Schola Cordis or the Heart of it Selfe, gone away from God ::

I, that alone am infinite, can try
How deep within it self thine heart doth lie.
The Sea-mans plummet can but reach the ground:
I find that which thine heart it self ne'er found.

Ode. 22.

1

A goodly heart to see to, faire and fat!
It may be so: and what of that?
Is it not hollow? Hath it not within
A bottomlesse whirlpoole of sinne?
Are there not secret creeks, and cranies there,
Turning, and winding corners, where
The heart it self ev'n from it self may hide,
And lurke in secret unespi'd?
I'll none of it, if such a one it prove:
Truth in the inward parts is that I love.

2

But who can tell what is within thine heart?
'Tis not a worke of Nature, Art
Cannot performe that taske: 't is I alone,
Not man, to whom mans heart is knowne.
Sound it thou maist, and must: but then the line

And plummet must be mine, not thine,
And I must guide it too, thine hand, and eye
May quickly be deceiv'd: but I,
That made thine heart at first, am better skill'd
To know when it is empty, when 't is fill'd.

3

Lest then thou should'st deceive thy self, for me
Thou canst not, I will let thee see
Some of those depths of Satan, depths of hell,
Wherewith thine hollow heart doth swell.
Under pretence of knowledge in thy mind
Errour and ignorance I find,
Quick-sands of rotten Superstition
Spred over with misprision.
Some things thou knowest not, misknowest others,
And oft thy conscience its owne knowledge smothers.

4

Thy crooked will, that seemingly enclines
To follow reasons dictates, twines
Another way in secret, leaves its guide
And laggs behind, or swarves aside,
Crab-like creepes backward when it should have made
Progresse in good, is retrograde.
Whilst it pretends a priviledge above
Reasons prerogative, to move
As of it self unmov'd, rude passions learne
To leave the Oare, and take in hand the Sterne.

5

The tides of thine affections ebbe, and flow,
Rise up aloft, fall downe below,
Like to the suddaine land-flouds, that advance
Their swelling waters but by chance.
Thy love, desire, thy hope, delight, and feare,
Ramble they care not when, nor where,

Yet cunningly beare thee in hand they be
Only directed unto me,
Or most to me, and would no notice take
Of other things, but only for my sake.

6

Such strange prodigious impostures lurke
In thy prestigious heart, 't is worke
Enough for thee all thy life time to learne
How thou may'st truly it discerne:
That, when upon mine altar thou dost lay
Thine off'ring, thou may'st safely say,
And sweare it is an heart: for, if it should
Prove only an heart-case, it would
Nor pleasing be to me, nor doe thee good.
An heart's no heart not rightly understood.

University of Virginia Library

The sounding of the Heart.

Epigr. 22.

Ode. 22.

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