Mel Heliconium :: :: University of Virginia Library

You that walk among sweat flowers,
Dasht with drops of twi-light showers,
Which with smels refresh the sence;
Look about and carefull be,
Of the plots and pollicie
Of that black infernall Prince.

Who's still ready to incroach
On your souls, and in his Coach,
To hurl you from hence away
To that dark and dismall place,
Where you cannot see the face
Of Apollo and the day.

And let us take heed that we
Taste not that Pomegranat tree,
Which in his sad Orchard stands;
If we do, we shall remain
Captives still, and ne're again
Shall escape out of his hands.

Juno then cannot help us
With her wealth, nor fair Venus
With her sea-froth countenance;
Neither yet that blew-ey'd maid,
Which out of Joves head was said
To proceed, can help us thence.

Onely Christ did undertake,
When he pass'd the joylesse Lake
To release our souls again;
When we were in Pluto's power,
All inthrall'd within his Tower,
Where we should have ever lain.

But he broke the gates of brasse,
And made way for us to passe,
Though we tasted of that tree
Which bereav'd us of Gods grace,
And inclos'd us in that place
Where dwels endlesse misery.

He dispersed hath that seed
Of his Word, which doth us feed;
Dragons now his chariots draw,

Who before were Gentile Kings,
Fierce as Dragons, swift with wings,
Are now subject to his Law.

He holds out his burning Lamps,
Which expell unwholsome damps
From us that in darknesse lye:
He doth raise us from below,
Not for half a yeer or so,
But for all eternity.

O my God, amongst May flowers,
When I spend some idle hours,
When my joyes do most abound,
I will think on Deaths black Coach;
That if then it should approach,
I may be then ready found.

Thou do'st feed me daily, Lord,
With sincere milk of thy Word;
O then give me constancie,
That I may by night indure
Thy hot furnace, for I'm sure
Thou know'st what is best for me.