University of Virginia Library

JOSEPH
to himself.
A harlots favours, like gilt Pills appear,
Which please the eye, but eat, the bowels tear;
Disgust the palate, like to filthiest drink;
Gripe the faint stomack, and depart with stink.
This now I plainly see.

Seph.
What's that you say?
What is't you in those murmurs overlay,
I must not hear? How will you in a Cloud
Abscond your reasons now? reply aloud.
How with your mind did my last reasons speed?
Prevail'd they ought?

Jos.
Not any thing indeed.

Seph.
Can kindness gain from you then no return?

Jos.
Yes, but in you, that grace I cann't discern.

Seph.
Is this my lone? then I my pains may blame.

Jos.
Self-interest favours none will kindness name.

Seph.
But what unkindness have I shewn you? say.

Jos.
What e're you could to steal my heart away.
Ah me! when men false baits to fishes hold,
Freighted with sweetness; but which death infold,
Is this a kindness? flows this from good will?
The very love pretended 'tis doth kill.
And such your favours are, so they abuse
The Soul with lyes, and certain death produce.
But I, of other favours too can sing,
Than yours more real far, and great, which bring
Upon their wings Salvation, and intend
A love indelible, that hath no end.
That God it is, in whom I boast this love,
Who in these ways you run, forbids me move:
Whose so great favours I should ill repay,
(If that were all) if I should disobey.
He from my Bretherens Blood-thirsty-hands,
From a deep Dungeon, fierce enslaving bands,
Inevitable death prepar'd for me,
Hath rescu'd, and from danger set me free.
At length me in this happy state hath plac'd,
And therein, with high honours greatly grac'd;
Affording me conduct in that affair
Committed to my charge, and to my care.
Thus hath God done, and shall I him offend,
And draw his wrath upon me without end?
For such unstable flitting joys, shall I
Chuse lasting woe, and from my blessing fly?
To Carnal loves shall I my self betake,
And foolishly the love of God forsake?
Then lead my future days in grief of heart,
Where nothing earthly, comfort can impart.
If kindnesses should hearts morosest tame,
And to the Donor with kind love inflame;
Sure then I ought to yield my God this mind,
Who has to me, beyond you far, been kind.

SEPHYRA.
Tush, what has God to do with me or you?
Our good adds not to him, nor is it true
That he fond man regards; for him be griev'd,
Whose trouble in his thoughts he ne're receiv'd?
'Tis madness: what of Gods fierce plagues is said,
Serves but to make the Vulgar sort afraid;
And that th'unlearned rabble of a Land
Might by such means be kept in strait command.
In Heav'nly Altitudes God dwells, to know
For us too high; what should he do below
Amongst such clods of earth, or mortals mind,
Who in his Image his delight doth find?
Should that great Prince, that's Father of the Light,
That boundless power, judge man's vain works of night,
Here on this dreary dale? should his great Soul
Consider silly worms in dust that roul?
He in high Paradise 'bove Angels ken,
Triumphant sits, and rules, whence ways of men
He cann't survey. As that abode is great,
Ev'n so contemptible's this lower state.
My house is stor'd with most retir'd Alcoves,
Fitted to entertain us in our loves.
Profoundly hid, they cunningly lye clos'd,
In ambages perplexing, where expos'd
No part is to the Sun: to this I ways
Have all that hinders to remove. Delays
Nor any may presume, but strait must go
Then far enough. What is't love cannot do?
Knots though most intricate we can exvolve,
When taught by Love, and sayings dark resolve.
In most ambiguous matters, ways find out
The prize to gain, and bring our ends about.
I, ever since Love set my mind on flame,
Soon Mistriss of these Mysteries became;
Though chiefly fraud, I couzen whom I will
My fervent passions to obey, fulfil.
Nor without lyes shall ever Lover be
Possessor of's desir'd felicity.

JOSEPH.
Think you so closely then your Plots to hide,
That by no piercing eye they should be spide?
Shall none your works of darkness undisguise?
O you're deceiv'd, things shall go otherwise.
He who the eye did make, should he not see,
Who all these Beings fashioned that be?
Should he not all things see, that made the sight,
That fram'd the Sun, and first produc't the Light?
Obscure in gloom of night your filthy works,
(And true it is, sin still in darkness lurks;)
Within the most retir'd Alcoves prepare
To take your pleasure and no eyerthink there:
Yet know, that eye that slumbers not nor sleeps,
Sees all, and of your ways strict reckoning keeps,
Even to your inmost thoughts. No Cave can hide
You, or your works from his bright eyes divide.
Put on the clipping pinions of the day,
And to Earths bounds hast then, and wing away:
Or where the Ocean ends, there you will find
Him likewise present, fathoming your mind;
Your mind, whose thoughts afar off he surveys,
Before Conception has there hatch'd its ways:
Your mind, which cannot think, or cannot do,
Can he not know, and better know than you?
It boots you not in lowest Vaults to lurk,
Or by Night favour'd, deeds of Night to work:
For Night is Day to God, darkness as light,
And all things naked to his piercing sight.
Well, but it seems to God the Heav'ns you'd give,
So, as you pleas'd, you in the world might live.
But me! how vain is this which you conceive!
With God it is not as you would believe.
O your Creator better learn so know,
And more respect with due submission show,
When of him you discourse. No mortal he,
Nor humane is, as you would have him be.
Heaven his ubiquity by sight doth know;
And though not seen, yet is he here below;
Both here, and every where; nor may you name
That place where his dread Spirit never came.
And at that instant I now know him here,
I likewise know him present every where,
Yet undivided, and essentially.
Whilst we fly from him, unto him we fly.
Had you the power by counterfeiting shews,
The eyes of men and reason to abuse,
'Twould not avail you; 'tis not here or there
Will hide your deeds to God which naked are.
As wicked boys who so their Plots contrive,
That into them none of the youth can dive,
What boots it yet, if he them understands,
Who for their punishments the rod commands?
But what speak we of Man, made of a clod
Of despicable Earth! let's on his God
That made him now reflect, whose powerful hand
Nor Heaven, nor Earth, nor can the Seas withstand.
Nay, Seas their rage forget, Winds calm remain,
When he commands, and rocks do rend in twain.
Heavens melt for fervent heat, opprest with fears,
Like man distress'd, that sheds for anguish tears.
Moves he his voice, and gives the sea its doom;
Thus far, but farther not your Waves may come:
The banks must check their fury, force detain,
As fiery Steeds when curbed by the rein.
Forth from his mouth huge damps like night do go;
Then following flames, which Nations overflow.
To stone-heaps Towns he turns, and down doth fell
All things against his judgment that rebel.
His Chariot-steeds are th'pinions of the wind;
His way begirt with darkness, none may find.
Swift flying Clouds that 'longst the Heaven glides,
His nimble Chariot is, on which he rides.
Th'Thunders his voice, if that breaks forth, then there
Where Sylvanes Eccho, Hinds do calve that bear,
And cast their unripe fruit o'th' trembling way.
Hills skip affrighted, Plains do run away;
His Hosts are Thrones of mighty Cherubim,
They hide his Char, attend as Guards on him.
Of these Angelick Quarries numberless,
That threat fierce din of War, doth he possess,
Commixt with flames: a Night-resembling smoke
Shoots from his nostrils when we him provoke,
And clouds the Air, so that the whole Sylvane
Withers its leaf, and faints for anxious pain.
He in the Clouds his signs doth shew, which threat
Plague, Sword, or Famine, which here woes compleat.
The Suns and Moons vast Orbs his word obey:
Commands he, they stand still, or run their way.
From him the three-fork'd Lightning darts its flash;
Which wheth'r it doth on rocks or Turrets dash,
Such ruinous way it makes, that th'earth her womb
Ghastly extends, and offers man a Tomb.
The arched Rainbow, with embroidered rays,
Strait from the troubled skies its light displays,
When he commands; where then it takes its place
Right opposite where the Sun promotes his race.
About the Sphere he thousand stars doth guide,
Which never err, but ever surely glide:
Their strength he knows, and numbers of them all;
Each by his name distinctly de doth call.
As with thick wool, with snow he doth infold
The naked fields. He sends his fearful cold
That charmeth flowing streams; then a south-wind,
Which them from numbness doth again unbind.
His dreadful Judgments over Realms he shakes;
From calm repose the sleeping sea he wakes
To horrible uproar, as with his hands
Drives ships in unknown deeps, men on strange lands.
Leviathan, the terror of the Main,
With pannick fear he troubles, till again
He yields his borrowed Life, and until he
Makes where he dyes, an Island in the sea.
So awful is this glorious Majesty,
Who whilst we onely name, our inwards be
Arrested strait with dread; nor can we find
Repose whilst this continues in our mind.
Come, Madam, then, your young affections yield
To Heavenly things; let them no more be fill'd
With earthly trash, but thence withdraw your love,
And henceforth fix it upon things above;
Where no remorse for sin nor pain doth dwell,
But lasting joys, which these do far excel;
And where these joys, in one immortal May,
Inebriate and fill the Soul for aye.
This blissful state let's labour then to gain;
What though it cost us self-denying pain?
Since here we must the lust of flesh oppose,
Or that felicity for ever loose;
Let us that lust with angry zeal controul,
Unweariedly, which would deprive the Soul
Thus of its rest. As wax before the fire,
So spurious Lust would dye in our desire,
If we would force our backward thoughts to be
Conversing with these matters frequently.
When in us things of God we overlay,
Our minds it strengthens, and drives sin away.

SEPHYRA.
But hold, fond Boy, Gods judgments let them heed,
Whose steps are drawing near the grave, who speed
Now down-hill to their end; let them reflect
On such dull Phantasms, and these joys reject.
But why should we, that have not reach'd our Noon,
Think on the period of our days so soon;
Disturb, by thoughts of other worlds, our rest
And flee those joys of which we are possest?
Age blith like Youth, like hoary age Youth grave!
Things more discording not on earth we have.
Dalliance becomes best Youth, as hand in hand
With joy Youth couples, knits in am'rous band.
Both their designs is Mirth and soft delight,
As doth their Names, their humour's so unite;
And both one soul (so they agree) possess,
What the one covets, t'other craves no less.
Hymen in stricter union never joyn'd
Two pleasant pairs of more agreeing mind.
Youth in his bloom, and now when South inspires
Life in the Spring, and gathers into quires
The scatter'd Nightingales, and decks the Hills
With cheerful green, and Banks of gliding Rills:
When Gardens re-assume their Summers pride,
Where Art and Nature both in triumph ride,
Whose various Flowers deceive the rasher eye,
In taking them for curious Tapistry:
Then three chief pleasures he to him assumes,
With which the hasty minutes he consumes.
Jocundity the first, compos'd of air,
That knows no sadness, nor doth laughter spare;
Who not on Earth, but as on Air doth tread;
Each step he makes with ever tossing head.
Next, Play, whose fingers strike the warbling string,
Which moves the Soul, and into tune doth bring;
Whose musick regulates dividing feet,
That move in dance, and makes both fitly meet.
And lastly, Chace, to fallow-Deer inclin'd,
But which in Cities, not in Woods we find;
Hotly pursuing, till within his toyls
He has obtain'd some of those beautious spoyls.
Then sweet-lip'd Joy attractively array'd,
With soft Habiliments, whereon pourtray'd
Are Loves inventions, though her brighter air
Plunge hearts far deeper into am'rous care.
The Onyx and the Jaspers various die,
And Diamonds darken at her brighter eye:
The Saphyr's blew, by her more azure veins,
Seem to confess they serve but there for stains;
And blushing Rubies seem to loose their die,
When her more Ruby lips are moving by.
The curious Apples of her swelling breasts,
In which a Paradise of pleasure rests,
Surpass the whitest Syndon which she wears,
And gazing eyes to ravishment ensnares.
Thus clad and qualified, likewise she
For her diversion has made choice of three.
Song first, with quavering throat, who in soft lays
Of moving Verse Loves mysteries displays:
Or of Salmacis streams a Song indites,
Which turns her listners to Hermaphrodites.
Loose Riot next to revelling inclin'd,
So to supply the concaves of her mind,
Which must by merry Bouts a vent obtain
Of that light Spirit, active in her brain.
And lastly, Snap the belly-friend, whose taste
In well-fed flesh than fruit finds more repast;
Whose blood like Kids upon a motly plain,
Doth skip and dance Levalto's in each vein.
Lo, what a jolly company is here!
Methinks my youthful Soul with new-born cheer
At their remembrance over-spread I feel,
Which in each faculty doth gently steal.
We both yet young; now flourish in our prime:
You twenty seven scarce reckon of your time,
I not so much; if now it may not be
A time to love, that time we ne're shall see.
Ah, why should youth his sweet desires controul,
And with too pensive thoughts torment his Soul,
Just when the fragrant bloom of Youth would sprout?
But 'tis in vain, for youthful lust will out;
It will have all its due: let th'aged grieve,
Who now of love have took eternal leave;
Let them with sighs converse, and groan to know
High things, who with a third leg added go.
As to like years, we to like mood incline;
Of Sex both fit in acts of love to joyn.
So kindly Nature hath our tempers wrought,
That whilst we're two, we're made thus one in thought.
Well then, cheer up, dull Soul, nor longer now
To spend thy days in grief thy self allow:
O do but see how all these joys do move,
To serve thee in the practices of love!
When aged furrows once thy face shall plough,
No more then these delights will Love allow:
Of things uncomely, we the chiefest find,
When age like youth to dalliance is inclin'd.
Come then, to Nature, Mother of each thing,
Let's for an Offring our youths verdure bring:
Her Priests we are, her Temple my rooms name;
My bed her Altar, and her fire our flame.
Our days worst part is, when declining age
Suddenly takes us with a deaths presage.
Pluck therefore flowers; my youth, e're spring be past;
Let's love that most, which doth but shortly last.
Dost thou yet muse? Or is it timerous fear
Withholds thy hand? Behold, thy blooming year
With speedy feet to falling Autumn hies;
And he who gets this fall, no more doth rise.

JOSEPH.
Nor reason, nor Religion 'tis, that I
Should wast my youth in carnal luxury.
Too soon, you judge it, that with prudent care
I for my hasting end should now prepare:
But is there any one, or can you tell
When death shall ring us our departing knell?
None can the measure of his days divine,
Or when his Sun shall in its grave decline.
Even now we by that Pursevant may be
Hurried from hence to that Eternity,
Where no repentance is allowed more
To us, nor mercy which we scorn'd before.
And yet you think the shortness of our days
To so much more industry in the ways
Of lust should us excite. O much beguil'd!
Nor unto poorest reason reconcil'd.
Should he who shortly must account produce
Of his led life, be therefore more profuse
Of his most precious minutes, and excite
His youthful vigor to obscene delight?
'Tis as unreasonable, as tis sure,
By many sins, we many plagues procure.
O think how oft we crimson cheeks do view
Suddenly change into deaths bloodless hue!
How oft vermilion-lips have been surpriz'd
With hue more pale than box, and sacrific'd
By deaths inevitable stroak, to dwell
With Spirits just, or evermore in Hell!
Nay, though as young as you, yet have we seen
Brisk morning looks, at evening who have been
Wrapt in a winding-sheet; and oft at night,
Eyes shut to sleep, that more ne're view'd this light
We daily see, (nor is it more a wonder)
Mans Sun at noon declining, going under.
And that which we on others acted see,
Forewarns may happen either you or me.
Gay youths as smoak, that quickly fades away;
We as our last should therefore think each day,
And strive, as that perswasion did require,
By setling things before it should expire.
To God the sattest of the fold we yield,
And so the first-fruits of the tilled field;
How should we dare then with our own refuse
Of feeble age, his Majesty abuse?
If to the flesh our youth we give, and bring
To God a crazy stump for offering,
Members repleat by age with pains and akes,
Whose palsie joynts for deaths approaches shakes;
What will he say? or how can we conceive
He our performances should then receive?
More wisely therefore let's our time redeem,
Whilst youth remains, which God doth most esteem:
The young that seek him never fail to find,
Nor he to give them graces in their mind:
But he in time who this neglects, anon
When he shall knock, shall find his season gone.

SEPHYRA.
This yet agrees not with our years: men say,
Deep thoughts on death make hairs untimely gray.
Farewel good days to him who hereon pores;
To these dull humours therefore shut thy dores.
Sorrow comes soon enough; why with such kind
Of pond'rings should we then afflict our mind?
He who on evils will before-hand muse,
When come, in him will but more grief infuse.
Yet let them mope that please; how ill it suits
With thee, fair boy, however! strong disputes
'Twixt Chastity and such fair looks as thine
Are never wanting, till that grace incline
To yield to the allurements which are layd
In ambush for her, whereby she's betray'd.
Behold, from lips the Coral which transcend,
Soft moving words do flow, that love intend,
And sue for a complyance; nor can breasts
More hard than Rocks deny their kind requests:
And Pleasures thereto joyn'd, on every side,
Of every kind still Virtue doth bestride,
And conquer: Although never so austere,
Even Virtue must the Charms of Love revere.
But woe is me, to whom do I address
All this discourse? 'tis my unhappiness
To spend my sighs unto a flint, a stone;
Yet stones have tears to weep, but thou hast none.
Though nature made thee thus surprizing fair,
(And sure where beauty is, Loves seat is there)
Yet can my words, though from a troubled mind,
In thee no pity, no compassion find.
How can it be that in those looks should dwell
Such cruel nature? O that fierceness quell!
Be not so bloody-minded; imitate
Thy lovely air; be kindly passionate.
Those slaves who in the fiercest battles bear
The brunt, and in worst dangers must appear;
Or those who are transfix'd unto the Oare,
Or who the plough do follow, can't be more.
Them possibly it might become to be
As rough as their rough skins, but never thee,
Whose looks so sweet, so lovely do appear
As if they said it, Gentleness is here.
Thy education, and thy yet few days,
Soft dalliance more becomes, and Bacchus ways.
Sweet Malmsey with a Song, and on the knee
A spritely Damsel, wondrously agree
And suite with thy smooth Chin; nor can thy age
It self from these soft pleasures disengage.
Alas! to what, I pray, is beauty good?
It bears no fruit, nor eat we it as food;
Nor likewise was it for the plough design'd,
It must be therefore but a shade or wind.
If greater good may not be drawn from thence,
Which who doth not deduce, is void of sense.
Its fruit is purely joy, no good besides
Within the borders of its view resides.
The blushing Rose, though from the stalk ne're wrested,
Or in gay wreaths by Virgin-hands invested,
Or by a Lover to his female friend
Never bestow'd, yet should its beauty end
To soon, behold how that its thirsty leaves
Extends for dew each morning, and receives;
Which when they once no more obtain, they fade,
Nor leave o'th' stalk more than the wither'd blade.
Why shouldst thou spare that youth which wasts away
So of it self? time onely a decay
Works on it, and impairs its comely guise:
This season therefore slip not, art thou wise.
Do I love thee? I therewith thee accuse;
Thy beauty 'tis that doth this love infuse:
Whoever such surprizing looks beheld,
And was not more than to esteem compell'd?
None thirsty view the Font's aspiring source,
Yet from a tast can their parcht throats enforce;
Nor any fang'd with hunger, well-dress'd meat
Before them see, yet can refrain to eat.
Wine fill'd in glasses of a Christal white,
Is drank with more refreshment and delight.
Thou know'st though meats be ne'r so toothsome made
They're loath'd, if not in cleanly dishes layd.
'Tis strange, yet true; by silence beauty gains
Rough hearts to yield, nor once by words complains
Although with eyes, yet melteth frozen breasts,
And the obdurate, by those dumb requests.
Nothing that from the lips of beauty streams,
But like a dew, of birth celestial seems,
And overtakes with ravishment the heart,
Whether in jest address'd, or earnest part.

JOSEPH.
How! shall then Beauty, humane natures praise,
Be made a glass where lustful eyes may gaze?
When comely objects are beheld, then must
The flesh, think you arise in flames of lust?
Was this the end when Natures hand did grace
With those Divine perfections humane race?
O no, the gifts of our great God invite
By no means man unto sin-born delight:
Nor was this giv'n it self by lust to please,
But by chast Wedlock man-kind to encrease;
His Masculine perfections her delight,
Her female graces him to love excite.
He loving her alone, she him, there are
No thirds that in their bliss can claim a share.
He gives, she draws his gifts by her fair eye;
Nor can she crave the thing he can deny.
And her desires agreeing so with his,
They both contribute to compleat their bliss.
This is the end of beauty, to allure
Thus chast affections that may long endure;
And they, if chast indeed, when beauty's gone,
That beauty will out-live, that led them on.
The words of beauty, you alledge, prevail,
Ev'n though they should hearts made of rocks assail:
And I am fair, say you, O but admit
I might now say what mostly might befit
Your so obdurate heart, and that might be
Dissolved by the words that flow from me.
Yet there is more, I for your Interest
Humbly advise and press you; my request
Seeks but your safety, whereas yours to me
Moves towards that which will my ruine be.
Be then advis'd (and sure 'tis highly best)
Let not henceforth your eyes upon me rest
Lust to excite, but when you Joseph view,
Think than a servant he's no more to you.
'Tis not enough if we refrain the deed;
Lusts in the thoughts from guilty breasts proceed.
And they who are inflamed in that kind,
Bear before God a sin-polluted mind.
Yet if the while my object in your breast
Your lust should heighten, and destroy your rest,
Great would my sorrow be: Nay, I before
This should succeed, my face in purple gore
Would certainly convert; my killing eyes
I would reward with equal cruelties:
Within these cheeks my nails I would indent,
And in that manner them so oft torment,
Until no marks of beauty there should be
More left, but horrour, whence all eyes should flee.
But you that beauty seek, convert your eyes
Unto that glorious Helion; a surprize
Will seize your soul, from the first sight you gain,
Which fixed there, in wonder will detain,
And ardent love, and that will quite extrude,
Which in your breast you now so close include.
How vain, alas, is that we beauty call,
In looks decypher'd which we so extol!
Take thence the veil, and that which meets our sight
Is sores which very nature doth affright.
No sooner from our body is exprest
That suspiration wherein life doth rest;
No sooner are our nostrils stopt, but strait
Our beauty's gone, our glory finds a date.
The Corps then so forsook, extended are,
Which with sad obsequies men mourning bear
Unto their sable graves, where then they must
Measure their cold proportions in the dust.
There now behold your lovely beauty lye,
Nor long expect, and you may feeding spy
Self-quickning worms upon that flesh, whose sight
Could once your Souls entirest thoughts delight.
Well, therefore pray from thence revert your eyes;
Nor longer with the world such beauty prize,
But raise them up unto those things above,
Which will both kindle and protect your love:
For there is nothing in this lower sphear
Which shall not into nothing disappear.
But now, alas, your words too plainly shew,
Not beauty 'tis, but horrour you pursue.
The ugliness of sin who can express?
And yet 'tis this at which your Soul doth press.
If pencils could by deep and heightings art
This Monster unto humane eyes impart,
And half its ugliness delineate, we
As from infernal plagues thence struck should flee.
Produce us what you can that genders fright,
Or huge amazement, or afflicts the sight;
All the deformities which you can shew,
Though ne're so dismal, yet so black a view
Have not as this you seek. But here I stay
Too long; I to my charge must haste away:
With leave I therefore go: it is not fit
Dames with men-slaves long privacies admit.

SEPHYRA.
No, thou shalt stay: nor think to shrink so hence;
Thy oppositions but the more incense
My raging flames; a suffocated fire,
When once broke forth, flames with the greater ire.
But let me know, I earnestly request,
Whence is it thus thy Soul is pre-possest
With these so ponderous things? where was't thou brought
Or trained up? none here have so been taught.
Our Men, thou see'st, are waggishly inclin'd,
Nor wanton less do I our women find:
Who knows how things would go, if their desire
Had all the liberty it would require?
Thou onely art exempted; thou alone
Art more relentless then obdurate stone.
In these affairs than thee none so unmov'd,
Who love deny'st, though much thou art belov'd.
Bless me! what is it thus withholds thy mind,
And breeds distate in thee to women-kind,
Nay to all joy? what want sustain'st thou here,
That against pleasure makes thee so severe?
Behold, my Palace seated for delight,
Within a Grove, where a smooth brook more bright
Than shining-Chrystal glydes a thousand ways,
And in amusing tracts it self displays,
Frequently washing the beloved sides
Of her delightful banks with loving Tides;
Where waves call waves, and glide along in ranks,
And prattle to the water-edging banks:
Unto whose murmuring, yet gentle falls,
Melodious birds sing solemn Madrigals;
And where white Swans do clap their silver wing,
And on the breast of its Meanders swim.
Nor in my gates doth any grief reside:
Mirth onely, Halcyon pleasures here abide
In all variety, which recommend
Enjoyment, and for eminence contend.
Here on the Lesbian Lute by skilful hand
Soft strains are struck, which all the Soul command;
Or the Chitarh, or Thracian Harp, which break
Hearts made of Rocks, and them their captives make:
Though of these Symphonies none can expel
Those rough desires which in thy bosome dwell;
In melancholly notions whose delight
Is rather plac'd, which humane souls affright.
My Tables daily groan, as though each feast
Would as a floud devour all Fowl and Beast;
So Princely are they serv'd: There Bacchus flows
In burnish'd Gold, and frolick Cups bestows.
Nay, of things wild here I have likewise store;
Of Fowl, of Venson, and the salvage Boar:
Onely in these I ever am beguil'd
Of my due share, since Joseph is not wild.
And yet by Feasts, where Tables glutted are,
Loves practices we find most active there:
The tox'd with wine, and dainties over-fed,
With heightned lust go evermore to bed
Ease genders teeming flesh, nor he soft days
Who doth enjoy, can chuse but run her ways.
A belly fill'd with meats of various kind,
Seeks where an exit the excess may find.
Methinks that youth, whilst him fair Dames caress,
Their love who yet endeavours to suppress,
Or who in midst of mirth sits sably sad,
Doth either dream, or else is plainly mad.
Indeed thou art a dreamer, and from thee
What doth proceed, th'effect of fancies be.
They robb'd thee first (if Fame doth not beguile)
Of Brethrens love, and wrought thee this exile:
Nor, if thy dreams thou leav'st not, wilt thou be
Less hated in this Palace, both by me
And by my Lord; by him, through my devise:
O therefore dream no more, if thou art wise.
In one hour that, which tenscore years thrice told,
From shameful view old Noah did withhold,
Wine show'd to transient eyes; and shall its sprite
Raise in thy youthful members no delight?
Why should not ease as others, work on thee?
Canst thou less feeling then all mortals be,
When tender Love doth her soft charms inject?
Wherein hast thou than others more defect?
Alas, what is't thus I am forc'd to see
Two contrarieties made up in thee?
My Chamber with all lovely pomp is deck'd,
Which eyes with wonder and with love affect:
Egyptian needles there have shewn what skill,
And patience; and industry can fulfil;
So lively, that there seems a doubtful strife
Betwixt the senceless shadows and the life.
My bed then with this Arras over-laid,
Thereon Egyptian Amours are displaid
With skill so tempting, that they charm delight
In the most cold, and with command invite
To those so pleasing pleasures, whilst they speak,
And in fair stories their intentions break.
All smell of Soveraign balms compounded so,
That in their mixture they Conceit outgo;
More precious than the fragrant breath which moves
The whispering leaves in the Panchain Groves.
The Arabian wind, whose breathing gently blows
Purple to th'Violet, blushes to the Rose,
Did never yield an odour like to these,
So greatly which that smelling sense doth please:
No Myrrhe, no Cassia, nor more choice perfumes
Of untouch'd Nard, or Aromatick fumes
Of hot Arabia doth enrich the air
With more delicious sweetness, or more rare.
O come then, let us in the downy plume
Tumble with boldness, and in clasps consume
The hours in feats of love, pledging each other
In mutual flames, and dastard ponderings smother.
Nor need we fear an absent Husband now,
Whom we involv'd in Court-concerns do know,
So deeply too, that he no thought behind
Hath left at home of his so cumber'd mind.
Well, for a close then, get thee without fear
To th'door of my withdrawing chamber, where
Thrice softly knock, and then as oft be still;
Then knock again, the door shall do thy will.
Be this thy warning, and forthwith advance
With undisturbed mind. In dalliance
We so some hours will spend. Most happy boy,
Who without sighs so freely mayst enjoy
That bliss for which so many sigh'd in vain,
Nor any fruit could of their suit obtain.

JOSEPH.

SEPHYRA.

JOSEPH.

SEPHYRA.
Now must I say, (though sorry for thy sake)
Thou than to bend dost rather choose to break.
As clear as day I find it now most true,
What fancy will in sturdy humours do.
But what's this Spirit, thus that all things weighs,
That against every pleasure so inveighs?
Surely a sickness in the crazy mind,
When that to melancholy is inclin'd.
The lunatick of Castles in the air
So dream, and labour with ludibrious care,
Something, they know not what, to bring to pass.
So thou but dream'st of things that never was.
'Tis fumes of brain which in a foggy state
Of weather cloud it, and do dissipate;
When east-winds purge the air, and skyes do smile.
This to regard I think not worth the while.
Shall I add more?—

JOSEPH.
N— No, 'tis enough, forbear;
Nor may you say, nor may I longer hear
Such Blasphemies. O thou long-suffering grace,
That such reproaches suffer'st to thy face!
You speak but by him, yet that tongue employ
To utter words that would himself destroy!
This Spirit is no dizziness of brain,
But what in flesh and blood no faith can gain.
I do not marvail you cannot conceive
What in your thoughts you never did receive:
The Spiders cob-web can infold no winds,
Nor can the Spirit rest in carnal minds.
Night-Owls and twilight-Bats abhor the light,
And Sol's bright rays but chear the blest with sight.
The Spirit in our Souls from God above
Is given, as an earnest of his love.
This is our comforter, our guide, our light,
Our Sanctuary in this gloomy night
Of grief, of errour, darkness, and distress:
By this our wants in prayers we express;
Without it we're unsafe, nor can we say
What 'tis we want, much less for blessings pray.
Hereby our heart's celestially sublime,
And rais'd, become above the Moon to climb,
Above the stars, even to the sacred breast
Of God, the Summum bonum of our rest.
His hereby we are known; this is his Seal,
Which us his own, and him doth ours reveal.
It clears the clouds of ignorance away;
Us to our selves doth needfully display;
Begets all graces in us, kindles love
Within our breasts, which towards God doth move;
Destroyeth then all wordly love from thence,
And shields us from its hurtful influence.
The flowing honey-combs delicious tast
Is not comparable to the repast
This gives the Soul, in which its beams when shot,
It changes earthly pleasures into nought.