 | Poesis Rediviva |  |
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.
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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.
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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.
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