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It were some kind of Guilt but to reherse
How wanton sin once domineerd in verse:
Vice then usurp't the chiefest wits we know;
But now the choysest in religion flow.
See here are flames that shoot both heat and light,
To warm our hearts, & make our darknesse bright
That we inflam'd might love, and loving see
The holiest raptures clad in poetrie.
How sad's the world! Vertue no place can win,
Vnlesse by pleasure it be usher'd in.
Such is thy holy cosenage, which gaines
Men to that goodnesse by thy pleasing straines;
Which else they would neglect, if th'had not bin
Brib'd by delight in those, to let it in.
How poysoned is the world that there must be
Some poyson us'd for its recoverie!
How sick too is the world, whose health must be
Procured by its own infirmity!
To work this riddle cure, there's not in all
Thy Book a line, but is medicinall.

Thomas Wall, M. A. OXON

The Præludium.

Frown on me shades, and let not day
Steal in a needle-pointed Ray,
To make discoveries wrap me here
In folds of night, and do not fear
The Sun's approach, so shall I find
A greater light possess my mind.

O do not, Children of the Spring!
Hither your charming odours bring
Nor with your painted smiles devise
To captivate my wandring eyes:
Th'have strayd too much, but now begin
Wholy t'employ themselves within,
What do I now on Earth? O why
Do not these members upward flie?
And force a room among the Starres
And there my great ned self disperse
As wide as thought, what do I here
Spred on soft down of Roses, there
That spangled Curtain which so wide
Dilates its lustre, shall me hide.
Mount up low thoughts and see what sweet
Reposure Heaven can beget,
Could you the least complyance frame
How should I all become one flame,
And melt in purest fires? O how
My warmed Heart would sweetly glow
And wast those dreggs of Earth that stay

Glew'd to it, then it might away
And still ascend till that it stood
Within the Centre of all good,
There prest, not overwhelm'd, with joyes
Under its burthen fresh arise,
There might it loose it self, and then
With loosing find it self agen:
There might it triumph and yet bee
Still in a Blest Captivitie,
There might it—O why do I speak
Whose humble thoughts be far too weak
To apprehend small Notions, nay
Angells be non-plus'd though the day
Break clearer on them, and they run
In Anogees more near the Sun.

But oh! what pull's me? how I shall
In the least moment headlong fall;
Now I'm on Earth again, not dight
As formerly in Springing light,
The self-same Objects please that I
Did even now as base deny,
Now what a powerfull influence
Has Beauty on my slavish sence:
How rob I Nature that I may
Her wealth upon one Cheek display,
How doth the Gyant Honour seem
Well statur'd in my fond esteem,
And Gold, that Bane of Men, I call
Not poys'nous now, but Cordiall;
Since that the worlds great eye the Sun
Has not disdain'd to make 't his own,
Now every Passion swayes and I

Tamely admit their Tyranny,
Onely with numerous sighings say
The Basest things is breathing Clay.

But sure these vapours will not e're
Draw Curtaines o're my Hemisphere.
Let it clear up and welcom day
It's lustre once again display,
Thou (O my sun!) a while maist lie
As intercepted from mine eye,
But love shall fright those Clouds, and thou
Into my purged eyes shall flow,
Which (melted by my inward fires
Which shall be blown by strong desires)
Consuming into teares shall feel
Each tear into a Pearl congeal,
And every Pearl shall be a stem
In my Celestiall Diadem.

[Lord! send thine hand]

What am I without thee but one running headlong? Aug. Conf. lib. 4. cap. 1.

1

Lord! send thine hand
Unto my rescue, or I shall
Into mine own ambushments fall,
Which ready stand
To d' execution All,
Layd by self-love, O what
Love of our selves is that
That breeds such uproares in our better state?

2

I think I pass
A meadow guilt with Crimson showers,
Of the most rich and beauteous flowers,
Yet Thou, alas!
Espy'st what under lowers
Tast them, they're Poyson, lay
Thy self to rest, there stray
Whole knots of Snakes that solely wait for prey.

3

To dream of flight
Is more then madness, there will be
Either some strong necessitie
Or else delight,
To chain us, would we flee,
Thus do I wandring go
And cannot poysons know
From wholsome simples that beside them grow.

4

Blind that I am!
That do not see before mine eyes
These gaping dangers that arise
Ever the same,
Or in varieties
Far worse, how shall I scape
Or whether shall I leap.
Or with what comforts solace my hard hap?

5

Thou! who alone
Canst give assistance, send me aid,
Else shall I in those depths be laid,
And quickly thrown,
Whereof I am afraid,
Thou who canst stop the sea
In her mid-rage, stop me
Least from my self, my own self-ruine be.

Epigram 1.

Should'st thou not sometimes man in danger stand
Thy Lord would not so freely reach his hand,
But now he helps at need, thus do we see
That sometimes danger brings securitie.

[Even as the wandring Traveller doth stray]

Toyes of toyes, and vanities of vanities did withhold mee. Aug. Conf. l. 8. c. 11.

1

Even as the wandring Traveller doth stray
Lead from his way
By a false fire, whose flame to cheated sight
doth lead aright,
All Paths are footed over but that one
Which should be gone:
Even so my foolish wishes are in chase
Of every thing but what they should embrace.

2

We laugh at children that can when they please
A bubble raise,
And when their fond Ambition sated is
Again dismisse
Thee fleeting Toy into its former aire:
What do we here
But act such tricks? yet thus we differ, they
Destroy, so do not we: we sweat, they play.

3

Ambitious towring's do some gallants keep
From calmer sleep,
Yet when these thoughts the most possessed are
They grope but aire,
And when they're highest in an instant fade
Into a shade;
Or like a stone that more forc't upwards shall
With greater violence to its centre fall.

4

Another, whose conceptions onely dream
Monsters of fame.
The vain applause of other mad-men buyes
With his own sighes
Yet his enlarged Name shall never craul
Over this ball:
But soon consume, thus doth a trumpet's sound
Rush bravely on a little, then's not found.

5

But we as soon may tell how often shapes
Are chang'd by apes;
As know how oft mans childish thoughts do vary
And still miscarry:
So a weak eye in twilight thinks it sees
New species,
While it sees nought, so men in dreams conceive
Of scepters, till that waking undeceive.

Epigram 2.

Why frets thou that thy soul doth dote upon
These guilded trifles of corruption?
Thy self's the very cause, what remedy
And thine own hearts a Traytor to thine eye.

[No sooner wretched man beginning is]

Thou art with me in secret O Lord, whipping me oft with the rods of fear and shame. Aug. Conf. lib. 8. chap. 11.

No sooner wretched man beginning is
To do amiss,
But fear doth give alarm's, and wake
The drousie conscience, which doth shake
The raging Passions, yet they forward run
Pursuing alwayes what they first begun,

Thus doth depraved man at first begin.
To act his sin,
And put his hand to that his heart
Doth with such opposition thwart,
Half punishing before, thus Serpent sin
To sting and poyson doth at once begin,

But when w' have acted what deprav'd desire
Did first require;
The torturer Guilt doth banish fear,
And sin doth like her self appear
Arm'd with her venom'd snakes which ready stand
To punish what her self did first command.

By this means conscience disturb'd doth so
Enraged grow
That she whips out all peace, so we
Snatch't from our false securitie
Are torne by our own tortures, such as ne're
The worst offender can from tyrant fear.

Then we suppose each twig that is behind
mov'd by the wind
Would give a lash, we think a hare
Flying detest's us, if we heare
A lamkin bleat for milk, we think 't doth cry
Mother, yon man's a sinner, come not nigh:

Meanwhile the silken bonds of sleep
Cannot us keep
Or if one slumber seaze our eyes,
Legions of ugly dreams arise,
That in the night we wish for day, in day
(Finding no ease) we wish the light away.

While that thy fiery steed did run
Poor Absalon
Thy circkling knots of golden hair
Onely so many halters were
And to thee (fairest of the earth!) that earth
Gave not a death-bed that had given the birth.

Epigram 3.

So fatall 'tis! he that commits a crime
Is his own executioner that time;
And is with secret sorrows onely rent,
Since sin it self is its own punishment.

[Should'st thou not (Lord!) dispence.]

So I was sick and in torture, turning me up and down in my bonds, Aug. Conf. 8. cap. 11.

1

Should'st thou not (Lord!) dispence.
Thy powerfull influence,
We all should freez
Like Scythian seas
Bound up in flinty ice, and all
The suns kind warmth in vain should fall:
Nor would dame Nature let her riches come
out of her womb:
But since thou let'st thy rays run free,
And spirit gives
To all that lives
Each severall thing continues, but by thee.

2

Thus art thou sweetly hurl'd
Even through the little world,
But once bereave
What first thou gave
What a lean dulnesse soon doth thwart
The dead and putryfying heart?
No high affections then advance the soul
and make it roul
About the woolly clouds to play,
And censure all
That's here, as small
As the least Atome that sports in a ray.

3

Then is mortality
A most enforcing lie
And clay is grown,
As hard as stone
Nor can our cunning make it loose
Till that thy heat do interpose,
Thus do our wounds corrupt and gaping stand
Till that thine hand
Do gently close and pull these darts
Which so have bin
By the sent in
To our insensate and obdurate hearts.

Epigram 4.

What art thou sick to death, go and reside
In yon red Hospitall that stands so wide:
'Las tis a wound, what though, by it thou'lt be
Healed of whatsoever infirmity.

[In vain you court my wanton taste]

I was hungry within, because I wanted thee my inward meat O my God. 3. Conf. cap. 4.

In vain you court my wanton taste
Choycest of Natures delicates!
There is no strength in such repast
Though gained by excessive rates
[illeg.]e onely counterfeit a feast,
Devour what aire, earth, sea, can give
Thou'lt not one moment longer live.

No, but accelerate thy fall
Though stuff'd with whatsoever spice
The East can yield, though fancy shall
(Assisted by proud lust) devize
To swallow at one bit this All.
Art thou so blind thou canst not see
Thy self thus tantalized bee?

If that thy parched gums be dry
(The other are not reall) and
If hunger gripe thy stomack, fly
To him who'll lead thee by the hand.
Where thou may'st streams of life espy
There drink thy fill at any rate
Thou canst not be intemperate.

There is the true Ambrosia
Food worthy the Ætheriall soul,
Which shall due nourishment conveigh,
Such as no hunger can controul:
But it thy fainting limbs will stay
With due refreshment, which shall bee
As long-liv'd as Æternity:

O do but taste and see how far
These Sodom-apples do deceive,
They do beguile the eye as fair
Rich Balls of gold; but th'taste bereave
And in an instant vanish'd are,
The other tasted truly fill
And further touch't are sweeter still.

Mad Prodigalls we may a while
Hurried away by lust go eat
Husks with the nasty hogs, but still
We no society beget
Till that our father doth us fill
And we return, O let us go
Since we such entertainment know.

Epigram 5.

Eat hungry Boy? go to yon vine there see
The grapes of life in purple clusters be,
There meet with Israels sheepheard, 'tis his vine
He's gardner both and sun to dress and shine.

[Even as the splitting mariner]

How long! How long! why is not this hour the period of my filthiness. Aug. Conf. 2. lib. 8.

1

Even as the splitting mariner
Blasted with storms
Doth in short sighs his vowes profer,
And so performs
In broken accents what his tongue
Could not but in the utterance wrong:

2

So doth the soul, when that the weight
Of sin doth lie
Upon her crazie shoulders, straight
Her groanes do crie
Wishing she knows not what, yet more
Then any language can implore.

3

How long, my father! wilt me leave?
How long I must
Be an inhabitant of th'grave
involv'd in dust,
Thou who createdst all canst raise
Me out of ashes if thou please.

4

How every passion is become
Mine enemie,
And drawes me further from the home
Where I should be:
Yet thou canst curb them, thou alone
Who ne'r wast swaid by passion.

5

Oh when shall snowy Innocence
My inmate be!
And I freed from my load of sence,
Flie up to thee;
Drown me in blood then Ile appear,
Washt in that crimson river, clear.

6

Look, (Lord!) upon my miseries
How they appear
Scribled and fragmented in sighs
Before thee here;
Stop them I pray; yet I confess
These groanings are my happiness.

7

'Tis the first step to health to know
We are not well;
I ope my wounds unto thee so,
Poure oyl and heal:
And when they're closed up take care
They prove not deeper then they are.

Epigram 6.

Most happy Rhetorick of sighs, that bear's
Such strong perswasions to Jehovahs eares!
Which stand most firm, when faltring tongue doth fall;
And when thou speakest worst speak'st best of all:

[Unhappy boy!]

Take up and Read; Take up and Read. Aug. lib. 8. cap. 12.

1

Unhappy boy!
How art thou now become
Thy self thy Tombe?
Within what darkness dost thou lie?
Such as that glorious Prince of light
Whose smiles inamell every flower
Cannot affright,
But that these vapours still condense the more,

2

How are thine eyes
Courted with whatsoere
The terming eare
Or pregnant nature can devise?
Yet what a winter is within?
What marble freezings which congeal?
Though they have been
Bath'd in warmed showers, which from thine eyes did steal

3

Insatiate soul!
Which hast devoured each art
Yet hungry art,
And like an empty ship dost roul:
Where wilt thou once contented rest
Exempt from all this fluctuation,
And fixt thy brest
Where 't may repose in a secured station?

4

Turn but thine eye
And view that folded Oracle
That lately fell,
Heard'st not thou some soft murmur crie?
TAKE UP AND READ; obey, there is
(If thou canst ope thy purged eare)
High misteries
That can direct thy feet; thine eyesight clear.

5

Thou never took
In hand an harder lesson, then
Thou did'st begin
Prying the secrets of this book:
For it will teach thee how to set,
In paths that cannot tread awry,
Thy wandring feet:
And shew thee where the source of blisse doth lie.

Epigram 7.

Take up these leaves; within that little Room
Lie endless depths; 'tis Gods Autographum.
The hardest Book, and easiest: which can give
Death to the dying: Life to them that live.

[Vain curiosity! yee lead]

The unlearned rise and take heaven by violence; and we with our learning without affection, behold! where we wallow in flesh and bloud! Aug. Conf. lib. 8. cap. 8.

Vain curiosity! yee lead
The mind in mazes, make her tread
A-side, while that she toyles and is not fed.

O empty searchings! do I care
If I can slice yon burning sphere
To the least atoms, and yet near come there.

Though I can number every flame
That fleets within that glorious frame;
Yet do not look on him that can them name.

Though I can in my travell'd mind
The earth and all her treasures find
Yet leaving pride swolne into hills behind.

Though I can plum the sea, and try
What monsters in her womb do lie;
Yet n'ere a drop fall from my frozen eye.

Am I the better, though I could
All wisdome with a breath unfold,
And a heart boundless as the Ocean hold?

No not a whit unless that he
By whom these glorious wonders be
Lead me and teach mine eyes himself to see.

Yet may a modest ignorance
Unto so great an height advance,
And of such sparkling beauties gain a glance.

He that's all wisdom do'es not care
How full our teeming fancies are
Of touring notions if our hearts be clear!

They are but wildfires that remain
With rouling flashes in the brain
If that the heart thereby no heat doth gain.

He is the wisest that doth know
To whom he doth allegiance ow,
To whom his rebell passions ought to bow.

Who with a rude yet heedy eye
His maker finds in every flie,
And Treads to heaven by humilitie.

Who with a watchfull heediness
An omnipresence doth confess;
And not by cobweb Theorems express.

Let others seek to know, they shall
But into greater blindness fall;
And ere their course be run know nought at all.

Since what we know is but a gleam,
That ow's its lustre to a beam,
Which from that inf'nite spring of light doth stream.

Epigram 8.

Each minute learn, and by that learning know
The more thou clim'st, the more thou art below:
Still let thy brain strength to thy heart dispence,
And think the greatest wisdom's Innocence:

[Lord! dost thou see]

O Lord behold my heart, which thou pitiedst in the bottomless pit. Aug. Conf. lib. 4. cap. 2.

1

Lord! dost thou see,
This ruddy piece of clay how it doth flie
Up towards thee!
Ambitious of a sweet tranquillity!
Within thy bosome, loe
How speedily 't doth go?
Featherd by active fire,
Whereby it mount's and towers up higher
Then its own groveling thoughts could reach
Before that thou didst teach,
How doth it throw
And leave below
Those which wear shackles, but now trophies are?
Oh how it flashes
Reduc't to ashes?
Yet were alive till now.
Those darts are med'cines which destructive were
And cut but beds for balm to flow
Whilst the ascending day forgets 'twas ere below.

2

Yet this was once
Grave to it self, bound in most potent chaines
(Corruptions)
Whilst a chil'd poison did congeal my veines,

Which speckled tombestones were;
Then durst no day appear
But darkness shrowded all,
And thick Egyptian damps did fall;
I knew not I benighted was,
Or else a night did cause
Pleas'd that I lay
Without a ray
Till thou, (great world of light!) broke out & then
My chains did fall,
I that was all
One issicle, became
One tear, and now my veines ran bloud again:
Take Lord what thou thy self didst frame
And on thine Altar deign to cherish thine own flame

Epigram 9.

I'me thine, and for my homage, take my heart
('Tis, though a little, yet my greatest part
Which can as well not lie, as think) and say
I give but what I cannot keep away.

[VVhilst sable bands of night did bind]

Who took me by the hand, and brought me out of that darkness wherewith I was in love? Aug. Soliloq. cap. 37.

1

VVhilst sable bands of night did bind
My drousie mind;
And my eyes useless were when day
Was shrunk away:
Whose was that ray
That stole so kindly in and shew'd
Glimses of light again? both how
Stars in their vaulted sea do flow,
And how the Sun's tryumphant toyles renew'd.

2

Who wa'st that taught mee deeds of night
are mere deceit?
And all the light she seems to set
Are counterfet:
And if but met
By smallest twinklings disapear:
That, wayes are then uncertain, and
We can't in any surety stand
Disturbed, or by danger or by fear.

3

Who wrought upon me that great cure
As to endure,
Like th'royall eagle, with a straight
And unmov'd sight
The flowing light?
Who taught me joy? when that mine eyes
Were more possest with strengthened gleames
Sent from associated beames:
Who taught me failing shadowes to dispise?

4

Thou center of all light! whom none
Can look upon:
Who when the world but new begun
Didst give a sun
With light to run:
Thou! from whose sight no lurking cave
No, nor the most retyring deep,
Which the still reeling sea doth sweep,
Lies hid; no, nor the secrets of the grave.

5

Thou! who canst stop the sun, and cause
him soon to pause;
O on this Scythian breast of mine
Keep a straight line,
And nere decline;
That by degrees this grosness may
That now attends me, be calcin'd
To dust, and I from dregs refin'd
Mounted upon thy love, may fly away.

Epigram 10.

Let the sun cherish day, I cannot see
The best approach of sight, unless through Thee:
Yet Thee I cannot, though I labour still
For Thou art Glory inaccessible.

[Now love I all excess; now let me be]

Inebriate my heart, (Oh God! with the sober intemperance of thy love Aug. Meditat. cap. 37.

Now love I all excess; now let me be
An enemy to all sobriety!
Can the faint hart, whose nimble footing stray
Along the devious forrests all the day,
Whilst that her foes as swift as lightning press
Behind, yet not so swift as merciless,
And scorching heat her parched intralls dry
That in her self her greatest dangers lie;
When she com's near cold streams, who as they pass
Do with their silver footings clear the grass
Measure her thirst, but rather covets more
The naturall julip then she did before:
'Tis so with me (my God!) but I have been
Persued with enemies that to lodg within;
Whose rage know's no regress, But boyles up higher
Mine Arsenall, mine heart is set on fire,
Which will devour untill that ashes be
The weak resisters of its cruelty.
All waters prove but fewell, nay the sea
Pour'd on would onely oyl and sulphur be.
But shower thy rayes upon it, (Lord!) & smoother
The violence of one flame by another;
Then to refresh me send cool showers, that may
Encrease such potent feavers, and allay:
Dissolve those clouds that interpose, so shall
Becalming tempests in my bosome fall:
Such is my wasting out into the main

That they may draw me to the shore again:
But when I am on shore, oh how I gape
Furrowed with clifted chinks; oh how I leap
And fly asunder, that I nothing seem
But one great ruine, when the fiery beam
Of thy fierce wrath descendeth, and doth roul
Hells sad preludium into my soul.
But Thou, whose open side produc't a floud
As white as Crystall yet all stayn'd with bloud!
Drown me within those waters, let me lie
Within that watry tomb, so shall I flie
From death to life and all my ruines be
Nothing but reparation by Thee.

Epigram. 11.

Wine cheers the Heart of man; but love doth give
The principles of life, and make it live.
'Tis selfe but carrion; or a freezing Sun;
Descending flames; wings without motion.

[Tyrannick love! whose active fires]

Love, when it come's doth captivate all the other affections, and draw them unto it self. Aug. Manual. cap. 18.

1

Tyrannick love! whose active fires
Plumes slow desires;
And make's them swiftly taper up,
Till flattering hope
Stroke them and win them to her breast,
Though not to rest:
Yet in that motion they close
In some repose,
As steel hovering 'bove loadstones quiet growe's.

2

Emperour of heart! who do'es dilate
Her narrow state;
That she outgrow's the earth and's even
As wide as heaven:
Yet not so vast but thou art king,
Thou centrall spring!
From whom all passions first began
To flow, and than
Devolve into thee, as their Ocean.

3

Tyrant o'th soul who if thou please
Her powers to raise,
They tryumph for to meet thee, and
Take thy command:
Thine who knit'st altogether here
Yon azure sphere,
This floting ball or what doth lie
Ope to the eye,
All are conjoyned by thy mystick tie.

4

Thou, who can'st sweeten dangers, that
We do not hate
Their grisly visages, nor fear
Their threats; but rear
Our thoughts above all injury;
Or if we lie
But in thy fetters how we rove,
And sore above!
That's circle's infinite whose center's love.

Epigram 12.

What's love? what's God? Both the like greatness hold
One is Omnipotent, the other would:
Both are attractive and diffusive; yea
God is himself but abstract charity.

[Lord! what is man?]

Lord thou hast made me for thee, and my heart is unquiet till it Rest in thee. Aug. Conf. lib. 1. cap. 1.

Lord! what is man?
A mass of wonders cluster'd in a span:
One who can tell
The eye, yet his best part invisible,
As great a piece
Of beauty, as wise nature can express:
But who can find
The uncontrouled swiftness of his mind?
How't can reflect
Upon it self, and by its intellect,
When it shall please,
Clime highest mountains, plum the deepest seas:
Or nimbly wind,
To either pole, and see where all's calcin'd
To save by heat
Whom cold doe's all in glassy shackles set.
Or ere the eye
Can turn it self, clamber the azure skie:
Yet cannot she
Find rest at all, till that she rest in thee,
Thee, who did'st lay
Her active substance in the cell of clay;
Yet hast indued
And deck't her with thine own similitude,
That there might be
Some little ectypes of thy Majestie,

Though he could chase
Old time into his cradle, yea and trace
Each planet as
He through his azure circuit doth pass,
And subt'ly eye
How multiformious Meteors strangely fly:
But can the heart
Find any settlement? although all art
Should court, and be
Transformed into one great flattery?
No, no, till thou
Who art alone all fulness, sweetly flow
Into 't and be
The cause of hunger by society.
Then may she rest
In thee, who art her center, and though prest
With sorrowes even
As low as hell, bounce up as high as Heaven.

Epigram 13.

Can the earth dance? the Ocean fall asleep?
Or can the thoughts of man their quiet keep,
'Till they be home from all their travells brought
To him, who know's all wisdom at a thought?

[VVeak chains, bind flesh and bloud, and tie]

I will pierce heaven with my mind, and be present with thee in my desires. Aug. Manual. cap. 14.

1

VVeak chains, bind flesh and bloud, and tie
Lethargick sense;
You cannot impede me, when I flie
Hurried away from hence
You shall not clog me, but my raised flight
Shall bring me to my wish't for height.

2

Where am I now convaid? oh how
My winged feet
Spurn all those golden lamps that glow
Beneath, with night beset!
Nay (a strange pilgrim) I securely run
In paths that lie above the sun.

3

Swell heart into a world and keep
That humid sea:
Become, my bosome, one great deep
That it may lodge in Thee:
That glorious sun with his Celestiall heat
That will warm't, and mak't evaporate.

4

Spring-head of life, how am I now
Intomb'd in Thee?
How do I since th'art pleas'd to flow,
Hate a dualitie?
How I am annihilated? yet by this
Acknowledge my subsistence is

5

Still may I rise; still further clime
Till that I lie
(Having out-run-short-winded time)
Swath'd in Eternitie:
So may my youth spend and renue, so night
Never alternate with my light.

6

But should my God withdraw awhile
His glorious face
Yet would not I my self beguile
But with a strickt embrace
So closely joyn with him, that wheresoere
He were, I would strive to be there.

7

Nay should he strike me down so low
As hell, yet I
Would grasp him: He is there I know:
He in those depths doth lie
So should I surfet on all happiness;
'Tis solely heaven where he is.

Epigram 14.

What is Mans body? clay, or lead his soul?
The nimblest swiftest substance that can roul
It self ere thought; and by its power bring down,
Or mount to heaven, and so mak't its own.

[I faint, I faint: these channels here]

Oh thou fountain of life, let my thirsting soul drink of Thee. Aug. Med. cap. 37.

I faint, I faint: these channels here
Though they seem Crystall, run not clear;
What nasty heaps of rubbish lie
Within these waves? I die; I die;
How bitter are they? poysons be
Though fiercest, not so harsh as they:
Yet have I drunk; but now a more
Heat bake's my bowells then before.
Oh! what an Ætna hath posse'st
The feeble ruines of my breast?
How't fall's to cindars? how I have
My bosom turn'd into my grave!
Go, go, my former loves! I will
No more your false embraces fill.
Weave robes of short liv'd Roses set,
Lilly's in bands of Violet:
Rare clouds of Myrrhe, that none may press
To view your secret wantonness.
Such fumes but choak me; nor have I
Leisure to wanton ere I die.
See how I breath out ashes. 'Las!
Doe's there no silver rillet pass
That may asswage? would heaven bestow
One welcome drop to cool me now!
Oh for a Moses that would make
This rock of mine dissolve and break,

To a clear stream where I might lie
Exempt from all this misery,
And bathe. Oh would some Angel sit
And point me to a welcom pit.
Thou spring of life run over me
Thou center of eternitie,
Enlive me once again, and show
What thy unbounded power can do.
Do but direct me and Ile flie
Where all thy liquid treasures lie;
More then may drench whole worlds; and bless
Them with their quickning delugies
When I have setled there, oh then
I shall not know to thirst agen.

Epigram 15.

The living spring of life is cool; but yet
Doth quench one, and beget a greater heat.
Still satisfie's; yet leave's a thirst behind
And is the sacred Bath and Spaw o'th' mind.

[VVhat is this life?]

Love doth repress the motions and withhold the slipperiness of youth. Aug. Manual. cap. 19.

1

VVhat is this life?
A scene of strife;
A theatre of sorrow;
On which we play
Perhaps to day
But break a limb to morrow:

2

Weak stage of Ice
For flatteries
To cheat and juggle on!
Which vanish ere
They can appear,
And as they come, are gone.

3

What safety can
Thou yield poor man?
That tread's thee with such joy;
What are the treasures
Of all the pleasures
Which ere they'r tasted, cloy.

4

Then happy he
That can be free
By potent counter-charms:
And nimbly leap
And so escape
Thy still approching harms.

5

But all those whom
Love hath ore'come,
Contemn thy Magick, and
Do bravely flee
Thy tyranny
And in full freedom stand.

6

Oh happy mind
That leave's behind
Those things that creep below:
And clamber's up
By constant hope
Where reall pleasures flow.

7

Then youth no more
Obtaine's a power
To cheat the roving sight;
But reason crown'd
And so inthron'd
Doth solely bid what's right.

Epigram. 16.

Prince of the passions, royall Love! who, when
Thou pleasest, canst thus metamorphise men:
Lust make's her vassailes beasts: thou contrary,
Make'st each heart where thou raigne'st a Deity.

[You whose clear countenances do not know]

The Heart of man not fixt in desires of Eternitie can neither be firm nor stable. Aug. Manual. cap. 25.

You whose clear countenances do not know
Assembling clouds and storms of woe,
Whose golden streams of minutes sweetly run
In an unalter'd motion,
Who sit on shore, while other wretches be
Ludibrium's of the raging sea,
Who surfet on what pleasures can be hap,
Who lull blind fortune in your lap,
Enjoying what wild fancie can invent:
Pray! can you say you are content?
Do not your labouring thoughts inlarge and still
Grow far more empty as they fill
Pray! what gradations make you? can you stand?
How often do you countermand
Ere you can think? and pray! is every thought
Chain'd and in order brought?
Could you with patience view those traverses
wherewith your soul still moving is
Did they lie open to the sun? or deem
That ever you conceived them?
Vast soul of man! who cannot find in thee
A circumscrib'd infinitie
What can outrun thy swiftness? what can less
Then swelling thee, brook emptiness.
That if not fill'd, earth leap's, and gain's a room
And so prevent's a Vacuum.

But ramble still, and feed thy fury, groan,
Cause ther's no worlds but one.
Thou doest but multiply thy cares and toss
Like men amazed at a loss.
Or like a crazy vessell which doth lie
On th'drunken tyranny
Of each insulting wave, whilst every blast
Jussell's and threaten's that her last.
But wer't thou freed from thy domestick harms
And wound within thy Makers arms,
How would these twilights vanish, what a day
Would't instantly it self display:
Then might'st thou prepossess thy heaven, and so
In this thine exile happy grow.
This is our jayle, our night, till happy we
Gain there, both day and liberty.

Epigram 17.

Can flames fly downward? can the earth ascend?
Can liquors separate? and dry things blend?
'Tis as unlikely that without a God
The heart of man can find a period.

[I hasten, can I view those eyes]

Mine enemy hath laid many nets for my feet, and fill'd all the way with ambushments.

1

I hasten, can I view those eyes
From whence there flie's
Such strong attractive beams; and stay
Lingring i'th way?
When thou canst soon deceive my toyl
By the short magick of a smile.

2

Fairest of women! no: oh how
Upon thy brow
Enthroniz'd bands of graces sit?
How on thy white
Flame out bloud-thirsty roses? which,
Both Hemispheres, [thy cheekes] inrich.

3

Oh could I come! (how art thou dight
With ambient light?)
And Phenix-like in her tomb-nest,
Sleep on thy breast:
And from thy od'rous bosom draw
Whole snowy-clouds of Cassia.

4

But oh! what ambushments orespread
The way I tread?
How crooked are those paths of mine
How serpentine!
What ranks of peevish thornes beset
My torn and more then weary feet?

5

But look how either side doth smile
And would beguile;
How all's with Amethysts beset;
How negro-jet
Mingle's with Alablaster? how
The scatter'd Topasses do glow!

6

What virgins do on either hand
Assailing stand?
Whom could they not orecom, if none
Thy face had known?
Their beauty is but borrowed; thine
Doth with a native lustre shine.

7

But I'le be blind, untill I be
Restor'd by thee:
They are but shadows and are gone
Ere they can run
Into thy sight. Thy beauty shall
Stand while the dying sun shall fall.

Epigram 18.

Trust not the world; when't smiles, it will betray,
And when secure, doth the most dangers lay:
But break her snares, and all her charmings flie,
Els th'art, at best, in splendid slavery.

[My wishes cannot reach so far]

Oh love which doest ever burn and art never extinguish't, enlighten me with thy flames. Aug. Mannual. cap. 10.

My wishes cannot reach so far
With empty towrings; as to rear
Huge piles of marble, that may rise
And fiercely emulate the skies:
I cannot wish me gardens, where
Terrestiall planets may appear,
And rise and set by courses: no,
I cannot all this madness know;
Might I bathe in Pactolus, swim
In yellow Tagus; might each limb
Hale after it more Ore, then may
Bring poverty on India:
I dare not wish so high; yet are
My royall wishes higher far.
Oh! could I, though the restless sun
Should not his usuall journey run,
My self supply his light, and rear
Within my heart a taper, far
Warmer then his: but should he go
His usuall progress; I might flow
With double fires; but 'las! I wish
Heapes of impossibilities:
He, whose disbanding members have
Mouldred themselves within the grave
Cannot get up, and walk; and knit
His limbs as they at first were set:

Sure no! can I revive again
My palsied heart, my frozen brain?
What can my strength command them cease
Their monstrous shakings, and confess
They were diseas'd; till thou display
The powerfull influence of thy ray.
Alas! I cannot; till thou shine
And fright away these clouds of mine
I shall be darkned: com, oh com!
Break in upon me, here's a room
Thy subtle joyes can pierce, and gain
And entrance in the depths of men:
Though wee be all polluted, yet
Thy viceroy doth rise and set
Upon base thistles; and will close
With weeds, as soon as any rose:
Burn me, oh! burn me; so I shall
Enjoy no meaner funerall
Then the great world: and nimbly flee
Unclog'd with matter unto thee.

Epigram 19.

How monstrous are man's wishes? and how vain
How he do'th pray and then, unpray again?
What strange Chimera's does his fancy frame
To beg his ruine in a specious name?

[VVhil'st by the reedy bancks of aged Cam]

How shall we sing the Lords song in a strange land? Psal. 137. v. 4.

VVhil'st by the reedy bancks of aged Cam,
My golden minuts softly went and came;
Nothing was wanting to content; unless
A minde fit for to grasp such happiness:
My wishes still were ratifi'd, and still
Confirm'd, nor had I any law but will;
Whether severer thoughts my minde posse'st,
And freed her from her load of flesh, and dre'st
Her like her self, and carried her on high,
Beyond the narrow reach of thought or eye.

Or if some serious follies call'd m' away
How boldly and securely durst I stray.
A little from my self, that so I might
Return with the more spirit and delight.
So have I seen a painter when his eyes
Were wearied with intentive poaring rise
And leave his curious labor, and refrain
Till that his eyes might gather life again;
Thus did I out-run time, nor did I know
How to complain that any hour went slow.
But nothing now at all remain's with me
But the sweet Torment of the Memory.
Good in fruition's somewhat; lost no more
Then an half cured wound, or easie soar;
Or like a dose of Honey, when't doth fall
Upon the tongue sweet, and in th'stomack gall.

But what divor'st me from these pleasures say,
Tell me (my Muse!) what ravish't them away;

Could not the silver Thames continue them?
Or were thy minde and wishes not the same?
Or did'st thou climb too high, and so awake
That monster envy which thy slumbers brake?
Or did'st thou finde those faithless who lest ought?
Or were thy great design's abortive brought?
Or did thy sins, like pullies, draw thee back,
And make thy thoughts, so strongly bended, slack?
What ere it is; now I am fal'n, and now
Under my care's must either break or bow;
And that great Fabrick of Leucenia,
Which should to th'last of time my name conveigh,
Must lie unperfit, and dismembred so,
And be at most a monstrous Embryo!
Nay my sublimer thoughts must stoop t'invent
Some stratagems 'gainst famine and prevent
Contempt [the worst of evils] and sharp cold.
But whether run I? I let go my hold.
Conquer thy sorrows Hall 'tis patience can
Alone secure thee, though all sorrow's ran
At once upon thy head, 'tis fear alone
That giv's these scar-crow's arms; they else have, none,
He is a man whose resolution dar's
The worst of evil's, who command's his fears.
Els what poor things we are? how weak? how blind?
Apt to be troubled by each wanton Winde.
Nay man the best of creatures, is below
The weakest of them, if he tremble so.

Epigram 20.

What a mad thing is grief? should we devise
To harm our selves with other's injuries?
And wound our hearts, with every sleight offence?
When we may be shot-free by patience;