, doth loose his sense.
I formerly have read of one who stood
Amaz'd, as lost within a spatious Wood,
When in one Vice he was to build his Nest,
Which of these three he judg'd to be the best;
To kill his Father, Mother to beguile
With lust, or rather to be drunk a while.
He thinking Drunkenness the least of these,
Chose that, thereby God's Justice to appease.
Then drunk he gets, making no more to do;
And when got drunk, acted the other two.
The juicy Vine doth to us ev'ry year,
Three sorts of Grapes at once most duly bear.
The first for Pleasure, Drunkenness the next,
The third for Misery. When man's perplext
With too much drink, he is as one deceast,
A shape of man, more properly a beast.
If all our Trees were Pens, and Seas were Ink,
They could not write the mischiefs done by Drink.
Awake, ye Drunkards, weep, and howl;
Poyson encompasseth your Bowl.

On Blasphemy.

It sets its mouth against each holy place,
And shoots out words like darts, against the face
Of God; despising his great Majesty,
Imposing things upon the Deity.
Thus written 'tis by the Historian,
Speaking of the Apostate Julian,
When he engag'd against the Parthian Bands,
And then receiv'd a wound, with outstretch'd hand:
He took his blood (to shew he did persist)
And in derision threw it toward Christ,
Thus saying, to augment his sinful sum,
O Galilean, thou hast overcome.
So by an outward gesture we may finde
The secret indignation of the minde:
And he that doth blaspheme his God, doth broach
Designes to cast upon him all reproach
His little Wit or Folly can invent,
Vainly to shew the reach of his intent.
But Julian being wounded with a Dart
(Unknown from whence) that reach'd his wretched heart,
In scorn to Christ, he Galilean cri'd,
Perish'd in sin, so this Blasphemer di'd.
Caius Caligula, with judgment dim,
His Statue fix'd, that men might worship him.
The holy Temple, with profane abuse,
He dedicated to his proper use,
Making himself a God; but it appear'd
At length, that Vengeance this Blasphemes heard.
It is a sin that studies how to fight
Against the dictates of Dame Nature's light;
Which Princess oft have punished with death:
The very Turks will not endure that breath
That wounds the Ears of Heaven, but punish those
That to blaspheming Christ their lips dispose.
If Turks to this great sin give a restraint,
How piercing must it be unto a Saint?

The Sick man's Ease.

The Sick man is a Prisoner to his bed,
When healthy men have room their wings to spread.
Wealth without Health a gilded torment is;
Crœsus vast Riches lead not unto Bliss:
Nor can the Wealth of all the Indian shore
Assure the sick from Agues to restore.
Health is a Jewel of such high degree,
Not to be priz'd until it wanted be.
The sick can nothing do, he's indispos'd;
He cannot pray, his eyes are almost clos'd.
He restless turns, then on his back doth lie,
Whilst pain deprives him of his Piety.
But when a good man sickens, God hath sed,
He in his sickness will make All his Bed,
His Pillow, Bolster, Sides, the Feet, and Head.
God taketh thorough care for his Elect,
In All his Bed he will be circumspect.
And sure that God that suffers a Disease
To reign, is best Physician, giving ease.
Herein his Art is excellently spread;
Not fitting Bed, but Person to the Bed.
His Potion Patience is, and that works so,
What God inflicts the Just doth undergo.
But how shall God make my bed? I have none,
Saith the poor man, and saith it with a groan.
To him God answers, Son, be thou content,
For that's a bed adorn'd with Ornament.
Jacob slept on the ground; who would not deem
Himself most happy, having Jacob's dream?
Fox in his book of Martyrs, speaks of one,
A woman poor in Jersey, yet though grown
Mean to the World (when Mary, Englands Queen,
Drew on our English Stage a bloody Scene)
God made her bed in that same fiery flake;
And when she came as Martyr to the stake,
A Childe came from her, to her hearts desire:
So God brought her to bed by flames of fire.
He likewise threatned Jezabel, that she
Should have a bed of fire. His Justice he
Therein displays: May not his Mercy then
Turn flames of fire to beds for righteous men?
Nothing's impossible if God accord;
Fire shall prove Beds of Ease, say he the Word.

On Singing of Psalms.

Birds sweetly chirp and sing, but Nature gave
Me a harsh voice, more fit (than sing) to rave.
Should I use Art for a melodious strain,
'Twould be to spend my pretious time in vain.
When I sing Psalms and Hymns to God on high,
With devout praises to the Deity,
How can I think my voice shall please his ear,
When to my self it meanly doth appear?
Yet though I cannot chaunt a warbling tale
With the sweet musick of the Nightingale,
Or with the Blackbird chirp, I Swallow-like
Will chatter, or will with the Raven strike
Or croak my measures, better so to do,
Than to be silent; for there may accrew
A Blessing by my will. If I want Art,
God thus commands, My son, give me thy heart.
Had God bestow'd on me a better voice,
With better musick I would then rejoyce:
But since 'tis so the Spirits influence
Shall salve my want of skill with store of sence.
To that end, blessed Lord, in me create
A heart unfeigned, new; and in that state,
With heart and understanding, I'll rejoyce,
And rest contented with my present voice.
Yet one thing more of God I do desire;
Make me a Quirester in Heaven's Quire.

On little Sins.

Sin at the first seems small; when I begin,
I thus conclude, 'Tis but a little sin,
I may wade through it dry-shod: So on tilt
I run, as if secur'd from sin by guilt;
But when into my sin I slily creep,
It suddenly appears so soul, so deep,
So dangerous a gulph doth widely gape,
That without drowning I can hardly scape.
Thus in extremities I always bleed;
My sins are small, they no repentance need;
Or else so great and heynous is any stain,
That I despair, I can't a pardon gain.
A Reed out of thy Sanctuary, Lord,
Would truly measure every deed and word.
But O if thou my misery reveal,
Do not thy mercy from my Soul conceal,
Lest if I apprehend my wounds gape wide,
My desperate Soul run out, and thereby glide
Into a world of to ments, if my grief
Seem to be greater than is thy relief.
If sin seems greater by one breadth of hair
Than mercie doth, it makes way for despair.
No sins are little: 'tis the Devil's cheat
So to surmise; for ev'ry sin is great.

On Temperance.

This guides the Reason, gives the Minde delight,
In moderating Lust and Appetite.
The Jews in this great Vertue are expert,
Shunning excess as men of great desert;
Perhaps because it should be understood,
They drank full draughts up of our Saviour's blood;
And being sensible they did digress,
May think it time t'abominate excess.
Our English Chronicles do much commend
Their Queen Elizabeth, who did transcend
The Nobles of her age; and England's King,
Edward the Sixth, did in her praise thus sing:
When to discourse on her it was his chance,
He call'd her his Sweet Sister Temperance.
When at her Table she sate down to eat,
She seldom us'd more than one sort of meat;
And did in Temperance so much delight,
She ever rose up with an appetite.
Nature is with a little satisfi'd:
Ebriety and Gluttony have tri'd,
And conquer'd many, who to Death did dance.
One of the spirits fruits is Temperance.

On Persecution.

As the poor Sheep is to the slaughter led
In all humility, and free from dread,
So all God's people may be said to be
As Sheep, the Emblems of Humility.
They harmless are, and profitable too,
Obedient to their Shepherd; in a crew
Led into Folds and Pastures, where, as strangers,
They are obnoxious to many dangers,
Wolves, Bryars, Thieves, Dogs, Plagues both great and small;
But God their Shepherd rids them out of all.
Many desire the number may increase
Of God's good Sheep; but 'tis a golden Fleece
Which they desire to wear: However, they
Most happy are that follow him their way.
Excellent things the Church of God hath won;
She's like a woman cloathed with the Sun,
Crowned with Stars, treading upon the Moon;
Yet travelling in Birth at night and noon:
The Dragon in pursuit of her and hers;
But, under God, they still ride Conquerers.
He that would be an Israelite indeed,
Must arm himself compleatly; taking heed
Of all assaults, all persons, places, times,
Guard his own vertue, resist others crimes.
Elias spoke against the craft of sin;
Then Ahab's hate against him did begin.
Isaiah, as we read, was sawn in two;
It was Manasses pleasure so to do.
And Jeremiah he was ston'd, to please
The cruel humour of Tahaphanes.
Stephen was stoned of the Jews; and John
Beheaded was, Herod would have him gone.
Ignatius to the Lions had his doom;
The Clergy likewise hated Chrysostom:
But Justin Martyr slights these things as dirt,
Says, Persecutors kill, but cannot hurt.
Tertullian well observ'd, the more they mow
The Christians down, they much the faster grow.
Large Volumes might be fill'd with the bright names
Of sufferers by swords, by stones, and flames.
True saith St. Paul, all that will shun the grave
Of hellish sin, shall persecution have.
Well may the Christian with his God comply
In persecution, Christ himself could die.

On Sleep.

Death in the Scripture is compar'd to Sleep:
When Death approaches, then with care we keep
A schedule of our wealth, so to dispose
Of those Estates we then are forc'd to lose.
So when Sleep comes, methinks my Ev'ning-prayer
Is like the making of my Will; my care
Ought therefore to provide betimes: for why?
There's danger in a drowsie Lethargy.
In perfect memory, and when awake,
I'll leave my Soul to God; for if he take
Not charge of me, and me in safety keep,
The Devil will attempt me in my sleep.
Though day and night he seeketh to devour,
He keeps his markets in the darkned hour.
I on my pillow do my sleep confirm:
Thus mans Vacation is the Devil's Term.

Blessings of the Righteous, as they are recorded in Holy Writ.

Hearken unto the Lord thy God,
His Covenants observe;
So will he kindly spare his Rod,
And not afflict a Nerve.
Bless'd shalt thou in the City be;
Thy God will Blessings yield,
At home, abroad, at bed, at board,
And likewise in the field.
Blessed shall be thy bodies fruit,
and that upon the ground:
The wicked, be they loud or mute,
Shall neither of them wound.
Thy Cattel shall inrich thy store
With increase of their Kine;
Thy Sheep shall still wax more and more;
Thy Grapes shall yield thee Wine.
Bless'd shall thy Store and Basket be;
Blessings shall thence accrew:
Comings and Goings shall agree
To make thee blessed too.
The Lord shall smite thine Enemies,
And put them to disgrace;
The chiefest he will make to flie,
And that before thy face.
Thy foes one way shall thee attempt,
But flie before thee seven;
From Judgement none shall be exempt,
But as the Chaff be driven.
Thy Store-houses the Lord will bless,
And all thou tak'st in hand;
And give to thee a large increase
Of plenty in the land.
The Lord, as he himself hath sworn,
He will establish thee;
And farther to exalt thy horn,
His people ye shall be.
Keep thou the Lord's Commandements,
And all the Earth shall see
That thou art great in innocence,
And stand in fear of thee.
The Lord he shall his treasures ope,
The Heav'ns shall give thee rain;
If head or hand with business cope,
It shall be for thy gain.
No discontent shall thee attend,
As free from grief or sorrow:
To many Nations thou shalt lend,
But have no need to borrow.
Blessed are they that in him trust,
He will them bless with speed;
For do they hunger, do they thirst,
He is their help at need.
Blessed is he whose sin is hid,
He may with gladness smile;
Whose errours all are covered,
Whose Spirit hath no guile.
Blessed are they that now lament,
As being poor in Spirit;
For they are promis'd by the Lord
His Kingdom to inherit.
Blessed are they that now do mourn,
Thinking their joys are fled;
For though as yet they seem forlorn,
They shall be comforted.
The meek are blessed too; for they
That love not strifes increase,
Shall on the Earth bear happy sway,
Delighting much in Peace.
The hungry too, and they that thirst
For Righteousness as meat,
They shall be fill'd, when those accurst
Shall nothing have to eat.
Bless'd be the merciful to those
Whom they observe in pain;
For he that mercily bestows,
Shall mercy reap again.
Thrice blessed are the pure in heart,
Whose Souls and hands are free
From vanity and wicked oaths;
For they their God shall see.
Bless'd the peace-makers are; for they
His children shall be call'd:
And he that loves and doth obey,
Shall never be enthrall'd,
Blessed are they for Righteousness
Do persecution bear;
Their great reward none can express
But Heav'n, it lieth there.
Blessed are they that are revil'd
Because they seek the Lord;
Be they at home, or if exil'd,
His grace will strength afford.
Rejoyce, and be exceeding glad,
For great is your reward;
The Prophets by such usage bad,
Did get into regard.

Curses of the Wicked.

He that doth hear the poor mans cry
Shall never fare the worse;
But whoso turneth back his eye
Shall never want a curse.
He that himself hath others curst,
His servant curseth him;
The blessings of his flowing Purse
Shall him to ruine swim.
He that blasphemeth God his Lord,
Ought to be ston'd to death;
And cursed be that man, abhorr'd,
Serves other God beneath.
Cursed be he that setteth light
By Father, or by Mother;
The people shall him dayly slight,
And none his Curses smother.
Cursed be he that doth remove
His Neighbours Land-mark; then
The people shall him curse, none love,
But each one cry, Amen.
Cursed be he that leads the blinde
In an erroneous way;
The Lord for him will torments finde,
And be the blinde man's stay.
Cursed be he that doth pervert
The widow, fatherless,
Or stranger, from an upright heart;
Curses shall him oppress.
Cursed, thrice cursed shall he be
Covets his Father's breast;
And that man curst shall be (as he)
That lieth with a beast.
Curs'd let him be with Sister lies,
Or Mother (though) in Law:
Such sins do make those horrid cries
That dreadful curses draw.
Cursed be he that secretly
His silent Neighbour smites:
Murtherers too, that cause to die
When a reward invites.
The wicked shall be curs'd at home,
And likewise in the field;
His basket and his store at last
Shall Blessings cease to yield.
Cursed be all his sinful fruit
Of body and of land:
His Kine, and Flock, though they are mute,
And all he takes in hand.
Cursed be he when going out,
And when returning in;
That happy 'twere for him, no doubt,
If he had never been.

Praises to God.

Praise the most high, Oh clap your hands!
Praise him, for he the world commands.
Praise him, Mount Zion, Praises sing,
Praise him that is your Cities King.
Praise him with loud and silent Air,
Praise ye the Lord that heareth Pray'r.
Praise him makes Morning hear his voice,
Praise him makes Evening to rejoyce.
Praise him that doth prepare our Corn,
Praise him, all ye that are forlorn.
Praise him that duly sends us Rain,
Praise him for Fruits, Herbs, Flow'rs, and Grain.
Praise him for his refreshing showers,
Praise him for recreating Bowers.
Praise him that doth our Pastures fill,
Praise and rejoyce, each little Hill.
Praise him, ye Birds, and ev'ry Tree,
Praise him that did divide the Sea.
Praise him for Waters from the Fount,
Praise him for Grass grows on the Mount.
Praise him that gives and nothing ows,
Praise him with Sacrifice and Vows.
Praise him that form'd us in the Womb,
Praise him that guides us to our Tomb.
Praise him that makes us blest in Heaven,
Praise him from whom all Food is given.
Praise him, his holy Name adore,
Praise him, O praise him more and more.
Praise God, the Father of the just,
Praise him doth raise the Poor from dust.
Praise him that makes the barren bear,
Praise him with duty, love, and fear.
Praise ye the Lord for dayly Food,
Praise ye his Name, for it is good.
Praise him who gives success in Wars,
Praise him who numbereth the Stars.
Praise him that builds Jerusalem,
Praise him whose Word is more than Jem.
Praise him that lifteth up the Meek,
Praise him that doth support the Weak.
Praise him who doth the Ravens feed,
Praise him, our meetly help at need.
Praise him doth cause his Winds to blow,
Praise him that makes the Waters flow.
Praise him in his Angelick Coasts,
Praise him, all ye his mighty Hosts.
Praise ye his Name, both Sun and Moon,
Praise him, ye Lights that shine at noon.
Praise him, ye Heavens never fade,
Praise him, for ye by him were made.
Praise ye the Lord, ye Dragons fell,
Praise him, ye Deeps, his wonders tell.
Praise him, Fire, Hail, Vapour and Snow,
Praise him, ye stormy Winds that blow.
Praise him, ye Cedars, Beasts o'th' field,
Praise him all things can Praises yield.
Praise him, ye Kings of highest birth,
Praise him, ye Judges of the Earth.
Praise him, ye Rulers whom he rais'd,
Praise, for he's greatly to be prais'd.
Praise ye the Lord, both great and small,
Praise him that did create us all.
Praise him within his holy Tower,
Praise him for his Almighty Power.
Praise him for what he to us gave,
Praise Jesus Christ that did us save.
Praise ye the Holy Spirit too,
Praise each with all Devotions due.
Praise all, strive who shall praise the most,
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
Praise each with pious Harmony,
Praise ye the blessed Trinity.
Praise ye the Lord with Trumpets sound,
Praise him that heal'd us with his wound.
Praise him with Harps loud Melody,
Praise him with Song and Psaltery.
Praise him with Timbrel, let the Flute
Praise him, with Organ, Pipe, and Lute.
Praise him with instrumental String,
Praise him with Cymbals, loudly sing.
Praise him with joy, and skilful voice,
Praise with new Songs, the chief and choice.
Praise him that is our Guide, our Light,
Praise him, because his Word is right.
Praise him whose works are done in truth,
Praise him that no injustice doth.
Praise him all people, great and less,
Praise him that loveth Righteousness.
Praise him whose Goodness fills the Earth,
Praise him with Zeal and pious Mirth.
Praise him the Author is of days,
Praise him that gives us power to praise.
Praise him whose Word the Heavens made,
Praise him whose breath requir'd no aid.
Praise him that doth the Wind command,
Praise him that makes the Waters stand.
Praise him whom Sun and Moon obey,
Praise him doth Heaven's Scepter sway.
Praise him that doth the Heathen awe,
Praise him whose ev'ry Word's a Law.
Praise him who doth from Heav'n behold,
Praise him, ye Rich, Poor, Young, and Old.
Praise him that fashions all our hearts,
Praise him alone doth heal our smarts.
Praise him that is the King of kings,
Praise him in grief that comfort brings.
Praise him that governs Sea and Coasts,
Praise him that is the Lord of Hosts.
Praise him who can the Lion tame,
Praise him that Mighty is by Name.
Praise him that guards us day and night,
Praise him the God of Peace and Fight.
Praise him that makes the stoutest yield,
Praise him that is our Help and Shield.
Praise him with both thy heart and mouth,
Praise him in Age, in Strength, and Youth.
Praise him who are with sorrows sad,
Praise, that the humble may be glad.
Oh let the Nations all accord
To praise and magnifie the Lord.

Gloria in Altissimis:

Or, the Angelical Anthem.

Angels, Saints, and all men cry,
Glory be to God on high:
And that glory ne'er may cease,
Grant us, Lord, on earth thy peace.
When there's good will towards men,
We shall praise, and praise agen.

On Fatherly Affection.

As in the street I walking cast my eye,
It was my chance two Children to espie
Fighting together: by and by in hast
The Father of the one, who saw what past,
Stept in, and suddenly, without delay,
He parted both, and took his Son away,
And like a Father, careful of his Son,
Gave him correction for the fault he'd done.
The other Lad was left without a check,
Which made him strut and boast, and stretch his neck,
Believing he had surely won the day,
Though both alike were equal in the fray.
I thought it hard that one should punish'd be
And not the other, he escaping free.
At last I guess'd 'twas a Paternal care
One to correct, to teach him to beware:
For over him he a dominion had,
But was a stranger to the other Lad.
So when the wicked sin, the godly smart;
God in chastising shews Paternal art:
He chastens whom he loves, whilst wicked men
Pursue their sins, and act them o're agen.
The reason common sense cannot avoid,
Sinners are spar'd only to be destroy'd.
What need a whip for stubborn sinners backs,
When 'tis decreed their heads are for the axe?

On the Gospel.

The Gospel ancient as Moses is,
Nay Adam, it was preacht in Paradise.
'Tis true, before the Gospel came the Law,
Yet from the Gospel we most vertue draw.
Likewise before the Day, appear'd the Night,
Yet above Darkness we esteem the Light.
And before Man was made, all Creatures were,
Yet he excells them, they his servants are.
He that before his Lord the Sword doth bear,
Is not suppos'd superiour to the Mayor.
All things which in this world we splendid see,
Are not esteem'd by their priority.
Saith John, There comes one after me, whose shooes
I am unworthy, too low, to unloose.
The Law is most compos'd of forms of fears;
But in the Gospel streams of love appears.
The Law makes God our foe with pointing—thus;
The Gospel cries, Emanuel, God with us.
The office of the Law is to accuse;
That of the Gospel is to heal a bruise.
The Law a killing letter's stil'd by merit;
But th'holy Gospels is a quickning Spirit.
Besides, the Gospel is the bell whereby
We all are called to Eternity.

On the Lord's Prayer.

That Pray'r of Pray'rs, how meanly doth it look
Of late, as if Religion's frame were shook!
But if the Lord were just to use his powers,
With how much anger might he look on ours?
Some think that Lesson may their Spirits grieve;
Lord, us forgive, as others we forgive.
Others, like Witches, when in haste they pray,
They it repeat, but do it backward say.
Many with zeal desire their dayly bread;
Thy Kingdom come, not much concerns their head.
Thus temp'ral benefits we do prefer
Before eternal blessings, and adhere
To what our present wants require: but oh,
When Death appears, and whispers, we must go.
Then our Petitions, all that we can gather,
From his take pattern, crying, Our Father.
Christ so began to teach us, being weak;
So we conclude when we can hardly speak.

The Free Giver.

Great Alexander, when he youthful was,
A check received from Leonidas
His Governour, for being too profuse
In wasting his perfumes in pious use:
For on a day being to sacrifice
Unto the Gods, to shew himself unnice,
Fill'd both his hands with Frankincense; that done,
Gave it the fire as his devotion.
But afterwards when he became a man,
He conquered Judea, over-ran
That Country whence those spices took their birth,
Then to conclude his piety with mirth,
He sent Five hundred Talents weight (by odds
Too much) to him grutch'd what he gave the Gods.
Thus they that sowing plentifully keep
A zeal unspotted, plentifully reap.
He that doth niggardly his Talent spare,
Shall sow, but in the end reap but a Tare.
Give God the choicest branches of thy fruit;
For by that means God may give thee the Root.

The Friendly Advice.

The Roman Senators, as we may read,
Thirsted that Julius Cæsar might be dead:
Wherefore they then conspir'd to seek his end.
Artemidorus, who was Cæsar's friend,
Gives him a Paper wherein lay his lot,
His life to save by finding out the Plot;
But Cæsar being busie with applauds,
With salutations, and the peoples lauds,
Pockets the Paper, as if it had been
Petition-like at leisure to be seen;
So onward walks, not dreaming of that train,
And going to the Senate-house was slain.
The World, the Flesh, and Devil, do beset
Poor man, contriving divers ways to get
Him in their gin. God's Ministers accord
To bring a Letter, namely God's own Word,
Wherein their plot is publickly reveal'd,
The wounded man hath offers to be heal'd;
Nay, God himself in clemencie doth crie,
Oh house of Israel, why will ye die?
But most men generally busie are
About the worlds concerns, though things of air;
They cannot mind their friends advice; to write,
Is to present them with a Paper-kite.
Thus men run headlong to expend their breath,
Forgetting they before were doom'd for death.

On Sloath.

The idle man is like the heavie drone,
That wasts his time in contemplation:
This present hour he's mightily perplext
With study'ng which way he shall spend the next;
Not like the wise man, who with lesser pain,
Contrives to make Expences prove his Gain.
Winter he loves, because the days are short;
Walks in the Summer, as if A-la-mort.
When in the morning he bethinks to rise,
First stretcheth arms and legs, then wipes his eyes.
His manners lets the morning rise before him;
And when the Sun shines, seeming to adore him,
Then he bethinks to stir; but first affords
A Prayer to God, not making many words,
And sometimes none, well knowing he can do
With thoughts as much as words, though more than few.
He commonly lies still, his bed to keep,
More out of sloath, than a desire to sleep;
Then yawns and turns himself for want of rest;
Anon for Dinner calls, before he's drest:
Which having eat, he seems to be in pain,
At last concludes, 'tis best to sleep again.
That done, he rises, to his Neighbour goes,
And in few words doth thus his minde disclose:
How do you, Neighbour? 'tis a pleasant day;
What's the best news? what price are Mackrel, pray?
The days do lengthen strangely, and the Spring
Bids us attend the Birds that sweetly sing.
Then in the end bethinks to bid adieu;
But first he yawns, and cries, What shall we do?
So he concludes his Speech: Perhaps in fine,
They both agree to drink a pint of Wine.
When from the Church all Auditors are gone,
He is found sleeping in his seat alone.
He enters into Bond, ne'er minds to pay,
But forfeits that, 'cause he forgets the day.
To be a Jury-man is his disease;
Rather than fetch his wood, he'll chuse to freeze.
He's half a Christian and half a Turk;
His Principle's to steal, and not to work.
He is indeed a proper Standing-pool
That needs must get corruption: 'Tis a rule
Observable, those Pits do soonest stink,
Whose mud assists to overflow the brink.
The idle Soul shall finde his food grow scant;
Sloath casts a man into deep sleeps and want.

On Desperation.

Chear up, my Soul, thy griefs in time will cease;
Despair is Satan's only master-piece:
Hearken to that, the Devil soon will tell
The ready road that leads the way to Hell.
My sin, saith Cain, is great, and I am driven
Justly to fear 'twirl never be forgiven.
With Murther first he did his Curse begin,
And furthers that, by adding sin to sin.
Then to despair give neither ear nor scope;
Lay hold on Christ, the Anchor of thy hope.

A PANEGYRICK

To the Right Reverend, And most nobly descended Prelate, HENRY by divine Providence, Lord Bishop of London.