University of Virginia Library

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81

SPARKLES OF DIVINE LOVE. Book. II.

[Conceive not, happy malecontent! although]

1

Conceive not, happy malecontent! although
Thou stand'st below,
But thy inlarged eye may freely rove,
And soar above;
Nay all that ambient Darkness clear's the light
Unto thy sight,
And all those silver streakes of light which were
Seemingly hid before, do now appear.

2

Although the space of Heaven, which doth lie
Before thine eye,
Seem's small; thy bulk's too little and unfit
To measure it,
What seem's an inch will quickly unbeguile
And prove a mile;
Stars seem like spangles; but a tube let's see
This massie globe of th'Earth's far less then they.

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3

Trust not from this thy sense with things that are
Above her sphear;
Shee's purblinde, and at distance cannot see
Things as they be,
Reason may help, but not secure her: either
May err together.
Nothing more wilde, and weak, and erring, than
The reason of poor incollected man.

4

But faith, which seeme's to overthrow her quite,
Set's her aright;
And drawe's remotest objects home unto her;
That what before
Was small and too too bright she could not see;
May now agree;
Faith is the best prospective, they who rest
Without her, seeing most, do see the least.

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85

[Do'st thou behold, this little ball?]

Do'st thou behold, this little ball?
These fleeting bubbles? this round toy?
Which children well may play withall,
And with a wanton breath destroy.

Though it be small, upon it lie's
The spreading heavens contracted face;
And the vast volume of the skies
Designed in so strait a space.

That sea of light, which sent forth streams
(And yet is inexhaustible
And never poor) of golden beams
Can on these lines his courses tell;

Whether he towards the Crab doth roul,
Or give's the Ram a fleece of gold,
Whether we warmth in's presence feel
Or in his absence biteing cold;

There's near a lesser light but here
(Whether 't be fix't or more unstaid)
Doth in a fained course appear
And in its motion is displaid.

Yet ne're the less, doth every one
(Uninterrupted undisturb'd)
Go in its former motion,
Free, and no more then ever curb'd:

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The sun gild's and benight's the moon;
whom th'Ocean flatter's as before,
And doth, where shee'l lead him run,
Nor are the planets wandrings more;

They do not sure; and if thine eyes
Discover what thou art within;
That spirit which imprison'd lies
What a vast essence will be seen?

Stay her within the bounds of sence
Imagination's infinite;
But with that heavie load dispence,
Then she can take a vaster flight;

Nay grasp whole heaven, though it be
Without all measure and all end;
For in her strength and power be
The greatest things to comprehend.

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89

[How come's this chrystall liquor, which before]

1

How come's this chrystall liquor, which before
Crept through the aufractuous cavern of the earth,
To mount aloft? and so directly soar
As if ashamed of so mean a birth,
And so would force it self among the clouds,
From whence it first ran down in woolley flouds,

2

Can wise Philosophie, which can reveal
Unto the sence most hidden mysteries;
Unriddle this strange Theoreme? and tell
Whence such a hidden cause retired lies?
In nature such strange operation is
As sometimes teacheth fools, & blinde's the wise.

3

I'st cause some sulphure lurk's in privie veines,
And make's the wanton water boyl above?
Or doth the unconstant Oceans trembling plain
In its diurnall reflux hither move?
And forcing passage fill the spring-head so
That the imprison'd waves do upward go;

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4

What ere it is, learn (soul!) by this to scorn
The poor and humble dwellings of the earth,
Be on thy own wings, up to heaven born
And gain rest there, where thou had'st first thy birth
Although that here below thou think'st th'art free,
Thy freedomes but a glorious slavery.

5

Learn to believe impossibilities,
(Such as are so to reason, not to hope)
To pose thy sence, and contradict thine eyes
To set in darkness, and in light to grope;
Struggle with that, which doth least easie seem
A little child can swim along the stream.

6

This is the way; heaven stand's on high, and those
Who would go thither, must be sure to clime
Labor in this is easie, wh' ould not chose
To gain a scepter, with a wearied lim;
Virtue is ever proudest in her toyles
And think's thick showres of sweat her greatest spoyles

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93

[The Ermine rather chose to die]

1

The Ermine rather chose to die
A Martyr of its purity,
Then that one uncouth soile should stain
Its hitherto preserved skin:

2

And thus resolv'd she thinks it good
To write her whitenesse in her blood.
It I had rather die, then e're,
Continue from my soulnesse cleere.

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3

Nay I suppose by that I live
That onely doth destruction give.
Mad-man I am, I turn mine Eye
On every side, but what doth lie

4

Within I can no better find,
Then if I ever had been blind.
Is this the reason thou dost claime
Thy sole prerogative, to frame

5

Engines again thy self? O fly
Thy self as greatest enemy;
And think thou sometimes life wilt get
By a secure contemning it.

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97

[What doe I here? what's Beauty? 'lasse]

1

What doe I here? what's Beauty? 'lasse
How doth it passe?
As flowers as soon as smelled at
Evaporate,
Even so this shaddow, ere our eyes
Can view it, flies.

2

What's colour? 'lasse the sullen Night
Can it affright:
A Rose can more vermilion speake,
Then any cheeke;
A richer white on Lillies stands,
Then any hands.

3

Then what's that worth, when any Flower
Is worth far more?
How constant's that which needs must die
When day doth fly?
Glow-wormes can lend some petty light
To gloomy night.

4

And what's proportion? wee descry
That in a flie.

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And what's a lip? tis in the test,
Red clay at best.
And what's an Eye? an Eaglets are
More strong by farre.

5

Who can that specious nothing heed,
Which flies exceed?
Who would his frequent kisses lay
On painted clay?
Wh'ould not if eyes affection move
Young Eaglets love?

6

Is Beauty thus? then who would lie
Love-sicke and die?
And's wretched self annihilate
For knowes not what?
And with such sweat and care invade
A very shade?

7

Even he that knows not to possesse
True happinesse,
But has some strong desires to try
What's misery,
And longs for teares, oh He will prove
One fit for love.

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101

[Traitor self, why do I try]

1

Traitor self, why do I try
Thee my bitterest Enemy?
What can I beare
Alas more deare
Then is this Center of my selfe, my heart?
Yet all those traines that blow me up lie there,
Hid in so small a part.

2

How many back-bones nourisht have
Crawling Serpents in the grave?
I am alive,
Yet life doe give
To myriads of adders in my breast,
Which doe not there consume, but grow and thrive,
And undisturbed rest;

3

Still gnawing where they first were bred,
Consuming where they'r nourished,
Endeavouring still
Even him to kill

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102

That gives them life, and looses of his blisse
To entertain them; that tyrannick Ill
So radicated is.

4

Most fatall men, what can we have
To trust? our bosomes will deceive;
The clearest thought
To witnesse brought,
Will speake against us, and condemne us too:
Yea and they all are knowne. O how we ought
To sift them through!

5

Yet what's our diligence? even all
Those sands to number that do fall
Chac'd by the winde.
Nay we may finde
A mighty difference: who would suppose
This little thing so fruitfull were and blind,
As it's own ruine showes?

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105

[My Life is measur'd by this glasse, this glasse]

My Life is measur'd by this glasse, this glasse
By all those little Sands that thorough passe.
See how they presse, see how they strive, wch shall
With greatest speed & greatest quicknesse fall.
See how they raise a little Mount, and then
With their own weight doe levell it agen.
But when th'have all got thorough, they give o're
Their nimble sliding down, and move no more.
Just such is man, whose houres stil forward run,
Being almost finisht ere they are begun.
So perfect nothings, such light blasts are we,
That ere w'are ought at all, we cease to be.
Do what we will, our hasty minutes fly;
And while we sleep, what do we else but die?
How transient are our Joyes, how short their day!
They creep on towards us, but flie away.
How stinging are our sorrows! where they gain
But the least footing, there they will remain.
How groundles are our hopes! how they deceive
Our childish thoughts, and onely sorrow leave!
How reall are our fears! they blast us still,
Still rend us, still with gnawing passions fill.
How senselesse are our wishes! yet how great!
With what toil we pursue them, with what sweat!
Yet most times for our hurts, so small we see,
Like Children crying for some Mercurie.

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106

This gapes for Marriage, yet his fickle head
Knows not what cares waite on a marriage-bed.
This vowes Virginity, yet knowes not what
Lonenesse, griefe, discontent, attends that state.
Desires of wealth anothers wishes hold:
And yet how many have been choak't with Gold?
This onely hunts for honour: yet who shall
Ascend the higher, shall more wretched fall.
This thirsts for knowledge: yet how is it bought
With many a sleeplesse night & racking thought?
This needs will travell: yet how dangers lay
Most secret Ambuscado's in the way?
These triumph in their Beauty, though it shall
Like a pluck't Rose or fading Lillie fall.
Another boasts strong armes: 'las Giants have
By silly Dwarfes been drag'd unto their grave.
These ruffle in rich silk: though ne're so gay,
A well plum'd Peacock is more gay then they.
Poor man, what art? a Tennis-ball of Errour;
A ship of Glasse toss'd in a Sea of terrour:
Issuing in blood and sorrow from the wombe,
Crauling in teares and mourning to the tombe.
How slippery are thy pathes, how sure thy fall?
How art thou nothing when th'art most of all?

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109

[I heare and tremble! Lord, what shall I doe]

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