University of Virginia Library

The Poet.

What art? thought below wise-men; yet 'bove ages;
Can'st make sev'n lines, speak more then the sev'n Sages?
A name for Falkland, or th' Lord Digby fit?
Or the Elixir of Hugh Grotius wit?
Pacing in rithme no Poets makes; words fit,
High sense, soul quickning each part of it.
Phancies effluxions which with light do stream,
Each sentence gilding like a Solar beam.
No day can pass to write lends him no ray;
Nay makes ev'n night vie splendor with the day.
To feed on trash hath no green sickness Muse,
Through Wits obstructions a Cachexy shews:
No cup-froth'd fancy, sparkled wit from wine;
Sobriety waters vertues in each line.
None are born Poets, naturally some pace,
Shuffle in rithme, horse-like, without a grace.
His Helicon must flow from sweat of's brain;
And musing thoughts lend his Poetick vein;
Richer then those veins spring from heart of earth,
While Gold without an Ore he giveth birth.
Th' Philosophers Elixir in each line,
Doth in Epitome all that's rich confine.
Above the salts of Ciceronian wit,
Whose name can lend no grain to season it.
Nor Adages, nor Apophthegms new pick'd,
Bear-like nor form'd, nor handsom 'cause their lick'd,
Vents onely what mistaken Sages Coyn'd,
With the disguise of verse on what's purloin'd:
Unhappy fate of Poets to be poor,
All beg'd, or borrowed from anothers store.
He must have ravell'd times, and Kingdoms through,
And when the world oreview'd, can make a new.
A Plato's Commonwealth who can outdo?
A Mores Utopia, and Atlantis too.
Can challenge Titians, or our Vandickes hand;
Upbraiding nature whose rich pieces stand,
Not Zeuxes-like, paint grapes that birds draw nigh,
But red with blood of Families drunkards fly.
Pierces like lightning, yet not hurts the skin,
Though melts ith womb the conceived Child of sin.
At th' horror himself makes th' Tyrant fear,
While he's transform'd to Tyger, Wolf, or Bear.
'Bove th' Theban Harmony can structure raise
To Abrahams Sons, teach ev'n stones God to praise.
Make birdlim'd Avarice th' Idol gold to leave,
Think't pale with guilt, or gilt ore to deceive.
Into a scorch'd Amorist ice convey;
Calm rage, while reason passions storms obey.
Embalm'd with Odours virtue make perfume:
While purred vanity doth in stench consume.
Tainted with sour breath, rotten vice decaies:
Virtue is alwaies green like th' Poets bayes:
The Luxury of whose wit runs not to weeds;
But running up provides for knowledge seeds;
Who Eagle-like doth on a Pyramid sit
'Bove passions tempests, and a flashing wit:
Above the Clouds secure doth view the Sun:
And in a line like him inlightning run:
Nay with Ecstatick Paul doth take take a flight;
And with intelligences trades for sight;
Thus to the Echoing Angels Moses sung;
And David's harps to Hallelujahs strung;
In proverbs glorious Solomon's aray'd;
From clouds of parable th' Gospel light displai'd,
Nor would it blasphemy be for to deny
The whole Creation ought but Poesie:
When God in number made, and measure all;
May we not truly term poeticall;
Six daies the order in Creation show,
Not how God made, but we th' worl'd made may know.
Lesse then a moment made it, a-sit lux
Stream'd out life, Essence, motion, times efflux:
The world as in a womb was in Gods mind:
Within himself all light, to make't outshin'd.
The Ridle destiny which unhinges brains,
Within him with whom all's present how remains?
Who preordains the things that present be:
'Tis God descends to us by Poesie.
Paul with such knots as these Christs Spouse hath drest,
Which to damnation the unstable wrest.
While Poet-like he acts the Carnal man,
They make him so, by their own lusts him scan:
Poets are Prophets, and the Priests of Heav'n:
Though to Hels mimicks Idol Priests th' names giv'n.
Into Jerusalem Lord turn Babylons flame,
The objects vary, yet the passions th' same.
Teach that love holinesse which no holinesse knew,
Let zeal inflame the hearts which lust did stew.
Thus holinesse to the Lord we all may sing,
To write take pinions from a Cherubs wing.

On the Soul.

Enigma to the Philosopher and divine;
All the souls effects, none can the soul define.
All say the soul immortall, none do prove:
Nor life, nor arguments a belief can move.
How can the soul an act of the body be,
Which to the body gives existencie?
If out of matter souls result? can we
In natural souls prove immortalitie?
Or him who saies mankind hath one controul,
Since every species can have but one soul?
If the soul's infus'd, how shares it Adams sin?
How with divinities the sin of flesh serv'd in?
Or who in all ith shapes of men here move
Can souls that rational, or immortal prove?
Each species may give souls of grouth, and sense:
Vital and animal functions may dispence
Without infusion: wise as Banks his horse;
Then whom few better, we find many worse.
Who knows himself, knows all; hee's wise indeed,
Who can retire within, and himself read.
Unhinging wiser brains shall nere stretch mine:
What's the soul I care not Lord, so it be thine.
Whether the soul's traduced or infus'd,
It not concerns, but how by passions us'd.
Whom flesh doth rule can't what is soul is know,
Who'd know't with God must in acquaintance grow.
What is it Lord? 'tis thine; sure part of thee
Treating in humane flesh a Deitie.
Th' soul's all in all, and all in every part:
So all in all, and in all Lord thou art:
By whom we live, move, be, and all things know,
Life, motion, essence, knowledge from thee flow.
Is't not a glimps of th' spirit first made light
VVhich here is mufled in a Cloud of night?
VVhen God but takes this veil of flesh away,
To him the light of lights, returns this ray.
The soul that works by principles of light,
Doth while 'tis here it self to God unite.
VVho here laies the vesture of his flesh aside,
From him Heav'n glory, Earth can't secrets hide,
Let contemplation give but wings toth' soul,
It in a moment travels to each pole;
Descends to th' center, mounts to th' top of th' world,
In thousand places can at once be hurl'd;
Can fathom the universe, without touching it;
A Judge of states, Arts, nay, of worlds may sit.
But oh a soul immers'd in flesh and blood,
Is lost 'midst wild beasts in a pathlesse wood,
Ambition wracks the soul; 'tis fool'd by love;
Pleasure doth melt, hope by a tickling move;
Anger now burns, then's reinflam'd by lust;
Despair depresses, avarice doth rust;
Now cruelty doth obdurate to a stone;
And then revenge makes me more hard then one;
Envy now gnaws, and hatred strait her sours;
The fire of jealousie smothers all her pow'rs;
Sorrow doth lend me floods which fear turns ice,
I'me cold to virtue, hardned by vice;
Lord, see this bird of Paradise in a Cage,
Assayled by a mutinous tumuls rage!
See th' daughter of thy bounty heav'ns own Child;
By passions rable shall she be defil'd?
Shall they the Scepter of her government take?
She is a Queen which thou her Kings didst make,
Th' Kings daughter Lord was glorious within,
Let not her beauty be ecclips'd by sin.
She with her fellows should be brought to thee,
Virtues and Graces should companions be;
A wedding garment Lord on her bestow:
Let her embroidred with thy graces go,
If with th' white robe of innocence I can't come;
Mix the purple of thy blood or martyrdom,
Since the soul's a ray that's borrow'd of thy light,
Shall sin extinguish't in eternall night?
Lord let my soul return from whence it came,
Let not a spark of Heav'n turn to hells flame.

The fruit of Paradise.

VVhen that my soul by magique would aspire,
Prometheus like fetch down Celestial fire;
Paul like to Paradise rap'd by th' part divine,
Sure lust doth me unto this tree recline;
While I descend, and th' pleasures tast of sense,
The tree of life my Jesu's banish'd hence.
He must relinquish flesh and blood who'le be
Made a partaker of divinitie.
Man is a Garden, Jesus is within
The tree of life, which we do lose by sin.
Virtue makes Heav'n, while Hell is made by vice,
Who lives like Enoch, walks in Paradice.
But he who follows th' crooked waies of sin,
A Serpent to this Garden doth let in;
To tast the fruits of sense doth him intice,
Then sees his sin, and himself nak'd by vice.
While God his Saints with sanctity doth cloath
The figleaves of Hypocrisy they loath.
Fall'n midst the trees they seek to hide their sin;
But God ith conscience is who speaks within;
Our better thoughts of Paradice are the trees
Which they secluded are, whom sins can please:
Earth turn'd to earth, which if none do manure
It doth sins fruits, thistles and thorns endure.
But see on water th' spirit moves of love,
To make the first light did on waters move,
From th' fount of Baptism, there do rivers flow
Which water Paradice, and make Heav'ns fruit grow.
The seed of life thus watered did die,
To raise up fruit for all eternity.
The tree of life was joyned to deaths tree
To make the barren bare it God must be,
Into the ground thou Lord it cast, that we.
Fix'd to thy root, may ever living be.
Thou Lord the Earth didst ope, that death might have
And's sister sin in lifes Sepulcher grave.
Who to the world is ty'd, to the Crosse is nail'd,
His bones are broke, and he by death assail'd;
But he's a good thief violence offers there,
The flaming sword keeps Paradise sure is prayer;
Or thy sprites Cherubins and the flaming sword,
Which keeps the tree of life is Lord thy word.
Since thou of life in Paradise art the tree,
Lord when thy Kingdom comes, remember me;
The bone thou gav'st us is with th' Serpent joyn'd,
Sin breaks the bones, which first with sin conbin'd.
The Serpents damn'd to dust which us betraid,
Lift like a Serpent up in dust thou 'rt lay'd.
Sin Lord's a Serpent with a fiery sting,
Thou lifted up dost to us med'cine bring:
Thorns on thy brow Earths curse for him dost wear,
Thou mak'st them Lord a Crown by being there.
Thief-like to th' cursed tree i'me nail'd by sin;
Yet sin makes wounds to let thy mercy in.
Lord say the word, I shall be whole, or say,
Thou shalt with me in Paradise be this day.
What's alwaies, every where, and all believe
Is truth, and onely truth, which can't deceive:
Where is't? unravel ages, all times read;
Since truth is one, why thus are none agree'd?
Schisms gilded weather-Cocks all must passe for gold,
While the world truths lights doth in dark lanthorns hold.
Men to th' Meridian of their flesh and blood,
Religion Calculate; profit names it good.
See each Divine is but an Advocate,
As if Religion were temporal state:
They with illusion, forgeries, for it plead,
And do't like Lawy'rs, onely to be fee'd
For what they plead, yet none can call their right;
They for Religion do without it write.
Witty impieties do the Scriptures reach:
Like the Tyrant who to's bed did wretches stretch;
Too long for cruel purposes, they slice:
Too short they wrack confession of their vice,
That truth can never vary, all agree:
Yer all place truth in their varietie.

On the Master's of the Science of defence in Controversie.

Each Father sure's a Janus, two waies looks?
One face Reformers have, one Papists Books.
Do they by follies issues their names gain?
They father spurious issues of each brain:
Now to th' Protestant tun'd, now Roman Key,
Do Echo like to every voice obey:
Ah! Echo-like yield an imperfect sound
Which can't instruct a knowledg, but confound,
Whence most polemick truths as clearly note,
As th' Lover's Mistresse face in a Wanescot:
Or Wittingtons Maiorship by a chime of bels,
Which seem to tune to all wild phancy tels.
What though the Ruhets in the Roman head
Some truth's obstructed, is the body dead?
Or cause not uniform, must no union be?
Belief in one Christ sure speaks unitie.
Though various Colours in Christs Coat be knit,
They make no seam, nor cause a schism in it.
But these are souldiers which do pierce Christs side,
Cast lots for's Vesture, and his Court devide.
See in a mighty bulk their volumes swell!
Heav'ns way is narrow; sure these lead to Hell.
Homonymas wave, and skirmishing with words,
Or shadow fights, see what each book affords.
You these Tostati may with ease outvie
With a slight single sheeted Mercury:
Their tumid bodies onely serve to tell
Poison within is, thus can make them swell.

Jesuite.

See, see the subtile texture of each line!
The Spider spins her curious web lesse fine.
Th' Spider infusing poison, thus takes th' Fly,
While in her web she weaves her destiny.
Beware of th' Net which from a Spider came;
Nor for the light of heav'n mistake hells flame;
Like sacred bellows they the soul may blow,
Whether to make it to Contrition glow,
And zealous fervor, or to subtilize,
And make't to flames of Contemplation rise.
But ah! with soul on Contemplations wing,
Most deal as boyes with birds do in a string;
Draw down on seeds of errour for to feed,
Or by officious handling make to bleed.
A spark of heav'n devotion may inspire;
Contentions flames are kindled at hells fire.

The Church.

Th' Kings Daughters garment may discolour'd be,
Yet Schism's not made by th' variety.
Embroidred with good works Christs Spouse must go,
Wrinkle nor spot in Conversation show.
Where shadows do increase, the Sun declines;
Yet there will shadows be where the Sun shines.
Forms of Religion, where there is a light,
Where all is shadow, and no shadows night.
But oh while most 'bout Forms poor shadows fight,
They Charity lose, which is Religions light.
Who by disputes are drunk, and passions vext,
Cast at Antagonists heads what they meet next.
The wildefire of Contention they increase,
And not by th' Milk of th' Word it cause to cease.
Who's Pious, he is Orthodox; who loves sin,
He Heretick is: God nor his Church shares in.
Happy whose lives 'gainst errours do dispute;
Good lives convert, bad tongues can never do't.
Ith' Catholick house Churches like Sisters dwell:
Can Sisters Sisters for each brawl expell?
Men in each Church have Truth enough to save,
And to damn Angels enough Malice have.

The Polemick Protestant D.

Truths more calcining Recollects ore-read,
To cure Truths wounds, Truth they afresh make bleed.
Itch of Dispute, the Scab of th' Church doth breed:
How comes Truth for a Champion Falshood need?
It from Contagion sprung, their Countreys Plague,
A Wickliff, Husse, and Malecontents of Prague:
Waldo's Disciples, Albingenses too,
Must to the Muster of Truths Champions go.
Thus Homer to see Truth was lent strange eyes,
And Virgil taught for to Evangelize.
What though in Tenets all do disagree?
In opposition of one Church they be.
Churches like floting Islands in the Sea,
Carried on th' giddy waves of Vanity:
How wisely for your Hierarchy you plead,
Your Church to raise, who Church defacers need?
Who laid in Common Sacred and Prophane,
To hedge these in, could you some Church-ground gain?
By th' Woman in the Wilderness understood,
As wisely as New-England Brotherhood.
Christian, not Pagan Rome, must Babylon be,
From Babylonish garments are you free?
Where Rome is Babylon, all your Orders hence,
They're Antichristian in a Brownists sense.
Rare art, to tie truth fast, twist ropes of sand,
Which every aire of Fancy may disband.
If Christs Coat no Seam, Church cann't Schism admit,
Ah then consider how your Knot you knit!
From what they hate, none think too far they run;
On rocks of errour fail, while shelfs they shun.

The Presbyter.

Prophanum vulgus.

The People.

Th' Rabble's an echo made 'twixt Knave and Fool,
To work his ends, the politicians tool:
VVhile he the Devils quilted Anvile is,
On which he frames all that we finde amiss.
Divide and Rule; these Foxes heads divide
Best for Combustion, by the tails they're ti'de:
VVhile th' routs a number there will errours be,
From God recession, who is Unity.
VVho from the first simplicities teach them swerve,
Give them but bread of life to make them starve.
Most Nature call what Custome is of sin,
Vertue, not Vice, Nature implants within;
Lest it be done to them to do no ill:
Love, which the Law and Gospel doth fulfil;
VVe leave the things, and about names make strife,
Nature exalted is a Christians life.
But oh from th' silver forge Diana comes:
Religious forms are stamp'd to Coin new sums,
Minted by passion, profit seduc'd zeal;
All must be damn'd, deny what they reveal.
Yet sure when Justice up her scales doth hold,
For the forms sake these take no lighter gold.
Lord, let us strive thy Image for to bear;
The gold can ne're be light, thy Image there.
From th' dross of sin it must refined be,
Nor light with lusts can we take form from thee.

On servile Will, irrespective Election, and Reprobation.

Abyss of brightness, to whom light's a skreen,
VVho by not being visible, best art seen.
Time is no time, if relative to thee:
Ev'n an eyes twinkling's all Eternity.
Can he with whom all's present, pre-ordain?
Or what place for thy prescience can remain?
Less then a moment did the whole world make;
To understand it we need six dayes take;
And the seventh day thy goodness to admire,
Which in six thousand year we can't acquire:
Six thousand years are as six dayes to thee,
And the seventh day eternal Jubilee.
What stranger stories, Lord, of thee we tell,
While we mete Infinite with Reasons ell?
If that I have no power, or a decree
Before or Will or Act hath manacl'd me?
Do this, and live, God saies, who cannot lie;
If that I cannot do't, he bids me die.
Can God design a treachery 'gainst Mankinde?
Give him more light to make him the more blinde,
Sin is defin'd what's contrary to Gods will;
Yet abridge ours, and he's the cause of ill.
What God doth preordain, sure his will is:
If then the sin be done, the sin is his.
Thus nothing's left us to deliberate,
But follow th' duct of stars, obey out fate.
When sin's no longer sin, then it is free:
Who's guilty, or ordain'd, can't 'voided be.
Sin that is contrary thus they make Gods will;
God to himself make contrary by ill.
Hath God two Wills, one secret, one reveal'd?
Good in appearance, is he ill conceal'd?
Yet these who made God but in outside good,
Themselves for more then beasts ne're understood.
They rational faculties do deny of th' Soul,
Who Will and Understanding do controul.
If that we act not freely, where's our will?
How understand we? if we can't fly ill.
Like Horse and Mule, we're held in with a bit,
Take will, and vertues essence, gone with it.
Perswasions, terrors, laws, are thus made vain,
Where all are bound up in a fatal chain.
Thus in this age we through excess of light
Bring on our selves more then Egyptian night.
Though God made all, sin's a non entity.
By making sin thus nothing, God they'd free.
But oh! if nothing? why's man damn'd for th' same?
Damnation sure for nothing never came?
As from the Turks for fate they take advice,
They dream like theirs sure, carnal Paradice.
Lord, thou whose path's in deep, and way's ith' sea,
If I can't thee contain, contain thou me.
By passing understanding, understood,
Know that thou onely art, and onely good.

Sectaries.

See of phanatique fowlers a fresh shole,
With baits of Liberty who decoy the Soul.
Copernicism these by their whimsies prove;
Where all are giddy, how can the Earth not move?
Schisms weathercocks, with every wind turn round:
That faith's as light as aire which hath no ground.
Camelion-like with every object change,
VVhose faith is fancy, how can he choose but range?
Snails of all Heresies which contract the slime;
Spunges which suck in all the dregs of time:
Mix with the puddle of their fancies wine
Of sacred VVrit, intitle sin Divine;
Honying their poison, sugaring o're their sin:
VVithout an Angel, Devil is within.
All these adulterers of Sacred VVrit,
Each doth a Concubine to his fancy fit.
A various glosse, on which his fancy set,
A spurious brood of Sectaries doth beget.
All 'gainst Idolatry cry; yet all approve,
VVhile they the Idols of their Fancies love.

Enthusiasticks.

VVhat lust and pride spontaneous Devils do,
Must that the Spirit of God inspire in you?
VVho doing ill, sayes th' Spirit acts within,
Surely he's one can consecrate his sin.
Gods Spirit in still winds, not storms doth vent,
In flames of zeal, not flames of male-content.
The primitive Christians weapons Prayers and Tears;
Truths two-edg'd sword instructs, not cuts off ears.
Like Dæmoniack, most are us'd to speak
Out of their bellies, most of our sounds break.
Zeal of Gods VVord was unto David meat;
Zeal of Gods VVord is now the zeal to eat.
The zeal of Gods house the Prophet up did eat;
You'd eat Gods houses up, your zeal's so great.
To Abram sons, Lord, who canst rear from stone,
Though they a stone Church hate, these stones make one.

Beræan.

Darkness rewards him who in th' Ark would pry;
VVho peeps in Heav'n for light may blinded die.
Faith is an eye which blessedly is blinde;
VVhich in its blindness doth all knowledge finde.
A hand on earth, which stretch'd to God in heav'n,
VVhence all the treasures are of knowledge giv'n.
VVhere Reason's blinde, Faith prospectives should lend,
VVhere lame, Faith Reason must with wings befriend.
Though th' Elephant may swim, and Lamb here wade;
Approach not scripture, till a Lamb you're made.
Pretend not th' white stone shall be giv'n to thee,
Not white like Lamb, but black by nocency.
'Tis unity in faith, orderly zeal,
And active Charity, that must Heav'n reveal.
Yet in devotion if thou art sincere,
Thou'rt in the porch, rejoice, thy heav'n is neer,
Without the practique part, the Theory's vain:
Let aëry mysteries nere unhing thy brain.
On th' Temple pinacle should thee Belial perch,
To God thou'rt neither nearer, nor his Church.
He'l say thou can'st not dash against a stone,
Yet every harder question's to thee one:
He'l plead by Scripture, tell thee of a Crown
He seeks to rob; doth raise to cast thee down.
To thee the good thou read'st doth not relate,
When thou dost read but into life translate.

Fiduciarie.

Believe, onely believe, thou'rt safe; if true:
If this enough! what action need I do?
For if assurance be a good estate,
To it, from it distinct, need life relate?
If my estate be safe, if not can lies
To make me happy, by belief suffice?
If faith, before repentance justifie?
Since I am safe, need I on it rely?
It to th' continuance cannot more relate
Then inchoation of so good estate.
In vain with Jews you Abraham Father call,
He knows you not, know not his works at all.
God can raise Abram Children out of stones,
Yet flints without their fire he never owns.
Their zeal must flame, light of good works must shine,
Nought without heat and light can be divine;
'Cause faiths of things invisible, think you
Faith without works invisible's only true?
If strong imagination faith must be?
Magique will prove the best Divinitie.

In multiplicem Schismatis Hydram.

Universall Leprosy.

See! how the schisms in nations do attrive
A florent age, by wars and ruines thrive.
View how th' astonish'd world, doth silent sit,
Wondring how Leprosy hides the face of it!
Dreaming like Constantine that an innocents blood
Could Lepers cure, baths in a purple flood.
Swords carve no way to Heav'n, there is no spel
In guns 'gainst spirits; nor no charms 'gainst hel.
The thundring Legion enter'd Heav'n by prayer,
This is the violence thieves gives entrance there.
Lillies and Roses both to Paradise come:
Candid by innocence, and by martyrdome;
Saints that are purpled, not by innocent blood:
The Dragon belches forth that purple flood.
Hear not the blood which doth like Abels cry,
Lord hear thy Sons, who did like Abel dye.
Thou canst the fury of the Sea asswage,
Lord still these waters, stop the peoples rage.
Thou out of nothing could'st create a world,
Se't to a Chaos by confusion hurl'd.
Who to make light didst on the waters move;
Move on these waters and renew't by love.

On the Umbraticall Doctors on the Romish party.

Hell gates against the Church cannot prevail:
Who ere believ'd Christianity could fail?
But 'cause in clouds, must therefore be no Sun?
All truths in streams of Roman phancies run?
Unto the end God will his Church assist.
In what is needful, not phanaticks list.
If th' Pope Can't erre, what need we Councels too?
In vain 'tis done by more, what few can do.
They who the Pope can't erre would teach, believe
Sure cheating others, can't themselves deceive;
They write for hæresie, Popes depos'd may be:
What needs the question, if all Popes were free?
The Roman Church's particular, Catholick too:
Surely the Roman Church not's one, but two.
Their Councell's, like the Pope, infallible be,
Means or th' prophetick part from errors free.
Hath fallible means infallible effects?
Or what needs means, if th' spirit truth detects:
Councels can't erre, if to them Popes assent.
Sure 'fore they'r finish'd no confirmings ment.
If falshood's there, can their assent make't true?
If truth? 'tis so, should none assent thereto.
These all like empty purses open wide;
Yet nought within them, doth but air abide.

On the fencers for Religion.

Their pens have swords bin which the Church did wound,
Whence all these scars are on her body found.
Polemicks of Religion sure have writ,
Not for the truth, but exercise of wit:
While Scriptures, Fathers, Councells, they do wrest.
As I name them, they use their names in jest.

B. Jewel.

Though streams of light from Jewels of lustre fly,
Yet cracks, and flames meet the judicous eye:
And though well polish'd, and not rudely set,
Part of the Jewel seems but counterfet.

Doctor Whitaker.

Nor from Whitaker doth the Church reap more,
Where's some good Corn, there's some with tares run ore.

Doctor Field on the Church.

And though the Church hath gained a whole Field
With the best Corn, he doth some Cockle yield.

Dr. White, Sir H. Lynd, Dr. Featley in answer to Lyndomastix.

White may be black turn'd: Lind's not so well lin'd,
That to his aid he need no Featly find.

Master Perkins.

VVhat though a preacher Perk-in for the fight?
If not to preach, he story wants to write.

Doctor Usher

Usher to Lady truth hath better bin,
Yet with black spots he brings her fair face in.

Master Chillingworth against Knot.

But Chilling's worth, of's enemy though hot,
Is praise-worth, to unty a Gordian Knot.

Master Brightman on the Revelation.

In Revelations though a Brightman trade,
He many blinds, and none to see hath made.

Master Mede.

Mede hath some Honey, liquors like works, swels:
Yet nought's 'bove froth of phancy, which he tels.

Doctor Potter.

Potter -like to his name in dirt doth trade;
Yet to hold truth, he hath no verses made.

Master Cotton.

To spoil good paper, make foul scroles ith' same,
'Tis pitty in good ink bad Cotton Came.
He silent, by wild notions all might guesse,
New England Church the Church ith' Wildernesse.

On Bishop Laud against Fisher.

VVhen future ages shall grow up to Laud,
They'l give thy name it's due; & thee applaud.
Rome's Fisher in thy See could cast no bait,
But you secur'd the Fish from the deceit.
The Fisher strook grew wise; and silent too:
The Fisher like the fish, made mute by you.
The Spouse with decent rites, and order mov'd,
Her body had proportion to be lov'd:
In various colour'd garments, didst her bring
With Ceremonies glorious to her King.
Thou reformation's rude draught up didst fil,
And Primitive ex'llence Copy by thy skill.
At peace Jerusalem in her self seem'd one;
And like Bizantium walls an intire stone.
But now the Pastor's gone, the sheep do stray,
To Romish Wolves, and schism tick Foxes prey.
Churches like Leda's twins do rise and set,
Like poor mens lands by theft, do patches get;
Swinish perfections all is aim'd at now,
Parmeno-like to gruntle like a sow:
Apocryphal Priests reach no Canonical truth,
Who any learns 'tis out of th' book of Ruth.
Unhappy men safe virtue we despise,
Too late complain grown by our losses wise.

On Doctor Hammond.

Seraphick Doctor, bright Evangelist,
Great light dispelling errors darker mist:
Thou lend'st no phrantique zeal; phanatick fire
To blaze Contention, kindle loose desire;
No fiery Luthers, no rash Calvins zeal,
Who scarce love truths Antagonists reveal;
The knots of ridling destiny dost undo,
To clear the scriptures, and Gods justice too:
Thou mak'st the way so plain that fools can't erre:
Others their own, thou 'rt truths interpreter.
Thou to the Revelation lend'st a Key,
Where every word is thought a mystery.
Phanatique Cotton, Brightman, Napier, Mede,
To understand themselves a Comment need.
Thou clear'st the Roman Sea, yet wound'st her more
Then those in blood drench'd, made her th' scarlet whore.
He who some truths seeks, to advance by lies,
Against all truth, bold error fortifies:
Could Hippo's Bishop now survive, he'de be
Retracting still, not to detract from thee,
The learn'd St. Bernard would turn pupil too:
'Cause Bernard sees not all he'de learn of you,
Great Cyprians Master might thy scholer be;
And think himself lesse paraclete then thee.
Thou 'twixt a Stephen and Cyprian might'st decide.
Who texts canst open, yet not hearts divide;
Ore teeming zeal a Heresie to refute,
Hath warp'd a passionate Father to't.
Let others prize truths armor for the rust,
Love for the serpents sake, not truths but dust;
While streams of life phanatick phrantique mud
Thou clear'st, and mak'st truths face there understood;
Thou hast no Helena whom thou need'st to fence,
Which to secure dost Castrate scripture sense.
Fools with the two edg'd sword themselves do wound:
On truths face scars make, which no Age mak'st sound,
But our seraphick Doctor clears the word,
Secures the tree of life with th' flaming sword;
Enthusiasticks boast this Ages light;
Had they but Hammon known, who could deny't.
The curse of thorns, sure spinous questions be
The Cherub knowledge, that must guard lifes tree.

To a Lawyer who said, though men might speak against those that are called Gospellers, none justly against them were called Lawyers.

VVho canting learn, do only mean to cheat;
Sure law's in gibrish clothed, for deceit.
Amerc'ments made to fright the idle suit,
Have thriv'd so well, that they invite unto't.
Natura brevium sure is lost, for we
Nothing in nature can but long suits see.
An Habeas Corpus waits on every suit;
A suits worth nothing, if no body's to't.
Suits for Westminster, now so numerous are;
Nor Judge nor Lawyer can them all outwear.
For Councel-Coyn; and count'nance men disburse;
They satisfie revenge, and not their purse.
Both writs, and Courts of error are so many,
Take away these, and Law scarce admits any.
What though your Cook up all the Law doth dresse?
He makes a French Harsh, of a Harsh French messe;
The Laws a two edg'd sword by which men play,
And with their art, make it wound either way;
To tenter out their phancy, they stretch Law:
Wrack the name Lawyers, you'l find liers aw.
My pen wants ink, state-tetters for to cure,
Nay th' ink writ Magna Charta, health procure.

On Magna Charta.

The Judge that others doth by Law condemn,
Against himself a sentence gives in them.
The bench is silenc'd, ev'n by Common Pleas;
The Judge himself, may have a Writ of ease,
Remov'd to th' Kings bench from the Common Pleas;
The Cook himself, confess'd he lost his fees.
Against himself the Iustice swears the peace;
His office or his Conscience must cease;
There's no Aturney doth procure a writ,
But ea ad sat. against him is in it.
And Iack who most for Magna Charta pleads,
Blearey'd with prejudice there no sacriledge reads.
With knowing loyalty who have opticks strung,
If they have eyes to see, must have no tongue?
Must th' people have their right, no Churchmen theirs?
Sure wicked grown, of th' Promise they're no heirs.
The benefit of their Clergy pray them give,
They may grow better, and deserve to live.
The Law is Reason, but can it be had?
Men passionate grown, Passion is Reason mad.
And oh for th' Rout, who do the Law unsheath,
May to mad men a naked sword bequeath.

The Character of Loyall Friendship

He's free, who's wise, to rule himself doth know:
Conquer'd, by patience conquer can his foe:
Whom enemies serve to polish, rust off file;
Envy's rust eats not in, or makes more vile.
These flails serve onely husks off for to beat,
And to heav'ns granary render purer wheat;
More fertile grows, like to the bleeding Vine;
In fortunes night, star-like doth brighter shine.
Thoughs's Masters fort's be lost, retains one still
Of brasse within: is conscious of no ill.
Though fortunes Tennis ball yet mounts on high,
Cast on the earth, from thence to heav'n doth fly:
Grows best ith' shade, like the triumphant Bay,
And green with vertue doth his boughs display.
The frost of th' times to this Corns nutriment turns,
Who like a torch that's beaten, brighter burns:
Can smile at all the Pageantry of vice;
Poor vertue happier think, with her own price.
To Velvet Cushions no devotion pay;
Knows straw within, though their outsides be gay.
In giddy Tumults doth ingage no friends,
Whom servile fear betrays, or baser ends.
Will neither Protest, Covenant, or Ingage,
Or sacrifice Conscience to the Rabbles rage.
Though the people waters th' wiseman is a Rock,
Unmov'd doth th' fury of the waters mock.
Pleas of Religion doth no Hackney make,
To carry lusts, and tir'd doth them forsake.
Nor lur'd unto the fancy of the times,
To profit stoops, adopting others crimes.
Happy 'bove th' Lord, who plays at petty game
Rather then sit out, sits and votes his shame:
Whose presence for a testimonial serves;
No house can lower be then he deserves.
Who sacrifice Reason to Successe, must rear
To Fortune Altars, pay devotion there.
In History no trifler but doth know
At Vertues root, Envy a Worm doth grow.
An Aristides, Phocion, Greece exiles;
Corialan and Scipio, Rome despoils.
'Tis Kingly to do good, and suffer ill:
Since 'tis a Royal mode retain it still.
Kisse but the rod, your father leaves his ire;
Correction past may cast it in the fire.
It doth but humble on your knees you bring,
And from an earthly teach to serve heav'ns King.
Of all your servants have the times left one?
Who serves himself, serv'd best, and hath got none.
Scorn scurrilous plaints; no mouth granadoes vent
'Gainst foes; above them plac'd, while you're content.
Who wants not that, which wanting, nature grieves
Can't want, each one as much hath, as believes.
Who to desire hath nought, nought to admire,
Th' Magnifico on State Pyramids plac'd's not higher.
A Centuple retribution waits his losse,
Whom faith can teach t' imparadise a Crosse.
On Fortunes Rack we easily life despise;
Broke on her Wheel, who smiling suffer's wise.

To the Son of the late King.

Rule o're thy self, the Worlds Epitome;
Then Charls the Great, thus thou maist greater be.
Not second Charls, but second unto none;
Not where he lost, gain where he gain'd a Throne.
See sixty Scottish Kings purpled with blood:
To be beast like for sacrifice crown'd, is't good?
I lift each day a hand for thee in prayer:
To raise thee up by blood, I none can rear.
Of one dayes rule, a Tyrant hear complain,
Him happy call, din'd, and resign'd again.
Hear a fourth Henry tell his son, a Crown,
Did he but know the weight, hee'd slight it down.
Who carries loads on'shead, must ev'nly go;
And they who gain them Crowns, had need do so.
O who would wish a loaden Asses pack?
Yet Honour galls, more then it galls the back.
The Worlds Magnifico's all day laden are;
With Conscience gall'd, to ground at length repair.
The world abounds with men that doe abound;
That knows to do it, scarce a man is found.
Transported pride doth God forget by pelf,
Her neighbour Avarice, th' Prodigall himself.
Hence ith' worlds bucket, like the Captives wheel,
As one goes up, another down doth reel.
Honour's a shadow, interpose a cloud,
And a perpetual darknesse doth it shrowd
In chase, then purchase we more pleasing finde,
Too great for bodies, little for the minde:
Lesse then wee'd have, more then to use we know,
So both superfluous, and defective too.
In valour, strength, and Allies, who would trust,
Which Diamond-like are cut by their own dust.
What's built on smoke; how can it lasting be?
The worlds Foundation's laid in Vanity.
See Otho fall, First Charls resign a Throne,
That Eagle-like he may mount heav'n for one:
Though like a King of Jews, thou thorns dost wear,
Rejoice with him, thy Kingdome is not here.
'Bout names we trifle, and forget the thing:
Wouldst be a slave to slaves? Then be a King.

News for News to a degenerate Cavalier.

To a degenerate thing falsely called A NOBLE.

Fie! fie! Can nothing noble speak, 'bove Oathes,
Or th' Apish varnish of some modish Clothes?
Or to learn Jockey phrase, dialect of th' hound?
Whose virtue, like your own, is all in sound.
Or can distinguish Lanner, Lannerer,
Falcon, Iarfalcon, Gosshawk, and cry Ret;
Hares start, Deer rowse, that Partridge sprung is knows,
What Woodcocks be by's nose that's cup flush'd shows;
Or to unkennel Fox can wisely tell:
Rare Gentleman highly bred, though scarce can spell;
And writes his Name in Text, with such a paw,
You'd swear 'twas catechiz'd with the Devils claw.
Or th' Country air's too dull, he must to th' Burse
Of Blasphemy, Irreligions Nurse;
Where's not a look but's baited for to cheat,
And not a tongue but's oyled for deceit.
Of's Families blood carousing cups here fill,
And bids it die, while he his Die throws ill.
Where theft's unpunish'd, pleasing murders be,
Got in a crowd of sin mad amity:
Or turns a City Chymist, dirt refines
To gold; in Manours, not Manners shines.
Taking a pattern by the Lord May'rs show,
Trimm'd gay, and like a Pageant gilt doth go:
Whom Law findes out before on it he looks,
Gains all his knowledge by his Mercers books.
Or peeps in France brave man, where he's no spy;
In riddling Statists Mysteries scorns to pry:
Yet returns Ape transformed Al-a-mode,
With Pedlers gibrish, and a Pedlers load.
Or in antipathy gets the Spanish shrug,
And looks as grave as th' man ith' Alehouse Iug:
Answers by nods, the stupid would seem grave;
Who nothing vents, must a strange fulnesse have.
The silent Asse might Lord ith' Lions skin,
But when he bray'd, all knew an Asse within.
Affected gesture, and a sowrer look,
With graver voice, for wisdome would be took.
And peep up Statesman, though the wiser dead
Were ne're of's Counsel, nor hath th' living read.
These are the Comets rear'd from th' fat of earth,
Presage Kings ruine, and the People death.

A Character of a Compleat Gentleman.

Nobility innobled.

A Character of the most excellent Marquis of Dorchester, Earl of Kingstone, The Lord Pierrepont.

In Honours Sphere thou like a Sun art shown,
Impartest light, yet not impair'st thy own.
The Poets Phœbus, and Physicians too,
Nay ev'n Church lights have influence from you.
They who laid hands on others for to preach,
On them th' times hands lay for to silence teach.
Thy hands relieve the mischief others do;
They're strangely tongue-ty'd cannot speak of you.
No gilt-tongu'd Lawyer but doth plead for thee;
When thou'rt but nam'd, he hath his Angel fee.
Physicians 'bove Catholicon thee quote,
'Gainst times infection their best antidote.
Thou read'st the living, yet neglect'st not th' dead,
Hast both in Books and Skeletons them o're read.
But oh th' rich incense of each virgin prayer,
While parents virtues now made dowries are!
Stream to posterity honour in thy blood,
VVhat vice nor th' times Contagion taints, is good.
Plaistred with blood no house on ruines built,
VVith others gold rear'd up, but thy own gilt.
'Bove Constellations may thy Coronet shine:
Honour her self is honour'd being thine.
VVho the lost Cyphers th' house of Lords complains,
VVhile that perfections summe in thee remains.

On Thomas Lord Wentworth Earl of STRAFFORD.

Say not the Army took the Kingdomes head,
For Charls in Strafford a long time was dead.
The King with his own hand himself did slay:
The hand took Straffords, took his head away.
How could his head upon his shoulders stand,
Gave leave to take th' best headpiece in his Land?
None durst to knowledge Strafford dead pretend;
Wisdoms Monopoly with his head did end.
With the Wentworth; ah worth with thee was fled!
Ireland no venom, Strafford living bred,
Nor England Wolves, which could her sheep devour,
They plac'd him, would have plac'd them, in that Tower.
The silly sheep a league with wolves would make,
They ask their dogs, dogs gone, their lives they take.
Nor wanted Strafford guilt, though wanted Law;
He for his death, did his own warrant draw;
He drew the heads, took his; his case the same,
He gave himself the stab in Buckingham:
When he cry'd charge him high, should the Law fail,
The rabble that knows no Law will prevail.
Nor thrive they better his black Curtain draw,
They since have found necessity hath no Law.
May none with greatnesse surfet that succeed,
And for state physick be prescrib'd to bleed.
Whence the bloody issue, hath run twelve year,
Lord let it stop while we by faith draw near.

Summum jus summa injuria in jure regni.

Gold Crowns are Coyn'd by steel, and stamp'd by might,
Thus the Saxons, Danish, Normans, Tudors right.
The Roman Eagles ceased on their prey;
Their talons swords were carv'd the Empires way.
'Twas steel that gave the Spaniard all his gold:
By's Bilbo blades he doth his Indies hold.
To edge blunt tools the Priest talks of the word.
'Tis steel that conquers, not the two edg'd sword.
The Ottoman Moon had else bin in the wane;
Refulgent steel doth it new lustre gain.
The greatest injury is the greatest right:
Yet out of darknesse God creates a light,
While Greece did make a Conquest of the world,
She with her arms her arts about it hurl'd.
Civility did with Roman Eagles fly;
To Tames a way to learn civility.
Who Conquers bodies, may he Conquer Minds;
And leave us men whom he like wild beasts finds.
Though he a Kingdom gains, we shall lose none;
When every man doth in himself gain one,
Who is no prop to a declining throne,
Sins 'gainst his Kings in Earth, in Heav'n his own,
He's traitor helps a traitor to a Throne,
Yet who resists him on it may be one;
Martlets and Capets treasons thrones acquir'd;
Yet both so well rul'd France, thought both inspir'd.
A petty notary rul'd so well in Rome
The time of the golden Age, did th' name assume.
Otho may sacrifice 'f all for publick good;
Good with ten thousands losse's no right of blood.

On Poverty.

VVhat art thou poverty, thou so much art fled
Christ spous'd thee living, us bequeath'd thee dead:
Ambition never tenters thee on racks;
No vulture gnaws thy heart; plot thy brain cracks;
No emulous rival hast; no hollow friend;
Dost in the place thou'rt born securely end:
By healthful hunger sauc'd meats happy be;
No table made a snare by gluttonie;
By neighb'ring floods sav'st charges of excise;
Drink which the wise makes fools, can make thee wise!
No Dropsies fear'st; no Gout; nor no Catarrh;
Palate with body nere Commences war;
Thy body and thy Conscience both are clear;
Hast nothing here to hope, or ought to fear,
No man to cut this shrub down, his axe whets;
Nor a self-wounding Conscience by regrets.
While others sport of winds; hoist into th' deep,
Along the shore he doth securely keep.
The Ostridgs body hindereth her wings,
While such a lark mounts up, with ease and sings.
Who desires little, he thinks little much;
Such as desires are, ev'n our Riches such.
What dead thou canst enjoy, alive despise.
Who sets his heart on others goods, not wise.
For this, ah this Princes chang'd Crowns for Cells;
He's Crown'd with joy; with whom contentment dwels.

The pleasures of the VVorld.

VVise mens desires which of their souls are sayles,
Should steer to Heav'n; while sighs send thither gales;
And down on appetites like to fishes look;
Which run at rotten worms which hide a hook;
Begot of sense, which like abortives die;
With shame and grief season satictie;
Dreams which disturbance have, not rest of sleep:
Various as Children sporting at Bo-peep.
Of Sysiphus stone, or an Ixions wheel,
What Poets phancy, here we true may feel:
Felicities are floting Islands which retire:
As soon as we to touch them do desire,
Of ere relapsing actious life's a toyl;
Where for one Rose, a thousand thorns us spoil.
See how from walnuts troops of silly boyes;
Men persue bubles, end before their noise.
Who said an egge the joyes of th' world confin'd:
Deceiv'd not, though it broke, show'd nought but wind.
Joy onely tickles th' outside of the skin:
Sweet waters Seas of bitternesse run in.
What can we draw from th' world, but buble swell,
Break, vanish, Dives lend no drop in Hell.
Pleasure's a wandring bird, doth singing sit,
But fly's away when you would catch at it.
Would you of th' world, the greatest pleasure know,
Pleasure condemn; it from contempt doth grow.

A defence of Curiosity: an unsetled mind in unseled times; to weak Calumnie and proud ignorance.

The world is but a Theater of ill;
Knaves, Fools, and madmen do the stage up fill;
Religion the vizard is which most put on
To act their parts; parts done, the vizards gone.
Which mimick gesture, and affected tone,
Few personate the part that is their own.
The shriveld's old wretch, acts the Gyants part:
And the pent scul must th' magazine be of art.
He's more then an Apollo that can show,
T'en talk, preach, scribe of the things they know.
For birds sure 'tis strange happinesse to be hedg'd,
There chirp and make a noise, before thei'r fledg'd;
What though to pillory'd truth I rescue go,
I this day books, the next I men would know;
Undo my self lest I might be undone;
There's Parthian like by flight, some victory won.
What though I laugh at all, all laugh me:
Democritus blind, more then an age could see.
Eyes bloodshot red, Ictericks yellow spy;
VVho thinks the stars twinckle, 'tis his own weak eie,
Thus I read men and books, and have a key
To each mans breasts, which is my Library.
All natures giddy imperfections read
Me lectures, and confirm in virtues Creed.
More then the gam'ster, sees the stander by;
This lifes an art of casting of the die:
The world's the Inne, in which the cheaters meet,
Scarce life a passage hath without deceit.
If Proteus-like I each day vary shapes;
To learn their natures 'tis, not imitate apes.
Spunges with error swol'n I use to squeese,
To know their filth, not drink in their disease.
Though heat 'bove dogdaies revels in my blood
To quench the lust-scorch'd Lecher lend a flood.
Orecharg'd with liquor nere a spung can spy
That I with liquor want an orecharg'd eye.
Yet none lesse then a Merlin must I fall?
Fools bolts are soon shot, must they wound me all?
VVhen pride and folly do in judgement sit,
Can they vote lesse then treason in a wit?
See the silly herd of animals raise a cry!
Are pleas'd with th' noise they make, yet know not why;
The birds which do in fortunes sunshine play,
A storm impending, Croak and fly away.
Dogs which with clamor flying heels pursue,
Turn and their tails shall complement with you.
I change my friend, oft as I change my cloths;
Who'd not love rags, which thus can take these moths.
VVho's gay without, thought only rich within;
Knowledge and follies shrine's no veniall sin.
Plato's to me for all hence giddy croud,
Under whose wings folly must onely shroud.
Vant wretch, whom nature hudled up in hast,
And all thy wisdom in thy riches plac'd;
At knowledge tryal let her have her peers;
Know justice some paint blind, none without ears.
VVould you in long Coats have all peep up sages;
In gravity and wisdom bafling ages?
I am too wise already, if that you
To understand me gain not wisdom to.
Plato's a friend, and Socrates is one,
But truth is more a friend, who leaves me none.
Could Bias that was wise deformed be?
Or could be poor, that had Philosophie?
Empedocles knowledge would to Heav'n ally;
I'l into stars for new alliance pry.
Yet Thales-like, while I the stars do view,
Not fall ith well, to make your proverbs true.
Plato saies, reason man discerns from beast;
Must, Gryphin-like, I gold pile in a nest?
VVhereof thou hast no use, wretch hoard up pelf:
He nothing hath, hath all, and not himself.
To's Son, if wise, the Cynick nothing gave;
Wisemen all natures treasuries open have.
What though a rouling stone gathers no mosse?
For to be clog'd with dirt's not gain, but losse.
I make the way to truth smooth, while I roul;
To keep dirt down, not gather'st use of soul,
The creeping things of th' world are all below
A wise mans thoughts, whose onely end's to know;
Not curious it desires, that he may know;
Nor vain to flash; and to the world it show.
Nor covetous knowledge doth for profit seek,
But edifie himself, and build up th' week;
Inth' Sea of th' world can he to steer right know,
Hath onely learn'd in some poor pond to row?
Thus a rash Pilot doth to Sea resort,
In winds, and waves of error to make sport;
While the wise balanc'd with a richer fraight,
'Gainst storms of errors, counterpois'd by weight.
He should be wise a troubled Sea must enter,
And well pois'd too all in one bark doth venter,
But oh ith' world no other art I find,
Beside the tacking round with every wind.

On the death of Mistris E. Kinesm, whom age had transform'd to a Sceleton.

I wonder not thou'rt dead, but how could'st live:
Or to a Sceleton why they buriall give.
Sure Pelican like to your own children food,
You first your bowels gave, and then your blood.
Or age refin'd thee, 'cause the way was strait,
And took thy flesh, to fit thee for Heav'n gate.
Or twindled to a Child, 'cause none must venter,
But who's child-like, the heavenly Palace enter.
They live long, who live well: what meets in you
To live both long and well, is rarely true.
A parent not in empty name, but care:
Indeed a widow, yet no widow were,
Your-husband in your love to him surviv'd;
Whose heart, flesh, life, was his, was he short liv'd?
Who would your praises fully but indite,
Doth need an Age, long as you liv'd, to write.

To a painted Lady, a Calf spotted, lusts Idol, like the Idol of the Egyptians.

Madam, why so fair? why so foul?
What can no lesse intrap a soul?
Art acts adultery in your skin:
When hell's without, ah what's within!
Who would dote on painted blisse,
Which melts away with every kisse?
Or who would tie his love to hair?
Make love like it the sport of air.
The moon hath spots, and so have you;
The emblems change, and you'l so too.
Or you these foils for beauty wear,
'Cause Venus some feign, moles made fair,
Who gain a love, by seeming fair,
Their love, and beauty like fate share:
Love shifts, when you but shift your face:
Or outcomes, when you teeth displace:
Puppits which move by phancies wire,
Let th' rich in fooleries desire:
Think you each hair in curls a hook,
Baited with powder fools are took.
To me the powd'ring of the hair
Makes you seem aged, and not fair.
Or like a sheeps-head's wooll doth show,
VVho mates you, for a Ramme must go.
Black patches do betray defects:
Beauty's best seen in her neglects.
Cupid in black in your face spread,
Mourns there for love and beauty dead.
And your half Moon in this black veil,
Shews you can change, though lustre fail.
Or think you here Egyptians be,
For th' spotted Calf may worship thee?
An Ape is, though no Apis shown,
VVithout your spots can make you one.
I search no pedigrees, nor care
VVho ow'd your breath, or teeth, or hair:
Yet though in breath we Saba meet;
The smell's not well, smells alwayes sweet.
Though paint and plaistring may be gins
To passengers, tempt to rotten Inns.
Ceruse nor Fucus e're can move,
VVhere Religion fixes love.
'Tis neither marble, gold, nor paint,
But the Adorer makes the Saint.

To a Lady of Pleasure.

To his Lady Book.

Come, Book, my Mistris, neither proud nor coy,
The gay nor impudent Mymicks thee enjoy;
Nor all the empty revellings of vice
Ravish a sweetnesse, virtue's her own price:
Thou shalt unlock me th' treasuries of the deep,
For me earths bosome shall her riches keep;
Which to an heav'nly quintessence I'le refine,
As the last fire earth will for heav'n calcine.
So better'd Nature shall my servant be:
Mine the Elixir of Philosophy.
Thus I the golden age again will bring;
From dregs of th' iron age out gold shall spring.
Then I'le to th' Sky, it Atlas-like uphold,
While I th' Star-spangled Canopy unfold.
The Heav'ns a Book, the Stars the Letters be,
Where I will spell out ridling Destiny.
Then heav'ns twelve houses I'le to tenements make,
And for them rent, will by Astrology take.
Hence I'le slide down into the silent grave,
And of the sleeping world the riches have.
Unravel Ages past, and from th' dark night
And Chaos of Confusion, force a light.
And quicken fire from ashes of each Urn,
Where hallow'd tapers shall to light me burn.
The present teach, and future: Correct th' age past;
'Tis Knowledge Empire must to ages last.
The wise man is the King none can depose:
Can th' Cockatrice crush ith' egg, unking his foes.
Can rebel passions unto reasons bar,
Which menace Soul and Fortune with a war.
Then States and Churches, Fancy ravels through,
This Oedipus those Sphinxes can undo.
In Aph'risms truth imprison'd I'le set free;
Her th' bottom of the well can't hide from me:
Nor th' αυτος εφη of the Ottoman race,
To raise himself all others would deface.
I'le laugh at him with Aristotles scolds,
Believes no light but what's dark lanthorn holds.
Or Galens scurf, thinks th' quintessence of art,
Who what Elixir was could ne're impart.
Can he of Natures privy Councel be,
Shew rooms within, who ne're did intrails see?
Strange Lapidaries price of gems would tell
Viewing the Cask, not what within doth dwell.
Sev'n year of study thus of famine be,
The soul not sated with Philosophy.
All dream like Pharaoh, but no Josephs here,
Egyptian Sages wise in vain appear.
See th' walking Library, whom men Doctor call,
A scold well disciplin'd, learnedly can brawl:
Like Cadmus souldiers notions in his brain,
By mutual quarrels have each other slain.
Hath tympanies of terms, a Cobweb net
Of pois'nous theses for a Fly can set.
Like the fish Sleve, which presents a sword,
Yet by inspection doth no heart afford.
Though seeming vigour and acutenesse be,
There is no heart in their Philosophy.
A shallow puddle doth resemblance bear
Of Sun, Moon, Stars, and all heav'ns glory there:
Yet with a finger you may fathom it:
Seas are too deep for th' Stagirites great wit.
He on his followers shallownesse doth intail;
From th' bottom of the well truth gets no bail.
Surely they dream, if dreams in fancy be:
Fancies are Maxims of Philosophy.

On Retirement.

I leave the world, it me, yet not alone,
Nor left, have ages for my patrons known.
Or can I be alone, who treat with th' world,
Which is within, your's to th' first Chaos hurl'd.
I onely then to be alone begin,
When on my privacies Sciolists crowd in.
Thus I can pinion time, memory recruit;
From th' Age snatch th' sickle, and reap Wisdomes fruit.
In th' Scheme of th' world my own Nativity finde,
And there gain eyes to see where Chance is blinde.
The fool is solitary, wise-man ne're alone,
Who hath himself, wants no companion.
Who serves himself is never serv'd amisse;
Retirement Wisdoms Cousin German is.
Men live like caged birds, crowd and defile
Each other, while Religion's in exile.
Who leaves himself, 'tis he doth living die;
Inherits worms, who here keeps company.
All do like worms on putrefaction prey,
Or in their actions rottennesse display:
Remote from th' Sun, our dayes are there more long;
Digestion better, life and growth more strong.
Th' worlds glories scorch us, dazle, or exhale;
Or sin turns Ethiop, or guilt makes us pale.
Yet when these scorch, retire, within's a Cave;
In our own bodies we may cooling have.
If Fortunes freeze, or more obscured be;
The souls within, a torch, light, warmth for thee.
Each sown Umbrella is, and his own sun;
Desert thy self, thy joy and light is done.
Thus you may gain what others strive to seem;
Let me gain Knowledge, others gain Esteem.

Man a Microcosm.

Natures Compendium, th' worlds Epitome,
Our flesh is earth, our blood is as a Sea.
Have heav'n in Knowledge; Soul of Gods a ray,
Which in the night of flesh breaks forth a day,
What light without, that knowledge is within,
Through th' eyes the windows of our Souls let in.
To circle bout the world the blood's a Sun,
The Stars the senses, which their courses run.
Motions and perturbations of the minde,
Resemble tempests, thunder, lightning, wind,
Which in our aëry Region do arise,
To cloud the minde, and so obscure the Skies.
These on the blood Commotions once begun,
We lose th' effect of light by th' clouded sun.
Tumors like Meteors in our bodies rise,
The exhalations of impurities:
And in a Collique or Hysterique fit,
We feel pent wind a Earthquake make in it.
Congealed slime like Thunder-bolts, we finde
By heat of reins in clouds of flesh confin'd.
Our minde the day is, and our flesh the night,
Death is but darknesse, and our life the light.

Of the Blood.

Poets feign Phœbus blushing sets in red,
While he descends down to his watery bed.
Sure in these purple streams the Sun doth glide,
And in his Crimson Chariot blushing ride,
While he doth circle through the lesser world,
Through veins of earth in strange Meanders curl'd.
Now in a full tide channels doth disdain,
Flows into flesh, and then ebbs back again.
Thus blood, Sun-like, gives motion, life and sense,
Spirit, and innate heat are nought from hence.
Distinct from Blood, who can the Soul ought call;
'Tis all in every part, and all in all.
Though Nature seems restor'd by Cock-white-broth,
It is a Sun beam Chariots in the froth.
Thus man can't get a man, unlesse the Sun
Club to the act of Generation.
'Tis light is life; 't may place change, never dies,
And by its nature onely multiplies.
How of the body is the Soul the act,
When without it no body is compact?
Do we our senses borrow from the brain,
When before it our senses do remain?
Or is the heart or liver shops of blood,
When before either is a purple flood?
Here is that Plato's, here that vestal fire
Kindled by Sun-beams, which can ne're expire,
Take away heat, 'tis Cruor and not blood,
Streams of impurities issue with this flood:
O use into flesh, and out by Ulcers run:
Yet ne're were blood, no nature took from th' sun.
Though blood-shews like a heat enamell'd cloud,
Corruption with discolouring don't shrowd.
Lord, what is man thou should'st thus mindeful be?
Placing in him this tutelar Deity.
Water and Earth poor man, at best but mud;
By th' quickning ray of heav'n turn'd flesh and blood,
When thou but tak'st of heav'n this light away,
That which before was flesh and blood, is clay.
Gods Tabenacle thus plac'd in the Sun,
That Giant races must with th' whole world run.

On the Humours.

A Tetrasyncrasy must of humours be;
Nature from discords produce harmony.
How wisely th' bloody masse is understood?
Two Cholers, black and yellow, phlegm and blood.
Phlegm is so crude it scarce bloods nature takes;
Blood Choler turns, but Choler ne're blood makes.
Yellow to black by heats exuberance tends:
Black into none, see where perfection ends.
When Natures work onely Concoction is,
To gain perfection we arrive at this.
O happy age from imperfections free,
Perfections sure mopish or mad to be.

On the Elements.

To answer Humours who four Elements chose,
Had need the fift, their quarrels to compose.
Sure it is Love doth all together knit;
Love made the world, and Love preserveth it.
Things diff'rent are, but nothing contrary is,
But as intended, or it is remisse.
Ah! why should Med'ciners in their art agree,
Since Natures self's but Contrariety?

Against Phlebotomy to a Leech.

Philosophy ends where Physick doth begin:
'Tis strangely true, for few admit it in.
Tell stories of Corruption of the blood;
What's once corrupt, can it return to good?
To th' habit from privation, how's recesse?
Phlebotomy's Key not loosing rottennesse.
Or opening, can't distinguish good from bad?
Would each blood-sucking Leech the knowledge had.
The treasury of life they'd not exhaust,
Take th' price of blood, while life with blood is lost.
To Natures countermining not intent,
To let death in, and life out give a vent.
More merciful Turks thus blood do never spill,
Under pretence of help, nor do they kill.
Lest to his bloody art th' Leech too much trust,
To take him off we need from graves fetch dust.

For Phlebotomy.

The Courses Nature doth in Women take
To open veins, shall we in men forsake?
VVhere Nature dictates, who will not submit?
She keeps her Monthly terms to plead for it.
Shee'll argue à priori by the Nose;
And by the Breech à posteriori shows.
VVhen Natures self doth once turn Critical,
I pray resign, no Criticks be at all;
'Gainst all Phlebotomy who plead, sure jest:
In th' mood they plead for to refute it best.

A Piss-pot Prophet.

See th' man of Recipes how his Cloak is lin'd!
Sure th' insides rich, where we such linings finde.
Can strut, not gravely, with an ominous look,
Like Mahomet when from th' Dove he Counsel took,
Consults with his Mustachio's 'fore he's heard;
Surely he strokes his wisdome from his beard.
Your liver's foul, and stomach, pains ith' heart,
VVe Cardialgia call it men of art.
Your spirits natural; vital, animal be,
And I'me afraid, not from obstructions free.
Would of erratique griefs you causes know?
The head's the fountain, whence these streams do flow.
Your livers hot, cold stomach, thence to the brain,
Vapors arise in Clouds, showre back again.
You are hydroptick, nay, Cachectick too,
I strangely fear a discrasy in you.
Oh, oh my heart, my heart doth down retreat
Their monstrous purges you (learn'd sir) repeat.
They Panchymagogi, and Catholicons be;
And Diaphænicon th' rare Electuarie.
These are your purges man; the Bezar-stone,
Brave Cordial, unto all but me unknown.
Have you a pain ith' stomach? yes, back and head?
Lord Master Doctor where have you this read?
Ith' urine man; by this I ev'n can know
Each step, and stair by which to bed you go.
Pisse takes the form of parts as it runs through,
I could no better know, was I in you.
Hence looking glasses, Chamberpots we call,
'Cause in your pisse we can discover all.
Why this no lesse then Aarons brestplate is,
The Seminalities of all ills in pisse:
To trust in this the College doth forbid,
Vile men would prelate-like have knowledge hid.
I never durst approach the Colledg near,
They Bishop like do place an Image there.
Their Idol-Harvy of the Serpents breed.
To break his head denys the woman seed.
VVe're wonderfully made the Scripture saies,
Yet this wretch how we're made would show the waies;
Nay, Conjurer-like makes Circling in the blood,
I know not why, but sure it can't be good.
VVhat spirit 'tis he trades with is unknown
Distinct from blood he will no spirits own.
Out of five senses too he would perswade
He need adde more, your senses are decaid:
And th' world doth senses want to fee deceit,
Both out of money and of life to cheat.
All like the frog to physick will pretend,
Would others cure can't their own croaking mend.

To a Gigger to Padua, Valentia, and Leiden Doctors.

VVho giggs to Padua, doth Montpelier sent,
Creeps in, steals out, as if for theft he went.
If gains, sure steals in secret knowledge there?
Or th' French inspires him, or Italian air?
Or th' zany knowledge, waits on th' Gyants name?
Or the matter lurks in an impostum'd fame?
Or who's where wit is dealt, must need have share?
Reripatetiques Grand Philosophers were.
If you are Laden with exotique gold,
To come near th' Tower of truth you may be bold.
For Custom-sake unto the Colledge come,
Volleys of praise shall entertain you home:
Not gilt ore to deceive, with titles drest,
Gold need not fear for to endure the test:
Gold's the Suns Child, why do ye fear the light?
See how the bats do fear, and love the night!
Unplum'd and bloodlesse by the light they'r known,
In errors twilight flut'ring they'r unknown.
A darker shop befits their fucate drugs,
These suck'd not milk, but blood from stepdames dugs.

On Suburban-non Licentiates, who Fox-like call the Colledge grapes sour.

You're all Licentiates; though no licenc'd crew,
And titles which you paid for are your due;
Though you by Doctors names intitled be,
Onely to Folly in a high degree.
Letters of commendations fools may gain,
Which pockets carry, th' wise man's in his brain.
Honor's the wise mans bride, fools act a rape.
The Colledge-fruits are sour like the foxes grape;
These like the Dogs in errors darker night,
Bark at the Moon, but cannot catch the light.
Professors might to th' Colledge pupils be,
Gain what you want, in knowledge a degree.
They in arts rudiments could instruct a sage,
Knowledge her self is here in pupillage.
Shine out great lights, your beams for life display,
While death portending Comets blaze and slay.

On the excellent Dr. Glisson.

Hic gliscit ars. Art may in vain intend,
Her nervs for knowledge, Glisson not her friend.
Knowledge enervate did and strenghlesse lye,
Til Glisson use did to the nerves supply.
The spirit more refin'd may now in vain,
Knowledge ith' circle, not progresse, complain:
Harvy, and Glisson, will force all confesse
Knowledge by circling, now's in the progresse.

The Sequestred Priest pidling in Physick

VVho's both sequestred here of state and wit,
He in revenge to th' world would murder it;
Cries destiny, God Author makes of ill,
When by a cruel ignorance he doth kil.
Jure divino will this calling have;
Luke a Physician the perogative gave;
Yet sure learn'd Bard, it wil the contrary teach,
Not you Physitians, make Physitians preach.

The fugitive Chymick.

The Knave turns quack too, blow'd the chymist coal;
As if each blast, inspir'd their Theophrasts soul.
He talks of salt without a grain of wit,
But Mercury's sure ith' lightnesse of his wit;
Nor doth he want his Sulphur, he hath got
Against the state no less then Powderplot.
Or good from bad by Pyrotechny take,
Or else you poyson may for med'cine make.
Yet the best things corrupted the worst be;
Heav'n or hels spirits are in Chymistrie.

On sigils.

For art of memory, signs on Planets set,
Teach men themselves, and Planets to forget.
Are plac'd on Sigils, maladies to cure;
By monsters, Ague-like they'r frighted sure.
If 'tis in matter, in all metalls power.
If in the form, the scorpion may devour.
More wisely Theophrast did Μωρια write
On's Sigil; and for foolery it endite.

On the Astrologicall quack.

At th' Colledge of the stars he did commence,
And Statesman-like will speak the houses sense,
Each house for mans use stranger herbs hath got,
To them they essence property, seed allot.
But is't not strange; when they so numerous be,
How all do with a fewer stars agree?
Each pil and potion too hath diff'rent sign:
Nature ith' stomach sure now can't refine.
Or ist since Heav'n stand still, and earth turns round,
We here are giddy, there no truth is found?
The Heav'ns a book is, where men wonders read,
The stars are letters, most a Christs Cross need.

Oglio of quacks.

VVe souls and bodies Medicasters have,
Both are hereditary, Father fool, Son th' knave.
Th' disease that's known, half cured some do say,
Now not to know't, to cure't's the ready way,
A fortunate Doctor though he hath no skill,
Wisely can cure, before he knows the ill.
Nay, ev'n his potion knowledge can instil;
Who's cur'd by chance, a recipe gains to kill:
The triple tooth'd join with three recipes,
A sacred number can cure each disease.
Looking like the Sceleton stole from Surgeons Hall,
Having there Knowledge gain'd's Chyrurgical,
With Solomons Key, and's Cabal quacks the Jew,
And th' book whose name sure works Nebolahu.
Sputring-like th' Country quack with terms of art;
Who by pisse prophecying wonders doth impart.
The words sent th' Syrian King this wretch makes wise,
Another those were spoke in Paradise;
But oh see Locusts from the infernal pit,
Leech, Falkner, Huntsman, all for murder fit.
'Twixt man and beast there's now no difference made,
To th' bestial part since reason man betrai'd.
Physitians once were Children of the Sun,
Now night, and earth need cover what is done.
Wise Lacedemon would no quacks endure,
Themselves intitling unto natures cure.
A painter convert, Leech said Earth may hide
The faults I now make, th' former were espy'd.
While Italy did to Adrian complain.
Under pretence of help, their friends were slain.
The Pope reply'd, the Land would be too great,
These you devour, least you your selves might eat.
Thus cruelty passing uncontroll'd by Law,
Leeches by purse, and veins the heart blood draw.
Yet all Egyptian-like to Crocodiles pay
Devotion for requital do them slay.

On Noah Big's vanity of the Craft of Physick.

In Noah Bigs ark truth shall nere be sav'd,
Since for one truth preserv'd he twenty wav'd.
While you would physick purge, and purges too;
We need a purge of hellebore for you:
Like th' mad man living in a Seaport Town,
Thought all the ships came in the hav'n his own.
No ship but his at truths port hath arriv'd,
In waves of error drown'd, none else surviv'd.
Yet while he's gleaning up Van Helmonts scraps,
And the Dutch hogs head long since broch'd new taps,
Had he apprentise to an Alewife been,
By yest fermenting ale he more had seen.
The humors to ferment had better shown,
Then what Van's stronger phancy brews or's own.
Yet 'tis no matter though all Sciolists be,
Knowledg in Physiques occult quality.

On Noah Biggs.

By the spirit more though Chymistry can show,
Then by't Enthusiasts of the age do know.
Though ages dream'd, and th' aged dreamers be,
We that are young men do no Visions see.
To glean truth see in Harvy Harves here,
Themselves in him the Colledge pillars rear.
No more of every wind of phancy sport,
He gives them truth, and gives them reason for't.
Yet thou dear Biggs so well of ill hast writ,
He who can't praise thy truth, may praise thy wit.

On Fontinels.

VVhat though Chymera's all defluxions be,
That need to have an issues midwifrie;
He that doth good, though he the cause don't know,
There is no cause why he should lesse it do.
Corruption from a roweld horse doth flow:
'Cause th' Farrier knows not, why is it so?
Who truth immers'd, would pluck out of the pit,
Not onely peeps, but doth exantlate it.
To the first moving vesicle tracts the blood:
Hath ebbing, flowing, circling understood:
Whence our impurities spring, knows every mine:
Not fights 'bout words, but can the things define.
He who shows faults, to truth he is no friend:
But he who showing teaches to amend.
Had the acute Van-Helmont faults thus shown,
He had cur'd ours, and not have made his own.
Nor while he proves all issues to be vain,
Prove onely so, the issue of his brain.
Let's Scholers all to Patavie be sent,
Where they for giddy fumes, give hogsheads vent.

On Van Helmont.

In luxury of wit there's more then needs:
And in the best of Gardens there's some weeds.
In Helmonts Paradise there's of life a tree,
By fruits of knowledge we may blinded be:
And while our imperfections we would smother,
Onely some figleaves take to make a Cover.
What few do, seems to know of what he wilt,
Superfætation hath no abort wit.
'Bove Galens scurf, 'bove him whose scraps might feed
Sages, yet he a school boys latine need:
Yet to set th' Kernel off, let th' shel be foil,
If not much labour, Theophrast shew'd much oyl.
But oh! while errors troops Van rashly charges,
Error him Captive takes, who truth inlarges.

On Doctor Harvey.

VVhat can one pillar onely be thy due,
The Colledge pillar, and truths pillar too?
Had we Seth's pillar whose sight Joseph feigns,
Perusing thine, 'twould scarce requite our pains.
Non datur ultra Hercules pillars show,
Beyond a Hercules labours thou dost go.
Seav'n headed Hydra, error multiply'd
Thou need'st no Club, thy knife can soon divide:
Augean filths no work when vy'd with thee,
Do'st cleanse the Jakes of all antiquitie,
All truths before thine, did like heat-drops fall.
Vanish'd so soon, scarce seen, or known at all.
Thou set'st up sail, swim's through the purple flood,
Which blush'd before, 'cause never understood.
Thou circlest through our Microcosom, and we
Learn more then th' world, our selvs, new worlds by thee
Knowledge was eaten through with ages rust,
And the Serpent now would cheat us with his dust;
Most do an apple phancy, knowledge fruit;
Say but an Harvey, we assent unto't.
Yet here we knowledge gain withoout a death;
Death onely opens us a way to breath;
Enabled by the cunning of his knife,
He Cherubin like doth guard the tree of life.
Above the milky way in glory shine,
Lend humane nature lustre more divine;
Those lesser stars, a, Peckquet, Bartholine
Lose all their glory, when by't vy'd with thine;
They babes in Physick by thy milk may please,
Thou open'st veins for cure of truths disease.
Art natures midwife, stripst her Callow brood,
And new attirest to inrich our blood
VVhat need we pillars unto Harvey raise,
VVho rears himself a Pyramid of praise?
To issue wanting Absaloms Pillars rear;
Each generation will give him an heir.
VVhile drops of blood can channel in a vein,
Truth's bloody victory will him trophies gain.

On Dr. George Ent.

Perfum'd with spices, when our Phœnix dies,
May'st from his ashes glorious arise.
Thy name speaks, being betterd by thy art,
Non ents in knowledge, may thy skill impart.
'Bove aged Dons whose bushes figure time,
Yet bearded Meteors all their lights from shine.
From lesser starrs we do expect no light,
Nor Comets from the dregs of phancies bright;
Of truths succession maist thou Herald be;
Proclaim her warres, her rights, and pedigree;
VVhile we our Williams Conquest do proclaim,
Not Conqueror of a Land, but whole worlds name.
Intitled to it by each drop of blood;
VVhich posting round proclaims his title good;
From th' Tyranny of ignorance them freed,
VVhile his dissecting hand made errors bleed;
Great Harvy's second, teeming Natures friend,
To nature and her Midwife thy hand lend;
Open thou natures books, and teach them read,
Can onely open veins to make truth bleed.
Lash whimp'ring folly; answ'ring at thy lash,
VVhip her untill she gigs out all her trash.
Beat all the Hectors rise ith' whores defence,
Till prejudice is Captive led by sense.
Thou nothing dost, if all dost not out do,
High treason against nature 'tis in you.
If from a Sun in Knowledge no light be,
Nature must suffer by non Entitie.
Lesse then perfection by thy name's not ment,
'Tis onely sinful folly's a non Ent.

On Doctor Brown.

His Religio Medici and vulgar errors.

Religio Medici though th' word Atheism call,
The would shows none, and the Physitian all.
More zeal and charity Brown in twelve sheets shows,
Then twelve past ages writ, or th' present knows;
What Paracelsus brag'd of doth disclose,
He 'twixt the Pope and Luther might compose.
Though gut-inspired zelots bark at him,
He hath more knowledge then their Sanedrim.
Or the Scotch pedant a worm in every book,
To maim the words and make the sence mistook.
Dul lumps of earth not yet concocted mud,
In natures count scarce Cyphers understood.
Let these lick up the indigested phlegm
Which Cruder stomach'd Sciolists belch'd 'fore them:
Dog-like to vomits run and lick each sore,
Think learning to repeat what's said before.
While these can prize truths weapons by the rust,
Crawl with the aged serpent in the dust.
Shine out dispelling th ages darker night,
Knowledge makes only Children of the light.
Folli's unmask'd, and errors bald pate show'n,
Brown others errors, others write their own.

On Dr. George Bowle of Oundle.

Nor shalt thou dearest Bowle oblivion take,
Since 'tis Apollo must a Poet make:
Thou every day dost circle like the Sun;
A course for natures reparation run,
Impart'st thy light to all, yet losest none;
Knowledge is th' Suns Child, true Philosophers stone.
Thou canst both trepane lungs, and open th' heart:
Whilst thou thy own dost to thy friend impart.
No dialect of nodds, thee Noddy speaks,
While th' hogshead fears a vent, lest all out Leaks.
Or knowledge at the best seems in a trance,
While plush is lin'd with sable ignorance.
Who'd not have's brain be trepaned by thee,
Thy own heads open, while thy tongue is free.
Nor thy self only but thy Art mak'st friends,
While Artists discords in best musique ends.
Thou Paracelsus makest Galens friend;
While Chymicks now Botanicks do commend.
Mutual defects no longer they reveal;
Their own and others they conjoyned heal.
Yet thou from neitheir packhorse-like tak'st load,
Come life, come death, to keep both pace and road.
We owe thy errors, not to thee, but times,
We owe the virtues, far above their crimes.
He knows Bowl little, much him disapproves,
But knows him not at all who him not loves.

On the death of his inviscerately affected friend Richard Watson Esq; Chyrurgeon to his late Majesty of England.

Need they embalm, in Lead thus wrap thee dead,
My tears will re-embalm, my heart turn Lead?
Who take thy bowels out, sure take out mine,
They by a sympathy were no lesse then thine;
With an inviscerate dotage I did love;
Could not thy death ah then my bowels move?
Watson is dead, and with him buried art:
Ah who can cure the wounds made in my heart?
Who dying made could onely living cure,
How could he die, and I no death endure?
Who could with Watson in dissections vy,
Who dying makes, his friend Anatomy.
Each part was his, grief will asunder take,
And of his art will me a monument make.
Could I survive, I'm quickned by his fame,
How can he dye who writes but Watsons name.

The Poetaster.

All are not Poets, who can pace in Rime,
And to an odde tune, can in ding dong chime;
Castalian nymphs and God Apollo name;
Don-Cupids fire, and a Sea-froth'd dame;
While they glean straw in Egypt for to raise;
Unto themselves strange pyramids of praise.
Though like to tulips they enamel'd be,
Yet the fools Coat is their best Liverie.
On pagan Gods and Goddesses who call,
Sure their Religion is poetical.
Nor should they the Vintage judge of pagan wit,
Who what they have but gleanings are from it;
Nor learn'd 'bove fooleries; rich above Romance,
Fit th' price of vanity only to inhance;
A Fountain Tavern thus may Helicon be,
Nine wenches muses lending Poetrie.
While Idol-Priests, who Poets do approve,
Themselves some Idol make, a wench they love.
Their wit like to their Venus, born of froth,
Is fit for fire, a Vulcan to betroth.

On Homer.

Homer , who seem'd to want the eyes of's mind,
Must now give light, in his own age was blind.
Some did his Iliads to a nutshel fit;
A Cherystone might have confin'd the wit.
The Gods know all; wise men sleep not all night,
One man must govern; many can't do right.
To expresse drums, and trumpets verse is fit,
Yet knew no part of th' war of which he writ.
Ος εφαι οι δ'εγεροντο θεοι κατα χαλκοβατες δω.
A warlike tone, might children fright 'bove too.
Some Poets paint, licking what he did spew,
Vomits must need be filth; 'tis strangely true.
By the beam of light whom Plato could traduce,
Shall we in th' Gospels Sunshine love his use?
Petavius Psalms, a Nonnus, Duports Job,
For th' Sanctuary who heathenism disrobe,
Refin'd to th' Altar, bring the Idols gold,
Let these impressions make on tender mold.
Can Egypts garlick, we or onyons need?
On th' milk of th' word can't our youth better feed?

On Scaliger.

Nor is a Scaliger fit the Scales to bear,
Weighing nor times, nor thee with equal care,
The Prince, and Father of all pagan wit,
Who thee despise, high treason act 'gainst it:
In thee his honour'd Maro did dispraise,
Whose sprig was onely gather'd at thy bayes.
Surely he ne're did mean what he did write,
Not Hypercritick here but hypocrite.

On Musæus.

But of Musæus sure he better writ;
In writing lesse he needs must shew more wit.
Who writes not one loves song's, scarce wise; who more,
Unto Anticyra send for Hellebore.
The Spanish proverb onely here is true,
He's fool can't write one Sonnet, mad writes two.

On Hesiod.

Nor can th' straw-gatherers of Egypt fit,
Us from their Poets more then vulgar wit,
Virtue with sweat's attain'd set on a hill,
Beggers with beggers; potters potters ill.
Bad counsel's worst to him who doth it give;
We're born of Gods: it is by them we live.
The mean's above the whole: See Hesiods flowers;
Are these like th' gardens water'd by heav'ns showers?

On Theocritus, Mosius, and Theognis.

Evnica laughs at me, who'd kisse in vain:
Cupid stings men, by Bees is stung again.
A fool may sometimes opportunely speak;
Each fool may shew this without reading Greek.
While that Pedants thus trifle time in trash,
They for their faults, not boyes deserve the lash.

On Virgil.

Chymerica Poesis.

On the sight of a yellow skin'd Lady.

The praise of a yellow skin:

OR An ELIZABETH in Gold.

To a Lady wadrring why I prais'd a yellow skin.

To Aureola, or the yellow skin'd Lady; asking who could love a Fancy.

VVho could a Fancy love? who Fancy have.
None e're love wit, whom nature no wit gave,
Some say my Fancy's rich, you'l love it sure;
My Fancy's you, can you your self endure?
Most fancy gold, and I a golden skin:
Who's gold without, is she not rich within?
I from thy skin did make the break of day;
The Moon made pale you took her light away.
To yellow skin the Indies I'd confine;
Give every part the riches of a Mine,
Scorn but my fancy, thou again art poor;
Horses with Yellows shall be valued more.
I'le say the Yellow Jaundies doth thee die;
Beggers with lice shall bear thee company.
Or yellow Oaker thus thee colour'd tell,
And send thee Customers such as Oaker sell,
An unlick'd Calf came into th' world with dung;
Which yellow ever since about you hung,
Or with Childes cack thou since wer't yellow'd o're,
'Cause shitten luck is good, hast suiters store.
I made thee gold, 'tis I can make thee brasse,
Currant with Tinkers thou shalt onely passe:
Yet while thy flesh such company draw near,
Like th' Cynicks gold, you may grow pale by fear.
You must be mine if you would golden be;
Know that a golden Angel is my fee.

To a refin'd Lady.

But come choice piece of Nature more refin'd,
Perfection to a quintessence refin'd;
I'le no more study the Philosophers stone,
Eugenia mine, th' Elixir's sure mine own.
Please me my yellow girl, she shall thee touch,
I fanci'd gold, but then I'le make thee such.

On an Ethiopian beauty, M. S.

Black specks for beauty spots white faces need:
How fair are you whose face is black indeed?
See how in hoods and masks some faces hide,
As if asham'd the white should be espi'd.
View how a blacker veil o'respreads the skies,
And a black scarf on earth's rich bosome lies.
VVhen worth is dead, all do their blacks pur on,
As if they would revive the worth that's gone.
Surely in black Divinity doth dwell;
By th' black garb onely we Divines can tell.
Devils ne're take this shape, but shapes of light;
Devils which mankind hurt, appear in white,
VVhen Natures riches in one masse was hurl'd,
Thus black was th' face of all the infant world.
VVhat th' world calls fair is foolish, 'tis allow'd,
That you who are so black, be justly proud.

Of the black Lady with grey eyes and white teeth.

Like to the grey-ey'd Morn, your sparkling eyes
Dart lustre, while a sable clothes the skies.
And your white teeth resemble th' milky way,
The glory of the night, and th' shame of day,
Complain not then Nigrina of thy white,
Since stars shine brightest in the blackest night.

The praise of his Mistris.

On a Blew Point given by a Lady on Valentines day to her Valentine, and preach'd against by a Parson who call'd it a Rag of Superstition.

Hence spout of zealous ignorance, in vain
Thou seek'st to taint true blew, 'twill never stain.
What a blew point the strumpets lace? Romes Rag?
Can'st think there's lesse Religion in each tag,
Then all the points you tenter into Uses?
While Codpiece zeal would point out hot abuses?
Your blewer pulpit stuff you did so disjoint,
I durst have swore you'd never come to th' point.
Both earth, air, heav'n, thee heretick could invite,
Could th' Saint once nam'd make thee no proselyte?
The day she gave't, wing'd Quiristers took the air,
And joyn'd to sing her praises pair and pair.
Her gift resembling Violets then appear,
Proud thus to usher sweetnesse into th' year.
Yet Birds can't reach her praise, Violets her sweet,
Nor tell what glories in her blew point meet.
Dost thou not see how th' blewer colour'd vein
Doth both our spirits, life, and souls contain?
Or dost not view how tinctur'd thus the sky
Shews all that's rich in heav'ns embroidery?
Or dost not know how purpled Judges sit,
As if they took their robes to vote for it?
Yet veins are uselesse vy'd, sky foul words weak,
To speak the gift, let th' Donor Angels speak.
Angels, ah Angels she's Seraphick sure,
Nature calcin'd her to that temperature.
Blew Garter Orders hence are vanish'd gone,
Blew points succeed, mists fly before the sun
By box and a blew point a wiser age
Surely could nothing lesse then this presage.
They who their thoughts do elevate with drink,
Fancy refin'd, nothing but blew can think.

On the Refin'd Lady.

Choice extract of thy Sex, where we
May finde what's in it good in thee:
Of so refin'd a temperature,
Can you then Angels be lesse pure?
Impurer'd egs of flesh and blood,
Nature by dirt makes great not good.
When Nature made thee so refin'd,
Surely she portraict'd out the minde.
Nothing presents thee to my sense,
Speaks lesse then an Intelligence.
Who'd folio's of thy Sex reade o're,
Since in Epitome he findes more?

On the wearing of the Tag of her Blew Point.

Though like a Liquorish stick you're thin,
Yet all its sweetnesse is within.
Like Aarons Rod in virtues bud,
A twig in virtue 'bove a wood.
Sure Kings white wands but Emblems be
Of virtues which do reign in thee.
Some think by Magick Rods decline,
And by their head point out a Myne.
But oh more true none this twig see,
That richer Mynes finde not by thee.
Sure had Philosophers but you known,
They'd this Elixir thought their stone.
Since you're a quintessence can refine,
And make brasse Tags priz'd 'bove a Myne.
While all that's glorious meets in you,
We pay to yours what is your due.
Who honour Saints, of them do love each rag;
Who loves the Saint, must honour needs her tag.
Had you but lived in a fonder age,
To your Blew Point they'd gone a pilgrimage.

On Pentepicta:

A Lady with enamell'd Teeth, black, white and yellow. F. W.

The wiseman Teeth call'd flocks of sheep;
Sure Jacobs speckled flocks here keep.
Where teeth are checker'd black and white,
Nay gilt too to inrich delight:
Her mouth ope, you at Chesse may play,
With teeth resembling night and day.
Each fondling reach will praise what's white;
Is there in Choak such strange delight?
Give me the mouth like th' Temple floor,
With speckled Marble paved o're,
Or oh more rich in gold thus set,
A row of pearl then one of jet.

On Flavia: A yellow hair'd Lady, E. W.

On a Crooked Lady, M. V.

Sure Cupid of thy shoulders makes a bow,
From whence fly love shafts wounding al thee know
See how the mimick Apes do shrug to bear
Resemblance with the bunch you carry there.
View how the supple hamm'd Dons cringing bend,
As by thy copy they their shapes would mend.
The enamell'd wardrobe of rich Nature view;
All drooping imitate, and bow like you.
The bashful Roses shrink into their beds;
Lillies in emulation hang down heads.
Lesse then Celestial sure you cannot be;
The sky embrod'ring Bowe resembles thee.
Heav'n onely thee a richer token bent,
And to inrich poor Mortals thee us sent;
That as the Rainbowe token is of love;
Earth may have one below, as heav'n above.
Hence as by age to heav'n we nearer grow,
Age what thy youth arrives to lends a bowe.
“'s Like thee he makes thy praise would sum,
To th' period of thy praise no pen can come.

The praise of Thick and Short.

If the round figures the most perfect be,
Th' perfection of thy sex sure's most in thee.
Nature imperfect there is understood,
Where up to legs they run for want of blood.
Here's no lank piece stuff'd out with clothes to cheat,
Bag-pudding like, thou'rt all without deceit.
With thy broad shoulders there's no slender waste:
Lest it might fall in two, must be strait lac'd.
Each part's alike, thou art as thick as long,
Shoulders and waste have one proportion.
In parchment cloth'd, no skeleton here discovers,
To kill lust in them, death unto her lovers.
No bones stick out to threaten those draw near,
Sword-like through th' scabberd of the flesh appear.
Thy quavering flesh to all that do draw nigh,
At every touch presents an harmony.
Sure far above the Musick of the spheres,
Th' harmony of th' whole Globe in thee appears.

To Dionysia the plump Lady, S. D.

Fat is too luscious when it is alone:
You fat, I lean, sure would do well made one.
How lovely's fat with lean when inter-lin'd?
Should we not lovely prove together joyn'd?
Marr'age makes one of those before were two;
You may have flesh for me, I bones for you.
Scripture sayes woman made was out of bone;
But you are flesh, sure I a rib alone.
Oh might I be that rib so near your heart,
So near alliance death could onely part.
Or you my flesh, I would thy spirit be,
To give new life, would actuate in thee.
Fat easily melts, sure hard you cannot be;
Love to melt you hath kindled fires in me.
But should you fly, the flames must quench and die;
How can the fire be kept no fewel nigh?
While I do burn, should you the fuel prove,
Wee'd send a light to ages how to love.

On Monocula,

A one ey'd Lady, M. W.

To Eugenia, a defence of juvenile wildnesse.

No troubled Sea of lust, no passions move,
Like storms, once deaf as corks, now hear of love.
What was I wild as Sea, inflam'd as air,
And deaf as Rocks, to th' giddy Seamans prayer?
Know gravity's prodigious in a Child:
Nature's inverted if he is not wild.
Bid th' sprightly morn be sullen, and display,
No beam for to inaurate new born day.
That which to youth gives motion, growth and sense,
Is but the effluxion of æray from thence.
'Cause young men visions see, and th' aged dream,
Must truths in youthful breasts more clearly stream
Age doth the stinging panthers breath perfume
By time the Firtrees odours do assume:
Myrabolans and dates in bloom and bud,
Both noxious are, both in their fruit are good.
To prove wild youth makes good man th' proverb take,
See how the wilder Colts best horses make!
Who Noy in Law, Butler in's art excels?
Who Julius or Severus paralells?
These like new wine, would sally, fume and swel,
In reasons confines would not alwaies dwel.
Priveling in drops and dirt view springs laid low:
Whence silver streams do swel, and rivers flow.
Know barren earth doth Mines of gold obscure:
And viler shels do precious gems immure.
Come my Eugenia, thou shalt me refine;
See how from dirt doth spring a glorious mine!
View how the Phœnix hid in ashes lies!
See after mucky burialls plants arise!
A spring of virtue and of youth's in thee,
Shine out, and nature opes her treasurie.
Colours in night dead quickned by the ray,
Of such a Sun will shine more bright then day.
See th' sport of every tyrant wave a bark!
On passions deluge view a rowling Ark.
Come dearest Dove with Olive branch of peace,
The deluge of thy woes and mine shall cease.
Chymists say, who fix Mercury can make gold,
Fix me Eugenia thou art rich if't hold.

To a man of office under the L. K. who call'd detraction love, and Calumny good Counsel.

Gold could buy offices, could it have bought wit,
You for your place, it had for you been fit:
But oh more happy times sequestred it!
No time can you sequester of your wit.
You'r a rare Courtier, if the proverb's true:
Nor want of pride, nor ignorance is in you.
And no bad statesman, you may Cope with th' fame
Of Burleigh, Cecil, and wise Walfingame.
No Statesman must divulge what he doth know,
You'r rarely wise who nere your wisdom show.
Your knowledge by your sentences I know,
Pray me some wisdom by your silence show.
Forth giddy pated surgeon, who would care
Thinks to cure wounds, exposing them to th' air,
Counsel is balm, each folly is a wound:
Cover'd with balm, and kept close, thy'r made sound.

The ingenious Lady E. V. to l. L. contemning her age.

Stay cruel youth, rash stripling stay;
Fear'st thou in snow to lose thy way?
Supposest the powd'ring of my hair:
'Tis supposition makes us fair.
My brow in wreaths should never move
In thee disdain, but rather love;
Think but that art in pleats it laid,
And of it a fashion made.
Who fears winter with a fire?
I have more heat then in desire.
Look how the Elm and younger Vine,
Mark how the Oak and Ivy twine;
If thou'lt my vine, or Ivy be,
I'l be or Elm, or Oak to thee,
And if thy heat can melt my snow,
Those joyes, yet ebb, will overflow.

The answer.

Lice complain not if I fly,
Since fate forbids a Sympathy.
Could Infant spring and winter meet,
I'de covet Lices winding sheet;
And wed a monument with thee,
A parchment cloth'd Anatomie.
Whom ev'n but touch'd would ashes turn;
Nor cures your snow, if love ere burn;
Ner suppositions cold sweats free,
Where each touch prompts an Agonie.
Importunate love dry oakes oreflies,
To wanton in Euphormia's eyes;
But thine affrighted in are fled,
To seek where he lies buried:
Whom Stibium thence can never raise;
Maz'd art dispairs at times decaies.

A Palinode.

On a resolution to do pennance with Ashes.

To Eugenia.

I'le to my Saint as votaries to a shrine,
Where sighs are gales for Heav'n, each word divine.
I will not say that swans hatch in your brest,
For innocence there doth keep a whiter nest.
Or how that blushing roses drooping die,
Bequeathing you more sweet their fragrancy:
The odours of your virtues are Perfume
Heav'n lends from the fading rose you none assume.
Or say Auroras rosie Cheek is dy'd
With blushes thus to be by you outvy'd.
Could the morning blush, sure it would rather be,
To weaknesse of your sex to vye with thee?
Or that an envious palenesse Cynthia dies,
'Cause lustre is confined to your eyes.
Could what we fondly phancy Moon look pale?
You constant guilt and change might th' look intail
Or that the twinkling Ministers of fire,
Spangling Heav'ns Canopy, at your sight retire.
If stars retreat 'tis they erraticks are,
In honors sphere you are a fixed star;
Should I the earth as I have Heav'n re'd ore,
'Twould be Eugenia but to love thee more.

On a retird Lady.

To a Lady singing, mistake me not.

S.

A.

S.

A.

S.

Love wing'd.

Hence fonder Amorists Belials Orizons ply,
Who laughs at your enameld perjury.
O how Volatile is your toy call'd love!
Which onely constant doth in changing prove.
As it begins with fire, it ends with ice:
Change is the portion of each child of vice.
All lusts felicities move on feet that reel:
Who's ty'd to passion's ty'd unto a wheel.
The Sea's more faithful, which now curles in smiles,
And straight incens'd in towring billows boyls.
Lust's 'twixt a pot and glass then both more weak,
Each touch of male content in two's may break.
Who this day robs divinity to cloath
His Idol, will the next it strip and loath.

To one wond'ring at my various colour'd Mistresse.

Love is begot 'twixt idlenesse and lust;
The mettle that's not us'd, can't chuse but rust.
These Codpiece loves but phancies are at best,
They nere show well, if not in colours drest.

The vanity of Courtship devotion to relicks asserted and confuted.

Donec gratus eram. Horatii.

A Dialogue betwixt two Lovers.

To Lydia.

Instar Lydiæ Horatianæ.

VVhen men inrich thy neck with praise,
And glories with no rose displays,
Thy arms which wax do imitate,
My gall impostum'd swels with hate:
I burn while sots thy skin defile,
And rosebuds in thy lips do spoil:
To leave love-marks, trust me in vain,
They love not, who dare lips prophane.
Ah be not prodigal of blisse!
Venus makes Nectar of a kisse.
Happy thrice, nay more, for ever:
Where loves chain is broken never;
Nor rash complaint, a linck can force,
While death sues forth a long divorce.

E Martiale.

To Agatha an unfortunate piece of goodnesse E. P. a golden Mine obscur'd in dirt

Dirt and Gold are in one Mine:
A place of sin thou dost refine:
For greater lustre thus are set,
Bright Diamonds by blacker jet.
Come gaudy anticks, transform'd Apes,
By virtues glasse here mend your shapes:
Who would of virtue picture take,
He by this pattern must it make.
Come Hæreticks of the sex, a sight,
Of her may make a Proselyte:
Her words 'gainst sin are charms, each look,
An Atheist to reform's a book.
If blessed are the meek in spirit?
If th' peaceful th' Kingdom shall inherit?
Where virtues, graces, blessings meet,
Shall not that soul be made compleat?
They'r truly noble who are good,
Virtue makes noble and not blood.
If Parents virtues dowries are,
How rich is she must be your heir.

On Marriage.

Though for my fancy mistresses I chuse,
Yet when I marry i'l my judgement use,
When I my body wed, i'le wed my mind:
Give me a love that sees, not lust that's blind.
For lasting pleasure who would take a flower?
Who beauty love; they love but for an hour.
Wed riches, they have wings, love with them flies:
An Ox is gilded thus for sacrifice.
Nor would I poverty nurse to male-content;
The snake ith' bosom iodg'd, with sting paid rent.
Nor while I fear't, for dirt take dunghill race,
How can they not be foul who dirt embrace.
I must have virtues, if not fortunes heir,
Since Parents virtues greatest dowries are.
Nor love I those who boast of generous blood.
But those whose generous actions prove it good.
Or will I wrong the ashes of the dead,
Disturb his bones while I his relick wed.
A widows lust may live whose love is dead,
The Leek hath a green tail with a grey head,
Since Adam first was form'd and then built Eve,
To rotten bones why should my young flesh cleave.
Who us'd to strike a League some blood did draw,
Who gain a maidenhead do renew the Law.
Love thus must enter, grow as we grow in years,
The garment's best long, as we need it wears.
Mexentius-like they dead with living twine,
Who youth and age in marriage do combine.
They who this more then Gordin knot do knit,
Must tie two souls in one by tying it.
Like to Hippocates twins both laugh and cry,
Their hearts by th' same strings tun'd both live and die.
Passion must never enter reasons seat,
VVhile fury enters loves in a retreat.
If drink like Circes Cup transforms to swine,
Then take no cups, a beast made she's not thine.
As Saints to Altars, so to bed repair,
Love hath his Altars, bring chast off'rings there.
He gives not's own gives not flesh's own made due,
Yet love can Temples make where Lust a stew.
That you may freely souls breath in each other,
Quench th' brand in loves fire, love delights may smother
Hels firebrand jealousie send from whence it came,
Loves purer fire to Heav'n sends purer flame.
He who will think his wife an ill can do,
Ill by suspition he'l instruct her to.
Study you virtue, she will study thee,
Children will Copy to posteritie.
So while love souls and arms together twine
In amorous circlings like two wanton Vines;
Like Vines made fertile, you may twist a line
So firm with love knots ages can't untwine.
Knit that Knot wisely ages can't undo,
Peters Keys loose, and Pauls sword cut in two.
VVhere we must see, not hate faults who detects,
A crime in marr'age shews his own defects.
VVhen she is mine should each part turn disease,
Her griefs must trouble not her self displease.
The scarface pock love deeper should engrave,
And not make holes where Love should burying have.
Or should a Leprosie revel through her skin,
To mak't more rich i'de think't embroidred in.
VVho for a case a Jewel would contemn,
A viler shell may lodge a richer Gem.
Though fair and foul i'de make away to Heav'n,
The fair's a picture for devotion giv'n.
And if a fowler piece we can't call Saint,
VVe'l use't as some to fright sin, Devils paint.
Yet know 'tis love or virtue must make fair,
Else nothing's so but as our phancies are.
'Tis love a multitude of faults can cover,
Who'd know nor see no fault, let him turn lover.
Love doth the body of the Church Cement,
Christs Coat had no seam nor Church must have rent.
Christs Coat and Church of wedlock emblems be,
Can it be marr'age where they disagree?
Sure they renew his Crosse, gall, nalls and spear
His body rend who make divisions there.
Whom God makes one contention can make two,
You with your wife not one, Gods none with you.
While Adam slept, God him an Eve did make,
Passions must sleep while you a wife do take.
God took the rib which circumvolves the heart,
So near ally'd nothing but death should part.
A rib doth soonest break to bend inclin'd,
Wives bend us'd gently, break when you'r unkind.
Marr'age is contract man, there takes his bone,
Bone 'tis by Contract th' word implies be one.
To me imperfect Lord if thou add'st a bone,
Let th' fall from virtue make't no broken one.

On the World.

The worlds a monster in whose will's a hell;
Where passions Devil-like tormenting dwell;
Where flatter'd senses placed in array;
Th' souls ruine menace, and our lifes decay;
If men do good, 'tis 'cause they ill don't know:
Not virtues principle doth instruct them so.
Who is no Monster doth a Monster seem:
Tis onely prosperous vice men virtue deem.
I thought folly to be wise, none do aspire
To knowledge, things unknown have no desire.
Of darknesse understanding is a pit,
Reason a shop of malice keeps in it.
His eyes two windows, let in loose desire;
Forges of flames, mouth bellows for hell fire.
Where th' veil is rent, which modesty did hide,
While th' bloods inflamed, and the tongue unti'd.
Ev'n remedies turn diseases, none converse
To better others; but themselves make worse.
Garbs, modes, alliance, men like women creek,
Lesse value is then silence all they speak:
Hands Harpyes talons, bent for rapine are;
The Serpents sting he in his tongue doth bear.
Each 'bout Corruption's busie as a fly,
Buz, make a noise, infect what they come nigh.
To virtue scandal, tinder lend to sin,
By th' gate of sense while evil enters in.
The souls surprised in a golden snare;
Coin'd for their profit, mens Religions are.
Poison of Asps within each lip doth lie;
Each face a Vizard's of hypocrisie.
Breast spunge of filth, which should a temple be;
A Den of Theeves, Cage of Impiety:
For Faith doth strong imagination own;
No God but Passion hath, or th' Belly known.
He's a rare man Restoratives can invent,
To make lust live, ev'n where the flesh is spent.
Of raging lusts each breast's a troubled sea;
Inhabited by wilde thoughts men deserts be.
Here th' Vulture envy gnaws upon the heart;
Th' Eagle ambition there makes th' liver smart.
The tympany of pride swels till it bursts;
Of avarice th' dropsie in whole rivers thirsts:
Of hell where Devils and the Furies dwell;
Sure th' prince of th' world with's subjects here make hel.
The world's a monster, Lord, doth menace me;
To Monsters tame's a conquest fit for thee;
The spear which pierc'd thy side may th' monster wound:
Or to thy Cross nail'd in thy blood be drown'd.
What though th' old Dragon threaten to devour?
'Gainst Judahs Lion he can have no power.
Ith' shadow, Lord, of death how shall I fear,
If thou which art my life and light draw near?

On Our Father.

VVho disobey, can I Lord, Father call?
Pronounce in heav'n, my thoughts nere there at all.
'Tis I my God have sinn'd 'gainst heav'n and thee,
Blinded by sin so high I cannot see.
How shall he Lord say, Hallowed be thy name
Prophanes thy Image, takes in vain the same?
Thy names a sacrifice, Lord, which will require,
To hallow it of flaming zeal a fire.
But where of Lust's a furnace in the heart,
Of good desires can it a Lamp impart?
Or what is Lord, thy Kingdome unto me,
While th' world, flesh, devil, here keep anarchy?
Yet Lord, 'tis every where, thy pow'rs in hell,
But with Saints onely dost in mercy dwell.
Can I desire thy Will may Lord be done?
Which 'gainst thy Will after my own will run.
How shall I beg for bread, or it obtain;
For dogs, my Lusts, thy childrens bread would gain?
As I forgive, would I have thee remit;
Thou without mercy should'st in Judgement sit.
Revenge boils in my heart, but there doth lie,
Alas, froze near my heart, cold Charity.
Would I into temptation not be led
Who run into it? am to vertue dead,
Unto my self temptation, a strange devil,
Incarnate made, a forge to frame out evil.
Tongue of the aged Serpent is the sting;
My lips are gates which unto death do bring:
But Lord, the Kingdome, Power, and Glory's thine;
Let th' Kingdome, Power, and Glory in me shine.
Thou Lord a Kingdom makest where thou art;
A glympse of thine a Paradise doth impart:
Lord by thy presence Heav'n make in my heart:
So shall I Father cry which in Heav'n art.
A Heav'n-inspiring zeal with th' heart inflame,
A sacrifice mak't, to hallow Lord thy name.
Thy Kingdom come of grace; will shall be done,
In Earth as Heav'n; while Earth a Heav'n hath won.
Then shall I daily be with Manna fed:
Have thee within Lord who art Heav'ns sole bread.
Then shall I be forgiv'n Lord, and forgive;
Can't he want charity who with love doth live?
Into temptation then I can't be led;
Thou art th' door, truth, light, way, that I must tread:
How can from ill I not delivered be?
Who have a Rock, a Tower, a shield in thee;
Thine is the Kingdom, power, and glory's thine;
Oh shall I not have all when thou art mine?

Incerta pœnitentia.

Each day a market is, where we do buy,
Or unto sale expose eternity.
Each day's a ring with good deeds it engrave;
At the Lambs wedding you this ring must have.
Time golden Harvests each day doth present;
The times to be redeem'd that is mispent.
On the back of sin, sorrow and shame doth wait,
Repentance hasts, ne're overtakes or late.
To all to grieve, few to repent is giv'n.
Which is begot like pearls of th' dew of heav'n,
Happy in this snow-water bath their soul;
It can the burnings of their lust make whole.
More weep for sin that sin doth them forsake;
Then that by sin they God an enemy make;
Such water doth augment, not quench Hell flame;
'Tis true Contritions floods must quench the same,
Practice of lives not tongues must Christians make;
He leaves not sin, leaves it doth him forsake.
He loves not God who for himself don't love;
Who's glew'd to earth, shall nere know God above.
A Judas here impiety may veil,
With kisses, vengeance slow, yet sure, can't fail;
He'l break in two, discover his black soul,
If timely pennance wipe not sins black scrol.
Lord let me hear thy voice while 'tis to day;
Lest hard'ned in sins wildernesse I stray.
Unto the fiery serpents sting I pray;
While I forsake thee Lord who art the way.

Certa mors.

VVatches, and clocks al but the last hour sound,
That hour should in our conscience be found
Sure death's a riddle; th' tablet all unfold,
By none the meaning can of it be told.
Yet th' soul surpris'd in lust, hell is her share:
Hell where of misery the Abysses are.
Hell th' Common-shore of all the filth of th' world:
Where th' fewel of Gods wrath in fire is hurl'd:
Where the Salamander-lust shall bath in fire,
Which here anticipates Hell in loose desire.
On Earth by Euthymy who a Heav'n don't find,
The Hell hereafter feels, hath here in mind.
But oh where's Conscience virtues Correlate?
Which sugars tears, and survives ev'n in fate?
Where's that delicious torrent of delight,
Glancing ith' Cage of flesh a heavenly light?
From the love of God this Alchymy redowns,
Iron to gold turns, and disgrace to crowns.
Can he want light, dwells in th' midst of th' Sun?
Thirst, from whose belly living waters run?
Would he have meat? thy flesh is meat indeed:
By faith on thee we may sweet Jesu feed.
Can he want clothing, Lord, may put on thee?
Nor med'cine have? of Life thou art the Tree.
Who wants direction? thou art Lord the Way,
The Light, Door, Truth, to guide them thee obey.
Lord come unto my soul, bid it be thine:
So death shall have no power, when life is mine.

On the Resurrection.

The Leper cleans'd.

The good Samaritan.

Vox pœnitentiæ.

I, I, ah I thee Lord betraid!
While sin strange insurrections made;
I, I, like him with lips durst kisse,
Who sought out's hell, at gates of blisse.
My sins ah scourges buffets are;
My sins ah thorns, thy temples tare.
My sin presents the spear, nails, gall,
Renews thy sweat, death, buriall.
Yet while I Lord with Mary come,
Early with spices to thy tomb;
With balm of pennance waiting there,
To offer odours up in prayer.
After repentant showrs of dew,
Angels my Sun's arise shall shew,
Heark, heark, who's both the light and way,
Calls thee my soul, make hast, obey.
Ah loads of sin and flesh! can I
A Camel passe a needles eye?
Say, oh say not! that heav'n gate
Too narrow is, or way too strait.
Faith and good works can dispossess,
Thee both thy Loades, of sin, and flesh;
And so convei'd on wings of pray'r.
Thou maist like incense enter there.
So shalt thou find a way not strait,
He kneels who enters at Heav'n gate.

Spirit, Flesh.

S.
Arise, make hast:

F.
VVhither? ah whither flies my soul so fast?

S.
Heav'n calls, obey.

F.
'Tis night; ah stay! 'tis night! thoul't lose thy way,

S.
The day springs rose.

F.
Ah but thy sin black clouds doth interpose!

S.
Those pennance clears;
The Sun succeds a sacred dew of teares,
See a full shower!
Heaven suffers voyolence by an holy Power,

F.
Ah heav'n is high!

S.
Pray'r lends a Jacob's ladder to the sky.
Angels descend,

F.
VVrestle, ah wrestle? blessing crowns the end.

Soul and Christ.

C.
See! see Grace with her widened arms!

S.
No Adder's here,
To stop an ear,
'Gainst soul ingaging Graces charms.

Speak Lord, O speak, thy servant hears.

C.
Come ye who thirst.

S.
Lord give me first,
And in thy bottle put my tears.

C.
The laden's call'd, haste my soul, haste.

S.
Lord seest not these?
Ah Mountains! Seas!
How? how? ah how are these o'repast?

C.
To faith my soul, fly, fly, ne're stay:
Faith can cast these
Mountains ith' seas:
Faith through a Red sea made her way.

S.
Lord, though my sins like Mountains be,
A grain of Faith
Still Virtue hath:
Thy blood sweet Jesu's a Red-sea.

Of Prayer.

To the Soul.

On the Nativity.