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3

AN EXCELLENT POEME, Vpon the Longing of a Blessed Heart:

which loathing the World, doth long to be With Christ.

With an ADDITION vpon the DEFINITION OF LOUE.

Compiled by Nicholas Breton, Gentleman.
Cupio dissolui, et esse cum Christo.

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To the Right Honourable, my singular good Lord, The Favourer of all good Studies, and Louer of all Vertues, THE LORD NORTH, Nicholas Breton wisheth encrease of Honour, continuance of health, and eternall happinesse.
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[Two hopeful twinnes ioynt issues of one braine]

Two hopeful twinnes ioynt issues of one braine
A Rauisht Soule and Longing Spirit sends
Into your bosome's high and heauenly traine,
That are Witte's kinsemen and the Muses friends:
Embrace them, loue them, and with iudgement's view
Eye them. Beleeue me, Reader, thou shalt finde
Their limmes well measur'd and proportions true;
No part dissenting from their perfect kinde.
Onely the fashion sits not on their clothes
To make them sightly to fantasticke eyes.
Pallas not Venus did the work dispose,
Cutting their garments from angellick skies:
Plaine is their habite yet diuine and sweete,
Fit for the wise but for the wisest meete.
H. T. Gent.

AD LIBRUM.

Goe, Booke, and balke those eyes,
That loue but shadowes' sightes;
And let them gape for flyes,
That make but buzzards' flights.
And tell the humble heart,
That longes in better loue,
To him thou wilt impart
Thy spirit's turtle doue.
Whose flesh the soule doth feed,
With that eternall sweet;
Wherein heart's eies may reed,
How life and loue doe meet.
To make the blessed see
The loue, that longeth best;
And what those longinges bee,
Whose loue is neuer blest.
That loue not misconceiu'd in thought,
May neuer long for that is nought.
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Breton's Longing.

What life hath he that neuer thinkes of loue?
And what such loue but hath a special liking
And what such liking but will seeke to proue
The best to finde the comfort of his seeking?
But while fond thoughts in Follie's packe are peeking,
Better conceited wits may easely finde,
The truest wealth that may enrich the minde.
But since the difference 'twixt the good and bad
Is easely seene in notes of their delightes;
And that those notes are needefull to be had,
To see whose eyes are of the clearest sights;
Whose are the dayes, and whose may be the nightes;
From the poor crowch vnto the princely crowne,
I will the difference, as I finde, set downe.
The worldly Prince longes to encrease his State
To conquer kingdomes, and to weare their crownes;
A foraine power by forces to abate,
To make but footstooles of their fairest townes;
And hates the spirits of those home-made clownes,
That will not venter life for victorie;
But yet forgets that God should haue the glorie.
The worldly Councellour doth beat his braines,
How to aduise his Soueraigne for the best,
And in his place doth take continuall paines
To keepe his Prince in such a pleasing rest,
That he may still be leaning on his breast,
Thinking his happe vnto a heauen so wrought;
But yet perhaps God is not in his thought.
The Souldier he delighteth all in armes,
To see his colours in the field display'd;
And longes to see the yssue of those harmes,
That may reueale an enemie dismay'd,
A forte defeated, or a towne betray'd:
And still to be in action day and night,
But little thinkes on God in all the fight.
The worldly Scholler loues a world of bookes,
And spendes his life in many an idle line:
Meanewhile his heart to heauen but little lookes,
Nor loues to thinke vpon a thought diuine;
These thoughtes of ours, alas! so lowe encline:
We seeke to know what Nature can effect;
But vnto God haue small or no respect.
The Poet with his fictions and his fancies,
Pleaseth himselfe with humorous inuentions;
Which well considered are a kinde of franzies,
That carie little truth in their intentions:
While Wit and Reason falling at contentions,
Make Wisdome finde that Follie's strong illusion
Bringes Wit and Senses wholly to confusion.
The worldly Lawyer studyeth right and wronge:
But how he iudgeth, there the question lyes:
For, if you looke for what his loue doth long,
It is the profite of his plea doth rise:
There is the worldly Lawyer's Paradise!
He neither longes the right nor wrong to see,
But to be fingring of the golden fee.
The Cosmographer doth the world suruey,
The hils and dales, the nookes and little crookes,
The woods, the plaines, the high, and the by-way,
The seas, the riuers, and the little brookes:
All these he findes within his compast bookes;
And with his needle makes his measure euen;
But all this while he doth not thinke of heauen.
Th' Astronomer standes staring on the skie,
And will not haue a thought beneath a starre;
But by his speculation doth espie
A world of woonder comming from afarre;
And tels of times and natures, peace and warre:
Of Mars his sword, and Mercury his rod;
But all this while he little thinkes on God.
The worldly Marchant ventreth farre and neere;
And shunnes nor land nor sea to make a gaine:
Thinkes neither trauaile, care, nor cost too deere,
If that his profite counteruaile his paine,
While so his minde is on the getting vaine,
That if his shippe do safely come on shore,
Gold is his God, and he desires no more.
The worldly Courtier learnes to crouch and creepe,
Speake faire, wait close, obserue his time and place,
And wake and watch and scarcely catch a sleepe,
Till he haue got into some favour's grace,
And will all cunning in his course embrace,
That may vnto authoritie aduance:
But if he thinke on God, it is a chaunce.
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The worldly Farmer fils his barnes with corne,
And ploughes, and sowes, and digges, and delues, and hedges,
Lookes to his cattell, will not lose a horne,
Fels downe his woods, and fals vnto his wedges,
And grindes his axes, and doth mend their edges,
And deerely sels that he good cheape hath bought;
But all the while God is not in his thought.
The Sayler, he doth by his compasse stand,
And weies his anchors, and doth hoyse his sayles,
And longes for nothing but to get on land,
While many a storme his starting spirite quailes,
And feare of pirats his poore heart assayles:
But once on shore, carowse and casts off feare,
Yet scarcely thinkes on God that set him there.
The worldly Preacher talkes of sacrifice,
Of sacraments, and holy mysteries:
Meanewhile hee longes but for the benefice,
That should preserue his purse from beggeries,
Because hee loues no worldly miseries:
For many a Preacher that God's Word hath taught,
Shewes by his life, God liues not in his thought.
The world's Physitian, that in sicknesse tries
The nature of the hearbes and minerals,
And in his simples and his compounds spies,
Which way to make the patients funerals,
Or profite by his cures in generals;
Longes but to see how long they may endure:
But scarcely thinkes on God in all the cure.
The world's Musitian, that doth tune his voice,
Vnto such notes as Musique's skill hath set:
Whose heart doth in the harmonie reioice,
Where pleasing consorts are most kindely met:
But still perhaps his spirit doth forget,
In all his himmes, and songes, and sweetest layes,
To thinke of God, or of His worthy prayse.
The Polititian hath a world of plots,
In which his spirit hath speciall spyes;
Ties, and vnties a thousand sundrie knots,
In which the substance of his studie lyes,
And many trickes his close experience tryes,
How to deceiue the world with many a wile;
But neuer thinkes on God in all the while.
The Trauailer delighteth in the view
Of change and choise of sundrie kinde of creatures;
To marke the habites, and to note the hew
Of farre borne people, and their sundrie natures,
Their shapes, their speech, their gates, their lookes, their features,
And longes abroade to make his life's abode:
Yet happ'ly neuer longes to be with God.
The Painter in his colours takes delight,
And neere the life to make the liuelyhood;
While onely shadowes doe deceiue the sight,
That take such pleasure in a peece of wood;
But doth not long for that same liuing food,
Which neither eye hath seene, nor heart conceiu'd,
The God of Truth, that neuer soule deceiu'd.
The Louer, he, but on his Ladie thinketh,
And how to catch her in a kinde content;
And lookes, and leeres, and trowles the eie, and winketh;
And seekes how thoughtes in silence may bee sent;
And longes to see the end of his intent:
And thinkes himselfe a king, to get a kisse;
But where is God in all these thoughtes of his?
Th' Artificer that hath a worke to doe,
And bringes his hand vnto his head's deuise,
Longes till he see what it will come vnto,
And how his paines haue profite in the price,
And hauing cast it ouer twise or thrice,
Ioyes in his heart: but scarcely hath a thought,
To thanke his God, that him the cunning taught.
The Churle that sits and champes vpon his chaffe,
And will not stirre a foote from his barne floure,
Except it be among his bagges to laugh,
He can the poore so with his purse devoure,
Longes but to vse the poyson of his power
T' enrich himselfe, to bringe a world to naught;
Shewes that God neuer dwels within his thought.
As for those beggerly conditions
Of basest trades, that like to miry hogges,
Doe shewe their spirites' dispositions,
In digging with their noses vnder logges,
For slime and wormes, or like to rauening dogges,
Longe but for that which doth the belly fill,
Most of them thinke on God against their will.
These are the worldlinges, and their world's delightes
Whose longing, God knowes, is not worth the louing:
These are the obiects of those euill sightes,
That Vertue hath from her faire eyes remoouing:
These are the passions of Corruption's proouing:
But they that loue and long for God His sight,
In worldly trifles neuer take delight.
The Prince, annointed with the oyl of Grace,
Who sits with Mercie, in the seate of Peace,
Will long to see his Sauiour in the face,
And all his right into His handes release;
(Whose onely sight would make all sorrow cease,)
And lay both crowne and kingdome at his feete,
But of His presence to enioy the sweete.
The Councellour with heavenly Grace inspir'd,
Where Wisdome guides the lineaments of Wit,
Although he hath to Honour's place aspir'd,
His heart doth shew it longes not after it;
His loue desires a higher marke to hitte:
For while he leaneth on his Prince's breast,
His longing is, but with his God to rest.
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The Courtier, that is once in God His grace,
Whateuer countenance in the Court he beares,
His heart aspireth to a better place;
Which humble loue doth long for with those teares,
Which all too naught the pride of pleasure weares:
And neuer rests vntill his God he see,
With Whome his soule in loue doth long to be.
The Souldier that hath fought the Spirit's fight,
Will put off warre, and long to liue in peace;
And not in discord, but concord delight,
While gracious Kindnesse makes all quarrels cease;
While Patience doth all passions so appease,
That he shall finde that Souldiour onely blest,
Whose faith, in God, doth set his soule at rest.
The Lawyer that hath read the lawes of God,
And in his heart is touchèd with His loue,
And knowes the smart of the supernall rod,
Will one day worke, for silly soules' behoue,
Who haue their comfort in the heauens aboue;
Will leaue all golden fees, to see the grace,
That Mercie's justice shewes in Iesus face.
The Scholler that beginnes with Christ His crosse,
And seekes good speede but in the Holy Ghost,
Findes by his booke that siluer is but drosse,
And all his labour in his studie lost;
Where Faith, of Mercie, cannot sweetly boast,
And Loue doth long for any other blisse,
Then what in God, and in His graces is.
And such a Poet as the Psalmist was,
Who had no minde but on his maister's loue,
Whose Muses did the world in musique passe,
That only soong but of the soule's behoue,
In giuing glorie to the God aboue,
Would all worlde's fictions wholly laye aside,
And onely long but with the Lord to bide.
The Cosmographer, that by rules of grace
Surueys the citie of the heauenly saintes,
Will neuer long for any earthly place,
That either penne prescribes, or painter paints;
But in the faith that neuer failes, nor faints,
Will long to see in heauen's Ierusalem
The gratious God of Glorie's diadem.
The true Astronomer that sees the sunne,
And knowes that God from Whome it takes his light,
And in the course the moone and starres doe runne,
Findes the true guider of the day and night,
Longes but to see His onely blessed sight,
Who sunne, and moone, and stars their brightnes giues,
And in Whose face all brightnesse, glorie, liues.
The Mariner that oft hath past the seas,
And in his perils seene the power of God,
Whose onely mercie doth the stormes appease,
And bringes the shippe vnto his wishèd road,
Will neuer long on earth to make abode;
But in the heauens to see that blessed hande,
That at His becke so rules both sea and land.
The Marchant that hath cast within his minde,
How much the spirit's gaine the flesh surmounts,
And by his faith in Mercie's loue doth finde
The ioyfull summe of such a soule's accounts,
As to saluation of the whole amounts;
Will leaue the world but on Christe's face to looke,
Which all the faithfull make their liuing booke.
The Farmer that hath felt his neighbour's neede,
And found how God and Charitie are one;
And knowes there is a better kinde of feede,
Then grasse, or corne, or flesh, or bloud, or bone,
Will wish himselfe from his world's treasure gone,
Vpon those ioyes to feede in Mercie's blisse,
Where Christ His presence is heauen's paradise.
The true Physitian that doth knowe the natures
And dispositions of each element,
And knowes that God created hath all creatures
Beneath, and eke aboue the firmament,
And ouer all hath onely gouernment,
Will onely long that glorious God to know,
That giues the sicknesse and doth cure it so.
The soule's Musitian that doth finde the ground
Of truest musique, but in God His grace,
Will thinke all singing but an idle sound,
Where God His praise hath not the highest place,
And onely longes to see that blessed face,
Which makes the virgins, saints, and angels, sing
An Halleluiah to their heauenly King.
The Preacher, that doth in his soule belieue
The Word of God, which to the world he teacheth,
And in his spirit inwardly doth grieue,
He cannot liue so heauenly as he preacheth,
While faith no further then to mercie reacheth;
Would wish in soule to leaue his benefice,
To make himselfe to Christ a sacrifice.
The Politician that hath plotted much
In worldly matters, greatly to his gaine,
Will finde, if God doe once his spirit tuch,
Zacheus' heart will haue another vaine
To clime aloft, and to come downe againe,
And leaue all plots to come but to that place,
Where he might see sweete Iesus in the face.
Th' Artificer that hath a worke in hand,
And feeles the grace of God within his heart;
And by the same doth surely vnderstand,
How God alone perfecteth euerie part,
And onely is the giuer of all art,
Will gladly leaue his worke and longe to be,
Where he might Christ his soule's worke-maister see.
The Painter that doth paint a daintie image
So neere the life, as may be to the same,
And makes an asse vnto an owle doe homage,
While shadowes bring the senses out of frame,
If God his heart once with His loue enflame,
His pictures all will vnder foote be trod,
And he will longe but for the liuing God.
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The Trauailer that walkes the world about
And sees the glorious workes of God on high;
If God His grace once kindly finde him out,
And vnto heauen do lift his humble eye,
His soule in faith will such perfections spie,
That leauing all that he on earth can see,
His loue will long but with the Lord to be.
The Churle that neuer chaunc't vpon a thought
Of Charitie, nor what belonges thereto;
If God His grace haue once his spirit brought,
To feele what good the faithfull almers doe,
The loue of Christ will so his spirit wooe,
That he will leaue barnes, corne, and bagges of coine,
And land and life, with Iesus' loue to ioine.
Thus from the Prince vnto the poorest state,
Who seemes to liue as voide of Reason's sense,
If God once come, Who neuer comes too late,
And touch the soule with His sweet quintessence
Of Mercie's gratious glorious patience,
His soule will leaue whateuer it doth loue,
And long to liue but with the Lord aboue.
Now to the tenure of that longing time,
That louing spirits thinke too long will last;
The maide new maried, in her pregnant prime,
Longes till the time of forty weekes be past,
And blameth Time he makes no greater hast;
Till in her armes she sweetly haue receiu'd
Her comfortes fruite, within her wombe conceiu'd.
Thus fortie weekes she labours all in loue,
And at the last doth trauaile all in paine:
But shortly after doth such comfort proue,
As glads her heart, and makes all whole againe;
So in her infant's pretty smiling vaine
Pleasing herselfe, that all her greefe is gone,
When she may haue her babe to looke vpon.
Penelope, at her deere loue's departing,
In sober kindnesse did conceale her care;
Though in her heart she had that inward smarting,
That Time's continuance after did declare;
Where constant loue did shew, without compare,
A perfect passion of true Vertue's vaine,
Longing but for Ulisses home againe.
How many yeeres the storie doth set downe,
In which she felt the gall of Absence' greefe.
When constant Faith on foule effects did frowne,
Which sought to be to Charitie a theefe,
Of Natures beautie the true honour cheefe:
Long languishing in Absence' cruell hell;
But when she saw his presence all is well.
But if I may in holy lines beginne,
To speake of Ioseph, and his longing loue
Vnto his brethren, but to Benjamin
To note the passion Nature did approue,
Which did such teares in his affection moue,
That well from thence the prouerbe sweet might spring,
The loue of brethren is a blessed thing.
Well may I see the notes of Nature's griefe,
In absence of the obiect of affection;
And longing for the substance of reliefe,
In presence finde the life of loue's perfection,
While eie and heart are led by one direction;
Yet all this while I doe not truely proue
The blessed longing of the Spirit's loue.
When Mary Magdalene, so full of sinne,
As made her heart a harbour of ill thought,
Felt once the grace of God to enter in,
And driue them out that her destruction sought;
Her soule was then to Iesus' loue so wrought,
As that with teares in true affect did proue
The pleasing longing of the Spirit's loue.
In griefe she went all weeping to His graue,
Longing to see Him or aliue or dead;
And would not cease vntill her loue might haue
Her longèd fruite, on which her spirit fed,
One blessed crumme of that sweet heauenly bread
Of angels' food, but of her Lord a sight,
Whose heauenly presence prou'd her soule's delight.
Midas did long for nothing els but gold,
And he was kindely choakèd for his choyce;
Such longing loue doth with too many hold,
Which onely doe in worldly drosse reioyce.
But did they hearken to the heauenly voyce,
Their diamondes should not so for drosse be sold,
And they would long for God, and not for gold.
Zacheus, too long, longèd for such drosse,
Till Iesus came, his spirit's further ioye;
And then he found his gaine did yeeld but losse,
While sinne in conscience bred the soule's annoye,
And vnto heauen the world was but a toye;
He left it all and climèd vp a tree,
To shew his longing how but Christ to see.
And well he longd that so His loue receiued,
Who sweetly saw, and kindly call'd him downe:
His stature low, but his loue high conceiued,
Who so was grac't by Mercie's glorious crowne,
As hauing cause vpon his sinnes to frowne,
Forgiue the workes that did deserue damnation,
And fill'd his house with glory of saluation.
A blessed longing of a blessed loue!
Would so all soules did loue, and so did long;
And in their longing might so sweetly proue
The gracious ground of such a glorious songe,
As kills all sinne that doth the spirit wrong;
And sing with Simeon at his Sauiour's sight,
“Oh now my soule depart in peace, delight!”
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Oh blessed Simeon, blessed was thy loue,
And thy loue's longing for thy Sauiour so,
Who wrought so sweetly for thy soule's behoue,
As from thy prayers would not let thee goe,
Till to thy loue He did His presence showe,
Which made thee sing, when sorrowes all did cease,
“Lord, let thy seruant now depart in peace!”
“For I, according to Thy word, haue seen
The glorious substance of my soule's saluation;
Thy Word, in whome my trust hath euer beene,
And now hath found my comfort's confirmation!”
Thus did he make a ioyfull declaration
Of that sweete sight of his sweet Sauiour's face,
That was the glorie of his spirit's grace.
How many yeeres he all in prayer spent,
For the beholding of His blessed loue!
What was the yssue of his hope's euent,
And how his prayers did preuaile aboue,
That so his God did vnto mercie moue,
As to his armes to send his onely sonne
The storie doth of all th' Apostles runne!
He was well call'd, good Simeon, for that grace,
That God had giuen the spirit of His loue;
That loue that long'd but in his Sauiour's face,
To see the blessing of his soule's behoue,
And blessed prayer, that did truely proue
A blessed soule, that could not prayer cease,
Till Christ His presence came to giue it peace.
So should all soules their Loue's chief longing haue,
All soules I meane of euerie Christian hart,
That seeke or hope both heart and soule to saue
From hell, damnation, and supernall smart;
This is the loue that, in the liuing part
Of Mercie's power, shall finde that blessednesse,
That is the spirit's onely happinesse.
Nor can Loue look to limit out a time,
But now and then and euermore attende;
For he shall neuer to that comfort clime,
That will not all his life in prayer spend,
Vntil he see his Sauiour in the end;
In whose sweet face doeth all and onely rest
The heauenly ioy that makes the spirit blest.
Blest be the spirit that so longs and loues,
As did Zacheus and good Simeon:
And from his faithfull prayer neuer mooues,
Vntill he find his life to looke vpon,
And in such loue is all so ouer-gon,
That in such ioy his heart and spirit dwels,
As hauing Christ, it cares for nothing els.
Oh blessed Christ, the essence of all blisse,
All blessed soules loue's longings' chiefe delight!
What heart can thinke how that soul blessed is,
That euer hath his Sauiour in his sight?
The sunny day that neuer hath a night?
Oh that my spirit might so euer pray,
That I might liue to see that blessed day.
The day that onely springeth from on high,
That high day-light wherein the heauens do liue;
The life that loues but to behold that eye,
Which doth the glory of all brightnesse giue,
And from th' enlight'ned doth all darknesse driue:
Where saints doe see, and angels know to be
A brighter light, then saints or angels see.
In this light's loue, Oh, let me euer liue!
And let my soul haue neuer other loue,
But all the pleasures of the world to giue,
The smallest sparke of such a ioy to proue,
And euer pray vnto my God aboue,
To grant my humble soule good Simeon's grace,
In loue to see my Sauiour in the face.
O face more faire then fairnesse can containe:
O eye more bright then brightnesse can declare:
O light more pure then passion can explaine:
O life more blest then may with blisse compare:
O heauen of heauens where such perfections are!
Let my soule liue to loue, to long, to bee
Euer in prayer, but to looke on Thee!
But, Oh vnworthy eye of such a sight;
And all vnworthy heart of such a loue;
Vnworthy loue, to long for such a light;
Vnworthy longing such a life to prooue;
Vnworthy life, so high a suit to mooue!
Thus, all vnworthy of so high a grace,
How shall I see my Sauiour in the face?
All by the prayer of true penitence,
Where Faith in teares attendeth Grace's time,
My soule doth hope in Mercie's patience,
My heart all cleansèd from my sinfull crime,
To see the springing of Aurora's prime,
In those bright beames of that sweet blessed sunne
Of my deere God, in Whome all blisse begunne.
And that my soule may such a blessing see,
Let my heart pray, and praying neuer cease,
Till heart and soule may both together be,
Blest in thy sight all sorrowes doth release;
And with good Simeon then depart in peace!
Oh then; but then, and onely euer then,
Blest be my soule, sweet Iesus say Amen.
Gloria in Excelsis Deo.
12

What is Loue?

Men talke of Loue that know not what it is:
For could we know what Loue may be indeede,
We would not haue our mindes so led amisse
With idle toies, that wanton humours feede;
But in the rules of higher reason read
What Loue may be, so from the world conceal'd;
Yet all too plainely to the world reueal'd.
Some one doth faine Loue is a blinded God;
His blindnesse him more halfe a diuell showes:
For Loue with blindnesse neuer made abode,
Which all the power of Wit and Reason knowes:
And from whose grace the ground of knowledge growes:
But such blinde eyes, that can no better see,
Shall neuer liue to come where Loue may be.
Some onely thinke it onely is a thought
Bred in the eye, and buzzeth in the braine,
And breakes the heart, vntill the minde be brought
To feede the senses with a sorrie vaine,
Till wits, once gone, come neuer home againe:
And then too late in mad conceit do proue,
Fantasticke wits are euer void of loue.
Some thinke it is a babe of Beautie's getting,
Nurst vp by Nature, and Time's onely breeding;
A pretty worke to set the wits a whetting,
Upon a fancy of an Humour's feeding;
Where Reason findes but little sense in reeding.
No, no: I see, children must goe to schoole;
Philosophie is not for euery foole.
And some againe thinke there is no such thing,
But in conceit, a kinde of coynèd iest;
Which onely doth of idle humors spring,
Like to a bird within a Phœnix nest,
Where neuer yet did any yong one rest.
But let such fooles take heed of blasphemie,
For Loue is high in his Diuinitie.
But to be short, to learne to finde him out,
'Tis not in Beautie's eyes, nor babyes' harts;
He must goe beate another world about,
And seeke for Loue but in those liuing parts
Of Reason's light, that is the life of arts;
That will perceiue, though he can neuer see,
The perfect essence whereof Loue may be.
It is too cleare a brightnesse for man's eye;
Too high a wisedom for his wits to finde;
Too deepe a secret for his sense to trie;
And all too heauenly for his earthly minde;
It is a grace of such a glorious kinde,
As giues the soule a secret power to know it,
But giues no heart nor spirit power to show it.
It is of heauen and earth the highest beautie,
The powerfull hand of heauen's and earth's creation
The due commander of all spirit's duety,
The Deitie of angels' adoration;
The glorious substance of the soule's saluation:
The light of Truthe that all perfection trieth,
And life that giues the life that neuer dieth.
It is the height of God and hate of ill,
Tryumph of Trueth, and Falshood's ouerthrow;
The onely worker of the highest will;
And onely knowledge that doeth knowledge know;
And onely ground where it doeth onely growe:
It is in summe the substance of all blisse,
Without whose blessing all thing nothing is.
But in itselfe itselfe it all containeth;
And from itselfe, but of itselfe it giueth;
It nothing loseth, and it nothing gaineth,
But in the glorie of itselfe it liueth;
A ioy which soone away all sorrow driueth:
The prouèd truth of all perfection's storie,
Our God incomprehensible in glorie.
Thus is it not a riddle to be read,
And yet a secret to be found in reading;
But when the heart ioynes yssue with the head,
In settled faith to seeke the spirit's feeding,
While in the woundes that euer fresh are bleeding,
In Christ His side, the faithfull soule may see,
In perfect life what perfect loue may be.
No further seeke then for to find out Loue,
Then in the liues of euerlasting blisse,
Where carefull conscience may in comfort prooue,
In sacred loue that heauenly substance is,
That neuer guides the gracious minde amisse:
But makes the soule to finde in life's behoue,
What thing indeed, and nothing else is loue!
13

Then make no doubt of either good or bad,
If this or that, in substance, or in thought;
And by what meanes it may be sought or had;
Whereof it is, and how it may be wrought:
Let it suffice, the word of Truth hath taught,
It is the grace but of the liuing God,
Before beginning that with Him abode.
It brought forth Power to worke, Wisedom to will,
Iustice to iudge, Mercie to execute,
Vertue to plant, Charitie to fill,
Time to direct, Truth Falshood to confute,
Pitie to pleade in Penitence's suite,
Patience to bide, and peace to giue the rest,
To prooue how loue doth make the spirit blest,
And this is God, and this same God is Loue:
For God and Loue, in Charitie are one:
And Charitie is that same God aboue,
In Whome doth liue that onely loue alone;
Without whose grace true Loue is neuer none.
Then seeke no further what is loue to finde,
But only carrie God within the minde.
Leaue in the world to looke for any loue,
For on the earth is little faith to finde;
And faithlesse hearts in too much trueth doe proue,
Loue doth not liue where care is so vnkinde:
Men in their natures differ from their kinde;
Sinne fils the world so full of secret euils,
Men should be gods to men, but they are deuils.
Christ lou'd to death, yet Loue did neuer die!
For Loue, by death, did worke the death of death!
Oh liuing Loue, oh heauenly mystery,
Too great a glory for this world beneath,
The blessed breathing of the highest breathe:
Blest are they borne that onely find in Thee,
Oh blessed God, what blessed loue may be.
Let then the Poets leaue their idle humours,
That write of Loue, where there is no such thing:
And let the world not hearken to those rumours,
That speake of Loue, or whence that life doeth spring;
Except it be in this our blessed King,
And Lord of life, in Whom our soules may proue
The onely life of euerliuing Loue.
Let wantons weepe that laughing sought for loue,
Within the gems of their mistaken ioyes;
And turne with teares that perfect path to proue,
That leades the spirit from the world's annoyes,
Vnto that treasure that admits no toyes;
But in the riches of the soule doth proue
The heauenly life of blessed spirits' Loue.
And let the wise, (if any such there be,
As God forbid, but there were many such,
That in their soules by secret wisedom see,
In the true triall of true Vertue's touch,
The worth that Faith cannot affect too much:)
Confesse, they finde, in Trueth's effects alone,
That God is Loue, without Whom there is none.
Amidde the skie there is one only sunne,
Amidde the ayre one only Phœnix flies;
One only Time by which all houres do runne:
One onely life that liues and neuer dies:
One onely eye that euerie thought descries:
One onely light that shewes one onely Loue:
One onely Loue, and that is God aboue!
To say yet further what this Loue may be;
It is a holy heauenly excellence,
Aboue the power of any eye to see,
Or Wit to finde by World's experience;
It is the spirit of life's quintessence:
Whose rare effects may partly be perceiued,
But to the full can neuer be conceiued.
It is Repentance' sweete restoratiue,
The Rosa solis the sicke soule reuiueth,
It is the faithfull heart's preseruatiue:
It is the hauen where happie grace arriueth;
It is the life that death of power depriueth;
It is, in summe, the euerlasting blisse,
Where God alone in all His glorie is.
It is a ioy that neuer comes in iest;
A comfort that doth cut off euerie care;
A rule wherein the life of life doth rest,
Where all the faithfull finde their happie fare;
A good that doth but onely God declare.
A line that His right hand doth drawe so euen,
As leads the soule the highwaye vnto heauen.
If then henceforth you aske what thing is Loue,
In light, in life, in grace, in God, goe looke it:
And if in these you doe not truely proue,
How in your hearts you may for euer booke it;
Vnhappy thinke yourselues you haue mistooke it.
For why the life that death hath ouer-trod,
Is but the Loue of Grace, and that is God.
All kinde of loue but this is but mistaken,
And all conceit but this is misconceiued;
All kinde of loue but this must be forsaken;
All trust but in this trueth may be deceiued;
All in this loue all trueth may be perceiued:
All heart's beliefe and all soule's seale vnto it,
All what is good this loue doeth onely doe it.
What shall I say? but 'tis beyond my saying,
To tell you all may of this Loue be sayd:
And yet that trueth be free from all betraying,
That hath no more then what she knowes bewray'd.
Let me but stay, but where as shee hath staid,
And say but this, as I haue said before,
That Loue is God, and I can say no more.
Solus Amor Deus.
14

Solus in toto laudandus Deus.

Oh blessed Loue, the life of blessednesse,
If euer Thou diddest helpe a sinner's heart,
Behold my teares, and in Thy holynesse
Assist my spirit with Thy sacred art,
That al the world may ioy to heare me sing
The holy praises of my heauenly King.
Inspire me with that vnderstanding power,
Which may conceiue, and by desert commend
The toppe of truth on that triumphant tower,
Where graces dwell, and glories neuer end;
Let some such angell help me in deuising,
As speakes of praise in glorie's euer rising.
Oh Loue, how gratious is that beautie held,
That giues the world but shadowes to behold!
But, Oh what glorie maist thou iustly yeeld
Vnto that life which doth thy life vnfold!
And while all shadowes fade and fall away,
Is euer bright and neuer can decay!
In Nature's beautie, all the best can be
Are shadowing colours to deceiue the eye:
But in this beautie may our spirits see
A light wherein we liue, and cannot die;
A light whereby we see that most auailes vs
The comfort of our faith that neuer failes vs.
How bountifull is that faire hand accounted,
That of his store a little stinte bestoweth!
But how in bountie hath that hand surmounted,
That euer giuing, asking ouer-goeth!
And for no gift shall in true grace be scanting,
Doth giue itselfe to see no comfort wanting.
How wise is he that teacheth how to wielde
The world at will, by wicked wits deuise!
But wiser much that findes that wit beguil'd,
That neuer seeks the way to Paradise!
Oh blessèd loue, none but thy Lord of light
Doth giue the soule that perfect heauenly light!
How kinde is he that doth his friend relieue,
In time of need of worldly mindes reputed!
But he that helpes the heart that him doth grieue,
To such a minde what praise may bee imputed!
How kinde is then our Christ, let His death trie,
Who hated sinne, yet did for sinners die!
How valiant is hee held that can subdue,
By force of hand, the furie of his foe!
But in whose hand such valour euer grewe,
As gaue both death and hell their ouerthrow!
None but my Lord, my Loue, that God of light,
Who makes all powers to tremble at His sight.
How patient is that poore conceit esteem'd,
That can put vp a wrong, or crosse, or two!
But how more patient may our Christ be deem'd,
That bare all wrongs that all the world could doe!
Oh peerlesse paterne of true Patience' power,
That conquer'd death in passion's dying houre!
How iust is he who as the law doth beare
The likeliest trueth his judgement doth pronounce!
But how more iuste whom neither Hope nor Feare
Could ever mooue to challenge or denounce!
Sweet Iesus Christ, who neuer Cæsar wrongeth,
And giues to God that vnto God belongeth.
How gracious is that creature to be thought,
That doeth repent him of his wickednesse!
But how more gracious, in Whom God hath wrought
The perfect height of Grace's holinesse!
It is thy life, my loue, our Lord and God,
Who by His grace all sinne hath ouer-trod.
How comfortable is esteem'd that hand,
That heales the sick, although not neere to death!
But what more comfort in that power doeth stand,
Then to the dead can giue a liuing breath!
My loue thou knowest that Lazarus can tell,
When Marie's tears did please our Master well.
What should I in particulars proceed?
When all and summ that heauen and earth can show,
Are short to finde how farre He doth exceede
The praise of prayse where highest prayses goe:
But worship Him in Whom all graces liue,
Worthy more glory then the world can giue.
And since my God and euerliuing Lord,
All in Himselfe all height of glory holdeth;
And to the faithfull onely doeth affoord,
No more to know, then Mercie's care vnfoldeth:
Let my soule's loue but humbly fall before Him,
In admiration wholly to adore Him.
15

For Beauty, Bounty, Wisdome, Valour, Kindnesse,
Grace, Patience, Comfort, Iustice, Trueth, Perfection:
In Whome all these doe liue, what Reason's blindnesse
Can think to reach in Prayse's due perfection?
Where in the height to haue all glory sounded,
Both heau'ns and earth and angels are confounded!
And since farre more then most that can be thought,
Liues in the light of His incomprehension;
Which neuer sense that euer proudly sought,
But perisht in the instant of intention;
Let my soule sing, when all hearts' strings are broken,
His praise is more then can in praise be spoken!
Gloria in Excelsis Deo.

Hymn.

When the angels all are singing,
All of glory euer springing,
In the ground of high heauen's graces,
Where all vertues haue their places:
Oh that my poore soule were neere them,
With an humble heart to heare them.
Then should Faith in Loue's submission,
Ioying but in Mercie's blessing,
Where that sinnes are in remission,
Sing the ioyfull soule's confessing,
Of her comfort's high commending,
All in glory, neuer ending.
But, ah wretched sinfull creature,
How should the corrupted nature
Of this wicked heart of mine,
Thinke vpon that loue diuine,
That doth tune the angels' voices,
While the hoast of heauen reioyces!
No, the songe of deadly sorrowe,
In the night that hath no morrow,
And their paines are neuer ended,
That haue heauenly powers offended,
Is more fitting to the merite
Of my foule infected spirite.
Yet while Mercie is remoouing
All the sorrowes of the louing,
How can Faith be full of blindnesse,
To despaire of Mercie's kindnesse;
While the hand of heauen is giuing
Comfort from the euer-liuing?
No, my soule, be no more sorrie;
Look vnto that life of glorie,
Which the grace of Faith regardeth,
And the teares of Loue rewardeth:
Where the soule the comfort getteth,
That the angels' musique setteth.
There when thou art well conducted,
And by heauenly grace instructed,
How the faithfull thoughtes to fashion
Of a rauisht louer's passion,
Sing with sainctes to aungels nighest,
Halleluiah in the highest!
Gloria in Excelsis Deo.
FINIS.
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