The Poems of Edward Taylor :: :: University of Virginia Library

Gods Determinations touching his Elect: and The Elects Combat in their Conversion, and Coming up to God in Christ together with the Comfortable Effects thereof.

The Preface.

The Effects of Mans Apostacy.

A Dialogue between Justice and Mercy.

Mans Perplexity when calld to an account.

Gods Selecting Love in the Decree.

The Frowardness of the Elect in the Work of Conversion.

Satans Rage at them in their Conversion.

The Souls Address to Christ against these Assaults.

Christs Reply.

The Effect of this Reply with a fresh Assault from Satan.

First Satans Assault against those that first Came up to Mercys terms.

The Accusation of the Inward Man.

The Outward Man accused.

The Soul accused in its Serving God.

The Souls Groan to Christ for Succour.

Christs Reply.

An Extasy of Joy let in by this Reply returnd in Admiration.

The Second Ranke Accused.

The Third Rank accused.

A Threnodiall Dialogue between The Second and Third Ranks.

Their Call in this Sad State for Mercy.

The Soule Bemoning Sorrow rowling upon a resolution to seek Advice of Gods people.

The Preface.

The Souls Doubts touching its Sins Answerd.

Doubts from the Want of Grace Answerd.

Doubts from Satans Temptations Answered.

Some of Satans Sophestry.

Difficulties arising from Uncharitable Cariages of Christians.

The Effect of this Discourse upon the second, and third Rancks.

Our Insufficiency to Praise God suitably, for his Mercy.

The Soule Seeking Church-Fellowship.

The Soul admiring the Grace of the Church Enters into Church Fellowship.

The Glory of and Grace in the Church set out.

The Souls Admiration hereupon.

The Joy of Church Fellowship rightly attended.

Miscellaneous Poems

[1.] [When] Let by rain.

2. Upon a Spider Catching a Fly.

3. Upon a Wasp Child with Cold.

4. Huswifery.

5. Another upon the Same.

6. Upon Wedlock, and Death of Children.

7. The Ebb and Flow.

8. Upon the Sweeping Flood Aug: 13. 14. 1683.

A Funerall Poem Upon the Death of my ever Endeared, and Tender Wife Mrs. Elizabeth Taylor, Who fell asleep in Christ the 7th day of July at night about two hours after Sun setting 1689 and in the 39 yeare of her Life.

PART. 1.

PART. 2.

PART. 3.

An Elegy upon the Death of that Holy and Reverend Man of God, Mr. Samuel Hooker, .

[PART. 1.]

[PART.] 2. TO NEW ENGLAND.

PART. 3. TO CONNECTICUT.

PART. 4.

PART. 5. TO THE FAMILY RELICT.

HIS EPITAPH.

A Fig for thee Oh! Death.

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385

Gods Determinations touching his Elect: and The Elects Combat in their Conversion, and Coming up to God in Christ together with the Comfortable Effects thereof.

387

The Preface.

Infinity, when all things it beheld
In Nothing, and of Nothing all did build,
Upon what Base was fixt the Lath, wherein
He turn'd this Globe, and riggalld it so trim?
Who blew the Bellows of his Furnace Vast?
Or held the Mould wherein the world was Cast?
Who laid its Corner Stone? Or whose Command?
Where stand the Pillars upon which it stands?
Who Lac'de and Fillitted the earth so fine,
With Rivers like green Ribbons Smaragdine?
Who made the Sea's its Selvedge, and it locks
Like a Quilt Ball within a Silver Box?
Who Spread its Canopy? Or Curtains Spun?
Who in this Bowling Alley bowld the Sun?
Who made it always when it rises set
To go at once both down, and up to get?
Who th'Curtain rods made for this Tapistry?
Who hung the twinckling Lanthorns in the Sky?
Who? who did this? or who is he? Why, know
Its Onely Might Almighty this did doe.
His hand hath made this noble worke which Stands
His Glorious Handywork not made by hands.
Who spake all things from nothing; and with ease
Can speake all things to nothing, if he please.
Whose Little finger at his pleasure Can
Out mete ten thousand worlds with halfe a Span:
Whose Might Almighty can by half a looks
Root up the rocks and rock the hills by th'roots.
Can take this mighty World up in his hande,
And shake it like a Squitchen or a Wand.

388

Whose single Frown will make the Heavens shake
Like as an aspen leafe the Winde makes quake.
Oh! what a might is this Whose single frown
Doth shake the world as it would shake it down?
Which All from Nothing fet, from Nothing, All:
Hath All on Nothing set, lets Nothing fall.
Gave All to nothing Man indeed, whereby
Through nothing man all might him Glorify.
In Nothing then imbosst the brightest Gem
More pretious than all pretiousness in them.
But Nothing man did throw down all by Sin:
And darkened that lightsom Gem in him.
That now his Brightest Diamond is grown
Darker by far than any Coalpit Stone.

The Effects of Mans Apostacy.

While man unmarr'd abode his Spirits all
In Vivid hue were active in their hall,
This Spotless Body, here and there mentain
Their traffick for the Universall gain.
Till Sin Beat up for Volunteers. Whence came
A thousand Griefs attending on the same.
Which march in ranck, and file, proceed to make
A Battery, and the fort of Life to take.
Which when the Centinalls did spy, the Heart
Did beate alarum up in every part.
The Vitall Spirits apprehend thereby
Exposde to danger great the suburbs ly,
The which they do desert, and speedily
The Fort of Life the Heart, they Fortify.
The Heart beats up still by her Pulse to Call

389

Out of the outworks her train Souldiers all
Which quickly come hence: now the Looks grow pale
Limbs feeble too: the Enemies prevaile.
Do scale the Outworks where there's Scarce a Scoute
That can be Spi'de sent from the Castle out.

Man at a muze, and in a maze doth stand,
While Feare the Generall of all the Band
Makes inroads on him: then he Searches why,
And quickly Findes God stand as Enemy.
Whom he would fain subdue, yet Fears affright
In Varnishing their Weapons in his Sight.
Troops after troops, Bands after Bands do high,
Armies of armed terrours drawing nigh:
He lookes within, and sad amazement's there,
Without, and all things fly about his Eares.
Above, and sees Heaven falling on his pate,
Below and spies th'Infernall burning lake,
Before and sees God storming in his Face,
Behinde, and spies Vengeance persues his trace.
To stay he dares not, go he knows not where
From God he can't, to God he dreads for Feare.
To Dy he Dreads; For Vengeance's due to him;
To Live he must not, Death persues his Sin:
He Knows not what to have, nor what to loose
Nor what to do, nor what to take or Choose:
Thus over Stretcht upon the Wrack of Woe,
Bereav'd of Reason, he proceeds now so,
Betakes himself unto his Heels in hast,
Runs like a Madman till his Spirits wast,
Then like a Child that fears the Poker Clapp
Him on his face doth on his Mothers lap
Doth hold his breath, lies still for fear least hee
Should by his breathing lowd discover'd bee.
Thus on his face doth see no outward thing
But still his heart for Feare doth pant within.
Doth make its Drummer beate so loud it makes

390

The Very Bulworks of the City Quake:
Yet gets no aide: Wherefore the Spirits they
Are ready all to leave, and run away.
For Nature in this Pannick feare scarce gives
Him life enough, to let him feel he lives.
Yet this he easily feels, he liveth in
A Dying Life, and Living Death by Sin,
Yet in this Lifeless life wherein he lies,
Some Figments of Excuses doth devise
That he may Something say, when rain'd, although
His Say seems nothing, and for nought will go.
But while he Sculking on his face close lies
Espying nought, the Eye Divine him spies.
Justice and Mercy then fall to debate
Concerning this poore fallen mans estate,
Before the Bench of the Almighties Breast
Th' ensuing Dialogues hint their Contest.

391

A Dialogue between Justice and Mercy.

Offended Justice comes in fiery Rage,
Like to a Rampant Lyon new assaild,
Array'd in Flaming fire now to engage,
With red hot burning Wrath poore man unbaild.
In whose Dread Vissage sinfull man may spy
Confounding, Rending, Flaming Majesty.

Out Rebell, out (saith Justice) to the Wrack,
Which every joynt unjoynts, doth streatch, and strain,
Where Sinews tortur'de are untill they Crack
And Flesh is torn asunder grain by grain.
What Spit thy Venom in my Face! Come out
To handy gripes seing thou art so stoute.

Mercy takes up the Challenge, Comes as meeke
As any Lamb, on mans behalfe, she speakes
Like new blown pincks, breaths out perfumed reech
And doth revive the heart before it breaks.
Justice (saith Mercy) if thou Storm so fast,
Man is but dust that flies before thy blast.

JUSTICE
My Essence is ingag'de, I cannot bate,
Justice not done no Justice is; and hence
I cannot hold off of the Rebells pate
The Vengeance he halls down with Violence.
If Justice wronged be she must revenge:
Unless a way be found to make all friends.

MERCY
My Essence is engag'de pitty to show.
Mercy not done no Mercy is. And hence
I'le put my shoulders to the burden so
Halld on his head with hands of Violence.
As Justice justice evermore must doe:
So Mercy Mercy evermore must show.

JUSTICE
I'le take thy Bond: But know thou this must doe.
Thou from thy Fathers bosom must depart:

392

And be incarnate like a slave below
Must pay mans Debts unto the utmost marke.
Thou must sustain that burden, that will make
The Angells sink into th' Infernall lake.

Nay on thy shoulders bare must beare the smart
Which makes the Stoutest Angell buckling cry
Nay makes thy Soule to Cry through griefe of heart,
eli, eli, lama sabachtani.
If this thou wilt, come then, and do not spare.
Beare up the Burden on thy Shoulders bare.

MERCY
All this I'le do, and do it o're and o're,
Before my Clients Case shall ever faile.
I'le pay his Debt, and wipe out all his Score
And till the pay day Come I'le be his baile.
I Heaven, and Earth do on my shoulders beare,
Yet down I'le throw them all rather than Spare.

JUSTICE
Yet notwithstanding still this is too Small,
Although there was a thousand times more done.
If sinless man did, sinfull man will fall:
If out of debt, will on a new score run.
Then stand away, and let me strike at first:
For better now, than when he's at the Worst.

MERCY
If more a thousand times too little bee
Ten thousand times yet more than this I'le do:
I'le free him from his Sin, and Set him free
From all those faults the which he's subject to.
Then Stand away, and strike not at the first.
He'l better grow when he is at the worst.

JUSTICE
Nay, this ten thousand times as much can still
Confer no hony to the Sinners hive.

393

For man though shrived throughly from all ill
His Righteousness is merely negative.
Though none be damnd but such as sin imbrace:
Yet none are sav'd without Inherent Grace.

MERCY
What, though ten thousand times, too little bee?
I will ten thousand thousand times more do.
I will not onely from his sin him free,
But fill him with Inherent grace also.
Though none are Sav'd that wickedness imbrace.
Yet none are Damn'd that have Inherent Grace.

JUSTICE
Yet this ten thousand thousand times more shall,
Though Doubled o're, and o're for little stands.
The Righteousness of God should be his all
The which he cannot have for want of hands.
Then though he's spar'de at first, at last he'l fall
For want of hands to hold himselfe withall.

MERCY
Though this ten thousand thousand times much more
Though doubled o're and o're for little go,
I'le double still its double o're and ore
And trible that untill I make it do.

394

I'le make him hands of Faith to hold full fast.
Spare him at first, then he'l not fall at last.

For by these hands he'l lay his Sins Upon
The Scape Goats head, o're whom he shall Confess
And with these hands he rightly shall put on
My milkwhite Robe of Lovely Righteousness.
Now Justice on, thy Will fulfilled bee.
Thou dost no wrong: the Sinner's just like thee.

JUSTICE
If so, its so: then I'l his Quittance seale:
Or shall accuse myselfe as well as him:
If so, I Justice shall of Justice faile
Which if I do, Justice herselfe should sin.
Justice unspotted is, and therefore must,
[OMITTED]

MERCY
I do foresee Proud man will me abuse,
He'th broke his Legs, yets Legs his stilts must bee:
And I may stand untill the Chilly Dews
Do pearle my Locks before he'l stand on mee.
For set a Beggar upon horseback, see
He'll ride as if no man so good as hee.

JUSTICE
And I foresee Proude man will me abuse.
Judging his Shekel is the Sanctuaries:
He on his durty stilts to walk will Choose:
Yea is as Clean as I, and nothing Varies
Although his Shekel is not Silver good
And's tilting stilts do stick within the mudd.

MERCY
But most he'l me abuse, I feare, for still
Some will have Farms to farm, some wives to wed:

395

Some beasts to buy; and I must waite their Will.
Though while they scrape their naile, or scratch their head
Nay though with Cap in hand I Wooe them long
They'l whistle out their Whistle e're they'l come.

JUSTICE
I see I'st be abus'de by greate, and small:
And most will count me blinde, or will not see:
Me leaden heel'd, with iron hands they'l Call:
Or am unjust, or they more just than mee.
And while they while away their Mercy so,
They set their bristles up at Justice do.

MERCY
I feare the Humble Soul will be too shie;
Judging my Mercy lesser than his Sin.
Inlarging this, but lessening that thereby.
'S if Mercy would not Mercy be to him.
Alas! poore Heart! how art thou damnifide,
By Proud Humility, and Humble Pride?

JUSTICE
The Humble Soul deales worse with me, doth Cry
If I be just, I'le on him Vengeance take
As if I su'de Debtor, and Surety
And double Debt and intrest too would rake.
If Justice sue the Bonds that Cancelld are
Sue Justice then before a juster bar.

MERCY
But in this Case alas, what must be done
That haughty souls may humble be, and low?
That Humble souls may suck the Hony Comb?
And thou for Justice, I for Mercy go?
This Query weighty is, Lets therefore shew
What must be done herein by me, and you.

JUSTICE
Lest that the Soule in Sin securely ly,
And do neglect Free Grace, I'le steping in

396

Convince him by the Morall Law, whereby
Ile'st se in what a pickle he is in.
For all he hath, for nothing stand it shall
If of the Law one hair breadth short it fall.

MERCY
And lest the Soule should quite discourag'de stand
I will step in, and smile him in the face,
Nay I to him will hold out in my hand
The golden scepter of my Rich-Rich Grace.
Intreating him with smiling lips most cleare
At Court of Justice in my robes t'appeare.

JUSTICE
If any after Satans Pipes do Caper
Red burning Coales from hell in Wrath I gripe,
And make them in his face with Vengeance Vaper,
Untill he dance after the Gospell Pipe.
Whose Sun is Sin, when Sin in Sorrows shrow'd,
Their Sun of Joy sets in a grievous Cloud.

MERCY
When any such are startled from ill,
And cry help, help, with tears, I will advance
The Musick of the Gospell Minsterill,
Whose strokes they strike, and tunes exactly dance.
Who mourn when Justice frowns, when Mercie playes
Will to her sounding Viall Chant out Praise.

JUSTICE
The Works of Merit-Mongers I will weigh
Within the Ballance of the sanctuary:
Their Matter, and their Manner I will lay
Unto the Standard-Rule t'see how they Vary.
Whosever trust doth to his golden deed
Doth rob a barren Garden for a Weed.

MERCY
Yet if they'l onely on my Merits trust
They'st in Gods Paradise themselves solace,

397

Their beauteous garden knot I'le also thrust
With Royall Slips, Sweet Flowers, and Herbs of Grace.
Their Knots I'le weed, to give a spangling show
In Order: and perfumes shall from them flow.

JUSTICE
Those that are ignorant, and do not know
What meaneth Sin, nor what means Sanctity,
I will Convince that all save Saints must go
Into hot fire, and brimston there to fry.
Whose Pains hot scalding boyling Lead transcends,
But evermore adds more and never Ends.

MERCY
Though simple, learn of mee. I will you teach,
True Wisdom for your Souls Felicity,
Wisdom Extending to the Endless reach
And blissfull end of all Eternity.
Wisdom that doth all else transcend as far
As Sol's bright Glory doth a painted Star.

JUSTICE
You that Extenuate your sins, come see
Them in Gods multiplying Glass: for here
Your little sins will just like mountains bee,
And as they are just so they Will appeare.
Who doth a little sin Extenuate
Extends the same, and two thereof doth make.

MERCY
A little sin is sin: and is Sin Small?
Excuse it not, but aggrivate it more.
Lest that your little Sin asunder fall
And two become, each bigger than before.
Who scants his sin will scarce get grace to save.
For little Sins, but little pardons have.

JUSTICE
Unto the Humble Humble Soule I say,
Cheer up, poor Heart, for satisfi'de am I.

398

For Justice nothing to thy Charge can lay,
Thou hast Acquittance in thy surety.
The Court of Justice thee acquits: therefore
Thou to the Court of Mercy are bound o're.

MERCY
My Dove, come hither linger not, nor stay.
Though thou among the pots hast lain, behold
Thy Wings with Silver Colours I'le o're lay:
And lay thy feathers o're with yellow gold.
Justice in Justice must adjudge thee just:
If thou in Mercies Mercy put thy trust.

Mans Perplexity when calld to an account.

Justice, and Mercy ending their Contest,
In such a sort, now thrust away the Desk.
And other titles come in Majesty,
All to attend Almighty royally.
Which sparkle out, call man to come and tell
How he his Cloath defild and how he fell?

He on his skirts with Guilt, and Filth out peeps
With Pallid Pannick Fear upon his Cheeks,
With Trembling joynts, and Quiverring Lips, doth quake
As if each Word he was about to make,
Should hackt a sunder be, and Chopt as small
As Pot herbs for the pot before they Call
Upon the Understanding to draw neer,
By tabbering on the Drum within the eare.
His Spirits are so low they'l scarce afford
Him Winde enough to wast a single word
Over the Tongue unto one's eare: yet loe,
This tale at last with sobs, and sighs lets goe,
Saying, my Mate procurde me all this hurt,
Who threw me in my best Cloaths in the Dirt.

399

Thus man hath lost his Freehold by his ill:
Now to his Land Lord tenent is at Will.
And must the Tenement keep in repare
Whate're the ruins, and the Charges are.
Nay, and must mannage war against his Foes.
Although ten thousand strong, he must oppose.
Some seeming Friends prove secret foes, which will
Thrust Fire i'th'thatch, nay stob, Cut throate and kill.
Some undermine the Walls: Some knock them down,
And make them tumble on the Tenents Crown.
He's then turnd out of Doors, and so must stay,
Till's house be rais'd against the Reckoning day.

Gods Selecting Love in the Decree.

Man in this Lapst Estate at very best,
A Cripple is and footsore, sore opprest,
Can't track Gods Trace but Pains, and pritches prick
Like poyson'd splinters sticking in the Quick.
Yet jims in th'Downy path with pleasures spread
As 'twas below him on the Earth to tread.
Can prance, and trip within the way of Sin,
Yet in Gods path moves not a little wing.

Almighty this foreseing, and withall
That all this stately worke of his would fall
Tumble, and Dash to pieces Did in lay
Before it was too late for it a Stay.
Doth with his hands hold, and uphold the same.
Hence his Eternall Purpose doth proclaim.
Whereby transcendently he makes to shine
Transplendent Glory in his Grace Divine.
Almighty makes a mighty sumptuous feast:
Doth make the Sinfull Sons of men his guests.
But yet in speciall Grace he hath to some,

400

(Because they Cripples are, and Cannot come)
He sends a Royall Coach forth for the same,
To fetch them in, and names them name by name.
A Royall Coach whose scarlet Canopy
O're silver Pillars, doth expanded ly:
All bottomed with purest gold refin'de,
And inside o're with lovely Love all linde.
Which Coach indeed you may exactly spy
All mankinde splits in a Dicotomy.
For all ride to the feast that favour finde.
The rest do slite the Call and stay behinde.

O! Honour! Honour! Honours! Oh! the Gain!
And all such Honours all the saints obtain.
It is the Chariot of the King of Kings:
That all who Glory gain, to glory brings.
Whose Glory makes the rest, (when spi'de) beg in.
Some gaze and stare. Some stranging at the thing.
Some peep therein; some rage thereat, but all,
Like market people seing on a stall,
Some rare Commodity Clap hands thereon
And Cheapen't hastily, but soon are gone.
For hearing of the price, and wanting pay
Do pish thereat, and Coily pass away.
So hearing of the terms, whist, they'le abide
At home before they'l pay so much to ride.
But they to whom its sent had rather all,
Dy in this Coach, than let their journey fall.
They up therefore do get, and in it ride
Unto Eternal bliss, while down the tide
The other scull unto eternall woe;
By letting slip their former journey so.
For when they finde the Silver Pillars fair
The Golden bottom pav'de with Love as rare,
To be the Spirits sumptuous building cleare,
When in the Soul his Temple he doth reare
And Purple Canopy to bee (they spy)
All Graces Needlework and Huswifry;

401

Their stomachs rise: these graces will not down.
They think them Slobber Sawces: therefore frown.
They loath the same, wamble keck, heave they do:
Their Spleen thereat out at their mouths they throw,
Which while they do, the Coach away doth high
Wheeling the Saints in't to eternall joy.
These therefore and their journey now do come
For to be treated on, and Coacht along.

The Frowardness of the Elect in the Work of Conversion.

Those upon whom Almighty doth intend
His all Eternall Glory to expend,
Lulld in the lap of sinfull Nature snugg,
Like Pearls in Puddles cover'd ore with mudd:
Whom, if you search, perhaps some few you'l finde,
That to notorious Sins were ne're inclinde.
Some shunning some, some most, some greate, some small.
Some this, that or the other, some none at all.
But all, or almost all you'st easly finde,
To all, or almost all Defects inclinde
To Revell with the Rabble rout who say
Let's hiss this Piety out of our Day.
And those whose frame is made of finer twine
Stand further off from Grace than Wash from Wine.
Those who suck Grace from th'breast, are nigh as rare
As Black Swans that in milkwhite Rivers are.
Grace therefore calls them all, and sweetly wooes.
Some won come in, the rest as yet refuse,
And run away: Mercy persues apace,
Then some Cast down their arms, Cry Quarter, Grace.
Some Chased out of breath drop down with feare

402

Perceiving the persuer drawing neer.
The rest persude, divide into two rancks
And this way one, and that the other prancks.

Then in comes Justice with her forces by her,
And doth persue as hot as sparkling fire.
The right wing then begins to fly away.
But in the streights strong Baracadoes lay.
They're therefore forc'd to face about, and have
Their spirits Queld, and therefore Quarter Crave.
These Captivde thus: justice persues the Game
With all her troops to take the other train.
Which being Chast in a Peninsula
And followd close, they finde no other way
To make escape, but t'rally round about:
Which if it faile them that they get not out,
They're forct into the Infernall Gulfe alive
Or hackt in pieces are or took Captive.
But spying Mercy stand with Justice, they
Cast down their Weapons, and for Quarter pray.
Their lives are therefore spar'de, yet they are ta'ne
As th'other band: and prisoners must remain.
And so they must now Justice's Captives bee
On Mercies Quarrell: Mercy sets not free.
Their former Captain is their Deadly foe.
And now, poor souls, they know not what to do.

Satans Rage at them in their Conversion.

Grace by the Aide of Justice wins the day.
And Satans Captives Captives leads away,
Who finding of their former Captains Cheates,

403

To be Rebellion, him a Rebell Greate,
Against his Rightfull Sovereign, by whom
He shortly shall to Execution Come,
They sue for Pardon do at Mercies Doore
Bewailing of that war they wag'd before.

Then Satan in a red-hot firy rage
Comes belling, roaring ready to ingage
To rend, and tare in pieces small all those,
Whom in the former Quarrell he did lose.
But's boyling Poyson'd madness, being by
A shield Divine repelld, he thus lets fly.
You Rebells all, I Will you gripe, and fist.
I'le make my Jaws a Mill to grin'de such Grists.
Look not for Mercy, Mercy well doth see
You'l be more false to her than Unto mee.
You're the first Van that fell; you're Traitors, Foes,
And Unto such Grace will no trust repose.
You Second Ranck are Cowards, if Christ Come
With you to fight his field, you'l from him run.
You third are feeble-hearted; if Christs Crown
Must stand or fall by you, you'l fling it down.
You last did last the longest: but being ta'ne
Are Prisoners made, and Jayle Birds must remain.
It had been better on the Turff to dy
Then in such Deadly slavery to ly.
Nay, at the best you all are Captive Foes.
Will Wisdom have no better aid than those?
Trust to a forced Faith? To hearts well known
To be (like yours) to all black Treason Prone?
For when I shall let fly at you, you'l fall:
And so fall foule Upon your Generall.
Hee'l Hang you up alive then; by and by.
And I'le you wrack too for your treachery.
He will become your foe, you then shall bee

404

Flanckt of by him before, behinde by mee.
You'st stand between us two our spears to dunce.
Can you Offend and Fence both wayes at once?
You'l then have sharper service than the Whale,
Between the Sword fish, and the Threshers taile.
You'l then be mawld worse than the hand thats right
Between the heads of Wheelhorn'd Rams that fight.
What will you do when you shall squezed bee
Between such Monstrous Gyants Jaws as Wee?

The Souls Address to Christ against these Assaults.

Thou Gracious Lord, Our Honour'd Generall
May't suite thy Pleasure never to impute,
It our Presumption, when presume we shall
To line thy Noble Ears with our Greate suite?
With ropes about our necks we come and lie,
Before thy pleasure's Will, and Clemency.

When we unto the height of Sin were grown,
We sought thy Throne to overthrow; but were
In this our seeking Quickly overthrown:
A Mass of Mercy in thy face shone cleare.
We quarter had: though if we'de had our share
We had been quarter'd up as Rebells are.

Didst thou thy Grace on Treators arch expend?
And force thy Favour on thy stubborn Foe?
And hast no Favour for a failing Friend,
That in thy Quarrell trippeth with his toe?
If thus it be, thy Foes Speed better far,
Than do thy Friends, that go to fight thy War.

405

But is it as the Adversary said?
Dost thou not hear his murdering Canons roare?
What Vollies fly? What Ambushments are laid?
And still his stratagems grow more, and more.
Lord, fright this frightfull Enemy away.
A Trip makes not a Traitor: Spare we pray.

And if thou still suspect us come, and search:
Pluck out our hearts and search them narrowly.
If Sin allow'd in any Corner learch,
We beg a Pardon, and a Remedy.
Lord Gybbit up such Rebells Arch Who do
Set ope the back doore to thy Cursed foe.

Christs Reply.

I am a Captain to your Will.
You found me Gracious, so shall still,
Whilst that my Will is your Design.
If that you stick unto my Cause
Opposing whom oppose my Laws
I am your own, and you are mine.

The weary Soule I will refresh
And Ease him of his heaviness.
Who'le slay a Friend? And save a Foe?
Who in my War do take delight,
Fight not for prey, but Pray, and Fight
Although they slip, I'le mercy show.

Then Credit not your Enemy
Whose Chiefest daintie is a lie.
I will you comfort sweet extend.
Behold I am a sun and shield

406

And a sharp sword to win the field.
I'l surely Crown you in the End.

His murdering Canons which do roare
And Engins though as many more
Shoot onely aire: no Bullets fly.
Unless you dare him with your Crest,
And ope to him the naked breast,
Small Execution's done thereby.

To him that smiteth hip, and thigh,
My foes as his: Walks warily,
I'le give him Grace: he'st give me praise.
Let him whose foot doth hit a Stone
Through weakeness, not rebellion
Not faint, but think on former dayes.

The Effect of this Reply with a fresh Assault from Satan.

Like as the Shining Sun, we do behold,
Is hot, and Light, when th'Weather waxeth Cold:
Like as brave Valour in a Captain steels
His Armies Courage, when their spirit reels.
As Aqua Vitae when the Vitalls faile:
So doth this speech the Drooping Soul availe.
How doth this Answer Mercies Captives Cheer?
Yet those whom Justice took still Drooping were,
And in this nick of time the Foe through spite
Doth like a glorious Angell seem of Light.
Yet though he painteth o're his Velvet smut.
He Cannot yet Conceal his Cloven foot.
Hence in their joy he straweth poyson on,
Those Objects that their senses feed upon.

407

By some odde straggling thought up poyson flies
Into the heart: and through the Eares, and Eyes.
Which sick, lies gasping: Other thoughts then high
To hold its head; and Venom'd are thereby.
Hence they are influenc't to selfe Ends: these darts
Strike secret swelling Pride up in their hearts.
The which he fosters till the bladder flies
In pieces; then joy lies agast and dies.

Now Satan counts the Cast his own thus thrown:
Off goes the Angels Coate, on goes his own.
With Griping Paws, and Goggling Eyes draws nigher,
Like some fierce Shagg'd Red Lion, belching fire:
Doth stoutly Charge them home that they did fall
And breake the Laws of their Choice Admirall.
And his attend: and so were his. For they
Must needs be his whom ever they obey.
Thus he in frightfull wise assaults them all,
Then one by one doth singly on them fall,
Doth winnow them with all his wiles, he can,
As Wheate is winnow'd with the Sieve, and Fan.

First Satans Assault against those that first Came up to Mercys terms.

SATAN
Soon ripe, soon rot. Young Saint, Old Divell. Loe
Why to an Empty Whistle did you goe?
What Come Uncalld? And Run unsent for? Stay
Its Childrens Bread: Hands off: out, Dogs, away.

SOUL
It's not an Empty Whistle: yet withall,
And if it be a Whistle, then a Call:
A Call to Childrens Bread, which take we may.
Thou onely art the Dog whipt hence away.

408

SATAN
If I then you: for by Apostasy
You are the Imps of Death as much as I.
And Death doth reign o're you through Sin: you see,
As well as Sin doth reign to Death in mee.

SOUL
It is deni'd: Gods Mercy taking place,
Prepared Grace for us, and us for Grace.
And Graces Coach in Grace hath fetcht us in,
Unto her Feast. We shall not dy in Sin.

SATAN
If it be so, your sins are Crucifide:
Which if they be, they struggl'd when they di'de.
It is not so with you: you judge before
You felt them gird, you'de got them out of Doore.

SOUL
Mercy the Quartermaster speedily,
Did stifle Sin, and still its hidious Cry,
Whose Knife at first stuck in its heart to th'head:
That sin, before it hard did sprunt, fell dead.

SATAN
A mere Delusion! Nature shows that Life
Will strugle most upon the bloody Knife
And so will Sin. Nay Christ doth onely Call,
And offer ease to such as are in thrall.

SOUL
He offer'd unto mee, and I receiv'd
Of what hee wrought, I am not yet bereav'd.
Though Justice set Amercement on mee
Mercy hath took it off, and set me free.

SATAN
Is Mercy impudent? or Justice blinde?
I am to make distraint on thee Designd.

409

The North must wake before the South proves Kind.
The Law must breake before the Gospell binde.

SOUL
But Giliads Balm, like Balsom heald my wound
Makes not the Patient sore, yet leaves him sound.
The Gospell did the Law prevent: my heart
Is therefore dresst from Sin: and did not smart.

SATAN
A likely thing! Oh shame! presume on Grace!
Here's Sin in Grain: it hath a Double Face.
Come, Come with mee I'le shew your Outs, and Inns,
Your Inside, and your out: your Holy things.
For these I will anatomize then see,
Believe your very Eyes, believe not mee.

The Accusation of the Inward Man.

You want Cleare Spectacles: your eyes are dim:
Turn inside out: and turn your Eyes within.
Your sins like motes in th'sun do swim: nay see
Your Mites are Molehills, Molehills Mountains bee.
Your Mountain Sins do magnitude transcend:
Whose number's numberless, and do want end.
The Understandings dark, and therefore Will
Account of Ill for Good, and Good for ill.
As to a Purblinde man men oft appeare
Like Walking Trees within the Hemisphere.
So in the judgment Carnall things Excell:
Pleasures and Profits beare away the Bell.
The Will is hereupon perverted so,
It laquyes after ill, doth good foregoe.
The Reasonable Soule doth much delight
A Pickpack t'ride o'th'Sensuall Appitite.

410

And hence the heart is hardened and toyes,
With Love, Delight, and Joy, yea Vanities.

Make but a thorow search, and you may spy
Your soul a trudging hard, though secretly
Upon the feet of your Affections mute.
And hankering after all forbidden fruite.
Ask but yourselfe in secret laying neer
Thy head thereto: 'twill Whisper in thine eare
That it is tickled much, though secretly.
And greatly itches after Vilany.
'Twill fleere thee in thy face, and though it say,
It must not tell, it scorns to tell thee nay.
But Slack the rains, and Come a Loophole lower:
You'l finde it was but Pen-coop't up before.
Nay, muster up your thoughts, and take the Pole
Of what walk in the Entry of your Soule
Which if you do, you certainly will finde
With Robbers, Cut-throats, Theives its mostly linde.
And hundred Roagues you'l finde, ly gaming there.
For one true man, that in that path appears.
Your True man too's oft footsore, sildom is,
Sound Winde, and Limb: and still to add to this,
He's but a Traviller within that Way:
Whereas the rest there pitch their Tents, and stay.
Nay, nay, what thoughts Unclean? Lacivious?
Blasphemous? Murderous? and Malicious?
Tyranick? Wrathfull? Atheistick rise
Of Evills New, and Old, of e'ry Sise?
These bed, and board here, make the heart a sty
Of all Abominable Brothlery.
Then is it pure? is this the fruite of Grace?
If so, how do yee: You and I Embrace.

411

The Outward Man accused.

Turn o're thy Outward man, and judge aright.
Doth not a Pagans Life out Shine thy Light?
Thy fleering Looks, thy Wanton Eyes, each part
Are Painted Sign-Post of a Wanton heart.
If thou art weigh'd in Golden Scales; Dost do
To others as thou wouldst be done unto?
Weigh weigh thy Words: thy Untruths, all which came
Out of thy mouth, and thou Confest the same.
Why did thy Tongue detract from any one,
Whisper such tales thou wouldst not have be known?
When thou was got in such a merry veane
How far didst thou exceed the golden mean?
When that thou wast at such a Boon, or Feast
Why didst thou rather ly, than lose thy jeast?
How wast thou tickled when thy droughty Eares
Allay'de their Thirst with filthy squibs, and jears?
Why didst thou glaver men of place? And why,
Scowle, Glout, and Frown, on honest Poverty?
Why did'st thou spend thy State in foolish prancks?
And Peacock up thyselfe above thy rancks?
Why thoughtst thyselfe out of the World as shut,
When not with others in the Cony Cut?
Hold up thy head, is't thus or no? if yea,
How then is all thy folly purgd away?
If no, thy tongue belies itselfe, for loe
Thou saidst thy heart was dresst from sin also.

412

The Soul accused in its Serving God.

When thou dost go to serve thy God, behold
What greate Distractions do thy Soule infold?
How thy Religious Worship's much abusde?
And with Confusion greate thy Soul's amus'de?
What thoughts to God on Errand dost thou send
That have not Sin therein, or in the End?
In Holy-Waters I delight to fish
For then I mudd them, or attain a Dish,
Of Holy things. I oft have Chiefest part,
And Cutting: nay do Carve the fat, and heart.
For in Gods worship still thy heart doth cling
Unto and follows toyish Earthly things.
And what thou offer'st God his Holy Eye
Sees, is an Offering of Hypocrisy.
And if thou saw'st no hell, nor heaven; I see,
My Soule for thine, thy Soule and mine agree.
What then's thy Love to God, and Piety?
Is it not selfish? And Comes in by th'by?
For selfe is all thine aim; not God thine end:
And what Delight hath he in such a friend?
Lip Love is little else, but such a ly,
As makes the matter but Hypocrisy.

What's thy Repentance? Can'st thou come and show
By those salt Rivers which do Ebb, and Flow
By th'motion of that Ocean Vast within,
Of pickled sorrow rising for thy Sin?
For Sin prooves very Costly unto all.
It Cost Saint Peter bitter tears, and Paul.
Thy joy is groundless, Faith is false, thy Hope
Presumption, and Desire is almost broke.
Zeale Wildfire is, thy Pray'res are sapless most,
Or like the Whistling of some Dead mans Ghost:

413

Thy Holy Conference is onely like
An Empty Voice that tooteth through a pipe.
Thy Soule doth peep out at thine Eares, and Eyes
To bless those bawbles that are earthly toyes.
But when Gods Words in at those Windows peepe
To kiss thy Soul, thy Soul lies dead asleep.
Examine but thy Conscience, her reply,
Will suite hereto: For Conscience dare not ly.
When did thine Eyes run down for sin as sin,
That thus thy heart runs up with joy to sing?
Thy sins do sculk under a flowrisht paint.
Hence thou a Sinner art, or I a Saint.

SOUL
Well, Satan, well: with thee I'le parle no more.
But do adjure thee hence: begone therefore.
If I as yet was thine, I thus do say
I from thy flag would quickly flag away.
Begone therefore; to him I'le send a groane
Against thee drawn, who makes my heart his Throne.

The Souls Groan to Christ for Succour.

Good Lord, behold this Dreadfull Enemy
Who makes me tremble with his fierce assaults,
I dare not trust, yet feare to give the ly,
For in my soul, my soul finds many faults.
And though I justify myselfe to's face:
I do Condemn myselfe before thy Grace.

He strives to mount my sins, and them advance
Above thy Merits, Pardons, or Good Will
Thy Grace to lessen, and thy Wrath t'inhance
As if thou couldst not pay the sinners bill.
He Chiefly injures thy rich Grace, I finde
Though I confess my heart to sin inclin'de.

414

Those Graces which thy Grace enwrought in mee,
He makes as nothing but a pack of Sins.
He maketh Grace no grace, but Crueltie,
Is Graces Honey Comb, a Comb of Stings?
This makes me ready leave thy Grace and run.
Which if I do, I finde I am undone.

I know he is thy Cur, therefore I bee
Perplexed lest I from thy Pasture stray.
He bayghs, and barks so veh'mently at mee.
Come rate this Cur, Lord, breake his teeth I pray.
Remember me I humbly pray thee first.
Then halter up this Cur that is so Curst.

Christs Reply.

Peace, Peace, my Hony, do not Cry,
My Little Darling, wipe thine eye,
Oh Cheer, Cheer up, come see.
Is anything too deare, my Dove,
Is anything too good, my Love
To get or give for thee?

If in the severall thou art
This Yelper fierce will at thee bark:
That thou art mine this shows.
As Spot barks back the sheep again
Before they to the Pound are ta'ne,
So he and hence 'way goes.

But yet this Cur that bayghs so sore
Is broken tootht, and muzzled sure,
Fear not, my Pritty Heart.
His barking is to make thee Cling

415

Close underneath thy Saviours Wing.
Why did my sweeten start?

And if he run an inch too far,
I'le Check his Chain, and rate the Cur.
My Chick, keep clost to mee.
The Poles shall sooner kiss, and greet
And Paralells shall sooner meet
Than thou shalt harmed bee.

He seeks to aggrivate thy sin
And screw them to the highest pin,
To make thy faith to quaile.
Yet mountain Sins like mites should show
And then these mites for naught should goe
Could he but once prevaile.

I smote thy sins upon the Head.
They Dead'ned are, though not quite dead:
And shall not rise again.
I'l put away the Guilt thereof,
And purge its Filthiness cleare off:
My Blood doth out the stain.

And though thy judgment was remiss
Thy Headstrong Will too Wilfull is.
I will Renew the same.
And though thou do too frequently
Offend as heretofore hereby
I'l not severly blaim.

And though thy senses do inveagle
Thy Noble Soul to tend the Beagle,
That t'hunt her games forth go.

416

I'le Lure her back to me, and Change
Those fond Affections that do range
As yelping beagles doe.

Although thy sins increase their race,
And though when thou hast sought for Grace,
Thou fallst more than before
If thou by true Repentence Rise,
And Faith makes me thy Sacrifice,
I'l pardon all, though more.

Though Satan strive to block thy way
By all his Stratagems he may:
Come, come though through the fire.
For Hell that Gulph of fire for sins,
Is not so hot as t'burn thy Shins.
Then Credit not the Lyar.

Those Cursed Vermin Sins that Crawle
All ore thy Soul, both Greate, and small
Are onely Satans own:
Which he in his Malignity
Unto thy Souls true Sanctity
In at the doors hath thrown.

And though they be Rebellion high,
Ath'ism or Apostacy:
Though blasphemy it bee:
Unto what Quality, or Sise
Excepting one, so e're it rise.
Repent, I'le pardon thee.

Although thy Soule was once a Stall
Rich hung with Satans nicknacks all;
If thou Repent thy Sin,
A Tabernacle in't I'le place
Fild with Gods Spirit, and his Grace.
Oh Comfortable thing!

417

I dare the World therefore to show
A God like me, to anger slow:
Whose wrath is full of Grace.
Doth hate all Sins both Greate, and small:
Yet when Repented, pardons all.
Frowns with a Smiling Face.

As for thy outward Postures each,
Thy Gestures, Actions, and thy Speech,
I Eye and Eying spare,
If thou repent. My Grace is more
Ten thousand times still tribled ore
Than thou canst want, or ware.

As for the Wicked Charge he makes,
That he of Every Dish first takes
Of all thy holy things.
Its false, deny the same, and say,
That which he had he stool away
Out of thy Offerings.

Though to thy Griefe, poor Heart, thou finde
In Pray're too oft a wandring minde,
In Sermons Spirits dull.
Though faith in firy furnace flags,
And Zeale in Chilly Seasons lags.
Temptations powerfull.

These faults are his, and none of thine
So far as thou dost them decline.
Come then receive my Grace.
And when he buffits thee therefore
If thou my aid, and Grace implore
I'le shew a pleasant face.

But still look for Temptations Deep,
Whilst that thy Noble Sparke doth keep
Within a Mudwald Cote.
These White Frosts and the Showers that fall

418

Are but to whiten thee withall.
Not rot the Web they smote.

If in the fire where Gold is tride
Thy Soule is put, and purifide
Wilt thou lament thy loss?
If silver-like this fire refine
Thy Soul and make it brighter shine:
Wilt thou bewaile the Dross?

Oh! fight my Field: no Colours fear:
I'l be thy Front, I'l be thy reare.
Fail not: my Battells fight.
Defy the Tempter, and his Mock.
Anchor thy heart on mee thy Rock.
I do in thee Delight.

An Extasy of Joy let in by this Reply returnd in Admiration.

My Sweet Deare Lord, for thee I'le Live, Dy, Fight.
Gracious indeed! My Front! my Rear!
Almighty magnify a Mite:
O! What a Wonder's here?

Had I ten thousand times ten thousand hearts:
And Every Heart ten thousand Tongues;
To praise, I should but stut odd parts
Of what to thee belongs.

If all the world did in Alimbeck ly,
Bleeding its Spirits out in Sweat;
It could not halfe enlife a Fly
To Hum thy Praises greate.

If all can't halfe enlife a Fly to hum,
(Which scarce an Animall we call)

419

Thy Praises then which from me come,
Come next to none at all.

For I have made myselfe ten thousand times
More naught than nought itselfe, by Sin.
Yet thou extendst thy Gracious Shines
For me to bath therein.

Oh! Stand amaizd yee Angells Bright, come run
Yee Glorious Heavens and Saints, to sing:
Place yee your praises in the sun,
Ore all the world to ring.

Nay stand agast, ye sparkling Spirits bright!
Shall little Clods of Dust you peere?
Shall they toote Praises on your pipe?
Oh! that we had it here.

What can a Crumb of Dust sally such praise
Which do from Earth all heaven o're ring
Who swaddle up the suns bright rayes
Can in a Flesh Flie's Wing?

Can any Ant stand on the Earth and spit
Another out to peer with this?
Or Drink the Ocean up, and yet
Its belly empty is?

Thou may'st this World as easily up hide
Under the Blackness of thy naile:
As scape Sins Gulph without a Guide:
Or Hell without a bale.

If all the Earthy Mass were rambd in Sacks
And saddled on an Emmet small,
Its Load were light unto those packs
Which Sins do bring on all.

But sure this burden'd Emmet moves no wing.
Nay, nay, Compar'd with thee, it flies.

420

Yet man is easd his weight of Sin.
From hell to Heav'n doth rise.

When that the World was new, its Chiefe Delight,
One Paradise alone Contain'de:
The Bridle of Mans Appetite
The Appletree refrain'de.

The which he robbing, eat the fruit as good,
Whose Coare hath Chokd him and his race.
And juyce hath poyson'd all their blood,
He's in a Dismall Case.

None can this Coare remove, Poyson expell:
He, if his Blood ben't Clarifi'de
Within Christs veans, must fry in Hell,
Till God be satisfi'de.

Christ to his Father saith, Incarnate make
Mee, Mee thy Son; and I will doe't:
I'le purify his Blood, and take
The Coare out of his Throate.

All this he did, and did for us, vile Clay:
Oh! let our Praise his Grace assaile.
To free us from Sins Gulph each way,
He's both our Bridge, and Raile.

Although we fall and Fall, and Fall and Fall
And Satan fall on us as fast.
He purgeth us and doth us call
Our trust on him to Cast.

My Lumpish Soule why art thou hamper'd thus
Within a Crumb of Dust? Arise,
Trumpet out Praises. Christ for us
Hath slain our Enemies.

Screw up, Deare Lord, upon the highest pin:
My soul thy ample Praise to sound.

421

O tune it right, that every string
May make thy praise rebound.

But oh! how slack, slow, dull? with what delay,
Do I this Musick to, repare,
While tabernacled in Clay
My Organs Cottag'de are?

Yet Lord accept this Pittance of thy praise
Which as a Traveller I bring,
While travelling along thy wayes
In broken notes I sing.

And at my journies end in endless joyes
I'l make amends where Angells meet
And sing their flaming Melodies
In Ravishing tunes most sweet.

The Second Ranke Accused.

You that are branded for Rebellion
What whimsy Crotchets do you feed upon?
Under my Flag you fighting did Defie
And Vend much Venom spit at God most high:
You dar'de him as a Coward, out, and Went
Flinging your Poyson'd darts against his tent.
When Grace did sound her parle, you stopt the Eare:
You backward drew as she to you drew neere.
But whats this Grace, which you, forsooth, so prize,
For which you stand your own Sworn Enemies?
Whoever saw smelt, tasted felt the same?
Its but an airy notion, or a name.
Fine food for fools, or shallow brains, who know
No better fair and therefore let all go.
Did mercy better Cain, or make him thrive

422

When he pronounc'd himselfe a Fugitive?
What Benefit had Esau who did weep
And in Repenting teares did scald his Cheek?
Or what King Ahab, that he softly went?
Or what poore Judas that he did repent?
Grace doom'd them down to hellish flames, although
To Court the same they steep't their Souls in woe.
To whom she yields a smile, she doth expect
That with a smile, her smile they soon accept
But you have hitherto like sturdy Clowns
Affronted Grace and paid her Smiles with Frowns.
Nay Mercy lookes before she Gives, to see
That those to whom she gives true Christians bee.
That all the Graces of the Spirit do
Like Clouds of sweet perfume from such forth flow.
And that their Souls be to the spirits feet
An Aromatick Spicery most sweet.
Is't so with you? You from her scepter fly,
As judging it a grace graceless to dy.
Your Faith's a Phancy: Fear a Slavery.
Your Hope is Vain, Patience Stupidity.
Your Love is Carnall, selfish, set on toyes:
Your Pray'res are Prattle, or Tautologies.
Your Hearts are full of sins both small, and Greate.
They are as full as is an Egge of meate.
Your Holy Conference and talkings do
But for a Broken Piece of Non-Sense go.
If so, you are accurst; God doth impart
His Blessings onely on the broken heart.
But search your peace turnd o're, and view each side
Graces Magnetick touch will it abide?
Doth Mercys Sun through Peaces lattice clear
Shine in thy Soule? Then what's that Uproare there?
Look well about you, try before you trust.
Though Grace is Gracious; Justice still is just.

423

If so it be with you, say what you can
You are not Saints, or I no Sinner am.

The Third Rank accused.

What thou art too for Christ, it seems? Yet fain
Thou wouldst the World with all her Pomps mentain.
But such as share of Christ, fall short of these.
And have but faint affections to such fees.
Go Coach thy Eyes about the world, and eye
Those Rich inchanting Braveries there Cry
Give us your heart? Wherefore thy heart doth ake
That it such Amorous Objects must forsake.
The Love whereto so stuffs thy heart; no place
Is left therein for any Saving Grace.
Its folly then to think that Grace was shown,
When in persute thy heart was overthrown.
It was not Grace in Grace that made thee fall:
For unto Grace thou hast no heart at all.
Thou thoughtst these Objects of thy Love would faile.
The thoughts of which do make thy Spirits faile.
And this is easely prov'd: for thou didst goe
Into the field with God, as with a foe.
And bravely didst outbrave the Notion Grace.
And Chose to flee rather than it imbrace.
And well thou mightst, A Bird in hand doth far
Transcend the Quires that in the Hedges are.
And so its still: turn o're thy heart, thou'lt finde
As formerly so still thou art inclinde.
In sin thou hadst delight, didst grace defy:
And dost so still: For still thou dost reply.
Whoever went to Hell, and Came again
To shew to anyone, what is that pain?

424

Did ever any slip to Heaven to see
Whether there's there a God? and who is hee?
What is that fancide God rowld o're the tongue?
Oh! Brainsick Notion, or an Oldwifes Song!
That He should wholy be in e'ry place
At once all here, and there, yet in no space.
That all should be in any part though small:
That any part of him should be him all.
And that he hath no parts though Head, and Heart.
Hands, Ears, and Eyes he hath, he hath no part.
That he is all in all, yea all in thee,
That he is also all that time in mee.
That he should be all in each Atom small:
And yet the whole cannot contain him all.
That he doth all things in a moment see,
At once, of things to Come, Past, and now bee.
That He no Elder, he no Younger is,
Than when the World began: (What wonders this?)
That time that flies from all with him remains,
These are Chamaera's Coin'd in Wanton brains.
Among which Fopperies mans Soul may go,
Concerning which thou mak'st so much ado.
Nay; what? or where is Hell Can any show?
This Bugbare in the Darke, 's a mere Scar-Crow.
But say its true, there is an Hell: a God.
A Soul Immortall in a mortall Clod:
Did God such principles infuse as egge
The Soul from him into Eternall plague?
Thou dost Confess that God doth not Command
Such things of us as had are of no hand.
Which sure he doth, if he deny to save
Whom live by Natures Law: which Law he Gave.
Yet grant this tenet which thy heart denies,
Christ saveth none but whom he sanctifies.
Thou art not sanctifide in any part:
For sins keepe Centinall within thy heart
And there they train, therein they Rentdevouz.

425

Her troops therein do quarter: and do house.
And hence as from a fountain Head there streams
Through ev'ry part Pollution in the Veans.
Hence sprouts Presumption making much too bold
To catch such Shaddows which no hand can hold.
Hence Harebrain'd Rashness rushes in the Brain:
Hence Madbrain'd Anger which no man can tame.
Hence Crackbrain'd folly, or a shatter'd Wit
That none Can Plaster: none can med'cine it.
Hence a stiff, stubborn, and Rebellious Will
That sooner breakes than buckles to fulfill
Gods Laws: and so for other sins thou'lt find
A Forward Will joyn'd with a froward minde.
Thy Heart doth lip such Languague, though thy Lip
Is loath to let such Languague open slip.
I see thy secret thoughts: and such they bee,
That Wish there was no God, or I was Hee.
Or that there was no Holiness, unless
Those sins thou'rt given to, were Holiness.
Or that there was no Hell, except for those
Who stand for Holiness, and sin oppose.
Or that there was no heaven t'enter in,
Except for those Who pass their Lives in Sin.
Though thou the Languague of thy heart outface
Dost, yet thou huggest sin, dost hiss out Grace.
Set Heaven, and Hell aside its clearly shown,
Thou lov'st mee more than God thou seem'st to own.
Hence was it not for these, it plainly 'pears
Thy God for servants might go shake his ears.
For thou to keep within my booke dost still
Ungod thy God not walking by his Will.
This Languague of thy heart doth this impart
I am a Saint, if thou no Sinner art.

426

A Threnodiall Dialogue between The Second and Third Ranks.

SECOND
Oh you! How do you? Alas! how do things go
With you, and with your Souls? For once we know
You did as we, Welt, Wallow, Soake in Sin;
For which Gods ire infires our hearts within.

THIRD
Ne're worse, though when secure in sin much worse.
Though curst by sin, we did not feele the Curse.
Now seing we no help can see, we, rue.
Would God it was with us as't is with you.

SECOND
With us! alas! a Flint would melt to see
A Deadly foe, in such a Case as wee.
God seems our Foe, repent we Can't: but finde
To ill Goodwill, to Good, a wayward minde.

THIRD
This is in you your Grace, we easely spie
The Love of God within your looks to ly.
But oh! our Souls set in sins Cramp stand bent
To Badness, and no Grace we have t'Repent.

SECOND
This is your Charity. But if you saw
Those ugly Crawling Sins that do us knaw
You'd Change your minde. You mourn, and pray we see:
We would not for a World, you were as wee.

THIRD
Repent! and Pray! Aye, so the Traytor Cast,
Cries, Good my Lord! yea, when his Doom is past.

427

You erre through your Abundant Charity.
We dare not wish, as we, our Enemy.

SECOND
Your Low esteemings of yourselves enlarge
Ours of you much. But oh, that Dismall Charge!
We don't Repent, Believe, we nothing do:
No Grace we have though something Gracelike show.

THIRD
Is't so with you who do so much out do
Poor nothings us? Oh! whither shall we go?
Our Grace a Mockgrace is: of Ulcerous Boiles.
We are as full, as Satan is of Wiles.

SECOND
There's not a Sin that is not in our Heart.
And if Occasion were, it would out start.
There's not a Precept that we have not broke.
Hence not a Promise unto us is spoke.

THIRD
Its worse with us: The Preacher speaks no word.
The Word of God no sentence doth afford;
But fall like burning Coals of Hell new blown
Upon our Souls: and on our Heads are thrown.

SECOND
Its worse with us. Behold Gods threatonings all;
Nay Law, and Gospell, on our Heads do fall.
Both Hell, and Heaven, God and Divell Do
With Wracking Terrours Consummate our Woe.

THIRD
We'le ne're believe that you are worse than wee,
For Worse than us wee judge no Soul can bee.
We know not where to run, nor what to doe.
Would God it was no worse with us than you.

428

SECOND
Than us, alas! What, would you fain aspire
Out of the Frying Pan into the Fire?
Change States with you with all our hearts we would
Nay, and give boot therewith, if that we could.

THIRD
Say what you can, we can't but thinke this true
That Grace's Ambush hath surprized you.
But Judgment layes an Ambush strong to take
[OMITTED]

SECOND
What Charity have you for us? When thus
You judge amiss both of yourselves and us?
What pitty is't? Yet God will you repay.
Although we perish, and be cast away.

THIRD
The Lord forbid the last, and grant we may
Deceived be wherein we be, you say.
We Cannot wish a Toade as wee, but Crave,
Your prayers for us, that we may pardon have.

SECOND
Our Pray'res, are pray'reless: Oh! to what we bee
An ugly Toad's an Angell bright we see.
Oh pray, pray you, oh pray, for us that so
The Lord of Mercy Mercy on's may show.

THIRD
O would we could! but oh Hells Gripes do grinde
Yea writh our Souls with Cramps of e'ry kinde.
If Grace begrace us not, we go to Hell.
The Good Lord help us both, thus fare you Well.

429

Their Call in this Sad State for Mercy.

We humbly beg, oh Lord, to know our Crime.
That we thus tortur'de are before our time.
Before our Time? Lord give's this Word again.
For we have long ago deserv'de Hells flame.
If Mercy wrought not Miracles none could
Us monuments of mercy now behold.
But oh! while Mercy waits we slaves to sin,
Heap up sins Epha far above the brim.
What shall we do when to account we're Calld?
How will abused Mercy burn, and scald?
We know not How, nor Where to stay or goe.
We know not whom, nor What to trust or doe.
Should we run hence from Mercy, Justice will
Run hotly after us our blood to spill.
But should we run to Mercy, Justice may
Hold Mercies hands while Vengeance doth us slay.
And if we trust to Grace, necessity
Binds us by force at Grace's Grace to ly.
But if we run from Grace, we headlong cast
Ourselves upon the Spiles of Ruine Vast.
And if we claim her ours, she'l surely smite
Us, for presuming on an others right.

Who'le with a Leaking, old Crack't Hulk assay,
To brave the raging Waves of Adria?
Or who can Cross the Main Pacifick o're?
Without a Vessell Wade from Shore to Shore?
What wade the mighty main from brim to brim,
As if it would not reach above the Chin?
But, oh! poor wee, must wade from brinck to brinck
With such a Weight as would bright Angells sink.
Or venture angry Adria, or drown

430

When Vengeance's sea doth break her floodgates down.
If stay, or Go to sea we drown. Then see
In what a wofull Pickle, Lord, we bee.
Rather than tarry, or the rough sea trust,
On the Pacificke Ocean forth we thrust.
Necessity lies on's: we dare not stay:
If drown we must, we'l drown in Mercy's Sea.
Impute it not presumption if we high
To Cast ourselves on Mercies Clemency.
Is't not as great Presumption, Lord, to stand
And gaze on ruine, but refuse the hand
Which offers help? Or on such Courses fall
Which fall to ruin, ruinating all?
Lord, pitty, pitty us, Lord pitty send:
A thousand pitties tis we should offend.
But oh! we did, and are thereto propence:
And what we count off, oft thou Countst offence.
We've none to trust: but on thy Grace we ly,
If dy we must, in mercy's arms wee'l dy.
Then pardon, Lord, and put away our guilt.
So we be thine, deale with us as thou wilt.

The Soule Bemoning Sorrow rowling upon a resolution to seek Advice of Gods people.

Alas! my Soule, product of Breath Divine,
For to illuminate a Lump of Slime.
Sad Providence! Must thou below thus tent,
In such a Cote as strangles with ill sent?
Or in such sensuall Organs make thy stay
Which from thy noble end do make thee stray?
My nobler part, why dost thou laquy to
The Carnall Whynings of my senses so?
What? thou become a Page, a Peasant, nay,

431

A Slave unto a Durty Clod of Clay!
Why should the Kirnell bring such Cankers forth
To please the shell, as will devour them both?
Why didst thou thus thy Milkwhite Robes defile
With Crimson spots of scarlet sins most vile?

My Muddy Tent, Why hast thou done so ill
To Court, and kiss my Soule, yet kissing kill?
Why didst thou Whyning, egg her thus away
Thy sensuall Appetite to satisfy?
Art thou so safe, and firm a Cabinet
As though thou soaking lie in nasty wet,
And in all filthy Puddles: yet though thin
Can ne're drench through to stain the Pearle within?
Its no such thing: Thou'rt but a Cawle-wrought Case.
And when thou fallst, thou foulst its shining face.
Or but her mudwalld Lid which, wet by sin
Diffuseth all in her that it shuts in.
One stain stains both, when both in one Combine.
A Musty Cask doth marre rich Malmsy Wine.

Woe's mee! my mouldring Heart! What must I do?
When is my moulting time to shed my woe?
Oh! Woefull fall! what fall from Heavenly bliss
To th'bottom of the bottomless Abyss?
Above an angry God! Below, black-blew
Brimstony flames of hell where Sinners rue!
Behinde, a Traile of Sins! Before appeare
An Host of Mercies that abused were!
Without a Raging Divell! and Within
A Wracking Conscience Galling home for Sin!
What Canst not finde one Remedy, my Soule,
On Mercies File for mee? Oh! Search the Rowle.
What freeze to death under such melting means,
Of Grace's Golden, Life Enliv'ning Beams?
What? not one Hope? Alas! I hope there's some.
Although I know not in what way it come.
Although there is no hope within my minde

432

I'le force Hope's Faculty, till Hope I finde.
Some glimmerings of Hope, I hope to spy
In Mercies Golden Stacks, or Remedy.
I therefore am Resolv'd a search to make,
And of the Pious Wise some Counsill take.
Ile then in Pensiveness myselfe apply
To them in hope, but yet halfe hopelessly.
Perhaps these thoughts are blessed motions, though
From whence they are, as yet I do not know.
And if from Christ, Oh! then thrice Happy mee.
If not, I'st not be worser than I bee.

433

The Preface.

SOUL
Long lookt for Sir! Happy, right Happy Saint.
I long to lay before you my Complaint:
And gain your Counsill: but you're strange: and I
Through backwardness lost opportunity.

SAINT
How is't good Sir: methinks I finde there dart
Some pleasant Hopes of you within my heart.
What is your Rantery declinde, foregone?
Your looks are like the Earth you Tread upon.

SOUL
Its true: I do, and well may look so, too
For worse than mee the world did never show.
My sins are dide in grain: all Grace I lack.
This doth my Soul on tenterhooks enwrack.
Wherefore I Counsill Crave touching my sin
My Want of Grace. Temptations too within.

434

The Souls Doubts touching its Sins Answerd.

SAINT
Is this thy Case, Poor Soul, Come then begin:
Make known thy griefe: anatomize thy sin.
Although thy sins as Mountains vast do show,
Yet Grace's fountain doth these mountains flow.

SOUL
True, true indeed, where Mountains sinke but where
They swim, their Heads above these mountains peare.
Mine swim in Mercies boundless Ocean do:
Therefore their Heads above these waters goe.

SAINT
I thought as you, but loe the Lyon hee
Is not so fierce as he is feign'd to bee.
But grant they swim, they'l then swim quite away
On Mercies main, if you Repenting stay.

SOUL
I swim in Mercy: but my sins are sayles
That waft my barke to Hell by Graces Gales.
Is't possible for such as Grace outbrave
(Which is my Case) true Saving Grace to have?

SAINT
That's not thy Sin: thou didst not thus transgress,
Thy Grace-outbraveing sin is bashfulness.
Thou art too backward. Satan strives to hold
Thee fast hereby, and saith, thou art too bold.

SOUL
Alas! How are you out in mee, behold
My best is poison in a Box of Gold.
If with mine Eyes you saw my hearts black stain,
You'de judge my Sins were double dide in grain.

SAINT
Deluded Soul, Satan beguiles thee so
Thou judgst the bend the back side of the bow

435

Dost press thyselfe too hard: Straite Wands appeare
Crook't in, and out, in running rivlets Clear.

SOUL
You raise the fabrick of your pious hope
Upon such water Bells, as rots denote.
For my Profession doth but cloake my sin.
A guilded Maukin's stufft with Chaff within.

SAINT
I love not thus to row in such a Stream:
And if I did, I should so touch my Theme.
But muster up your Sins, though more or few:
Grace hath an Edge to Cut their bonds atwo.

SOUL
This is my Sin, My Sin I love, but hate
God and his Grace. And who's in such a state?
My Love, and Hatred do according rise
Unto Sins height, and unto Grace's sise.

SAINT
I thought as you when first to make me see
God powred out his Spirit sweet on mee.
But oh strange Fetch! What Love, yet hate to have?
And hate in heart what heartily you Crave?

SOUL
Sometimes meethinks I wish. Oh! that there were
No Heaven nor Hell. For then I need not feare.
I'm pestred with black thoughts of Blasphemy,
And after thoughts do with these thoughts Comply.

SAINT
See Satans Wiles: while thou in sin didst dwell
Thou Calledst not in Question Heaven, or Hell.
But now thou'rt out with sin he makes thee Call
In Question both, that thou in Hell mightst fall.

SOUL
But, oh! methinks, I finde I sometimes wish
There was no God, or that there was not this.

436

Or that his wayes were other than they bee.
Oh! Horrid, horrid, Hellish thoughts in mee!

SAINT
'Twas thus, or worse with me. I often thought,
Oh! that there was no God: or God was Naught.
Or that his Wayes were other Wayes. Yet hee
In mighty mercy hath bemerci'de mee.

SOUL
My Heart is full of thoughts, and ev'ry thought
Full of Sad, Hellish, Drugstery enwrought.
Methinks it strange to Faith that God should bee
Thus All in All, yet all in Each part. See.

SAINT
'Twas so with me. Then let your Faith abound
For Faith will stand where Reason hath no ground.
This proves that God is Onely God: for hee
Surpasseth the superlative degree.

SOUL
Methinks I am a Frigot fully fraught,
And stoughed full with each Ath'istick thought.
Methinks I hate to think on God: anone
Methinks there is no God to thinke upon.

SAINT
I thought as much at first: my thoughts, so vain,
Were thus that God was but stampt i'th'brain.
But God disperst these Wicked thoughts. Behold
The Various methods of the serpent old!

SOUL
All arguments against mee argue still:
I see not one bespeaks me ought, but ill.
Whatse're I use I do abuse: Oh! shew,
Whether the Case was ever thus with you.

437

SAINT
It was: But see how Satan acts, for his
He troubles not with such a thought as this.
But Wicked thoughts he in the Saints doth fling,
And saith they're theirs, accusing them of Sin.

SOUL
Methinks my heart is harder than a flint,
My Will is Wilfull, frowardness is in't,
And mine Affections do my Soule betray,
Sedaning of it from the blessed way.

SAINT
Loe, Satan hath thy thoughts inchanted quite,
And Carries them a pickpack from the right.
Thou art too Credulous: For Satan lies.
It is not as you deem: deem otherwise.

SOUL
But I allow of sin: I like it Well,
And Chiefly grieve, because it goes to hell.
And Were it ever so with you, I see
Grace hath prevented you which doth not mee.

SAINT
I thought as you: but now I clearly spy,
These Satans brats will like their Curst Sire ly.
He squibd these thoughts in you, you know not how.
And tempts you then to deem you them allow.

SOUL
And so I do: would I could Sins disown:
But if I do, thy'l own me for their own.
I have no Grace to do't: this prooves me in
A Lamentable State, a State of Sin.

SAINT
What ambling work within a Ring is here?
What Circular Disputes of Satans Geer?

438

To proove thee Graceless he thy sins persues:
To proove thee sinfull, doth thy Grace accuse.
Why dost thou then believe the Tempter so?
He seeks by helping thee thy Overthrow.

Doubts from the Want of Grace Answerd.

SOUL
Such as are Gracious grow in Grace therefore
Such as have Grace, are Gracious evermore.
Who sin Commit are sinfull: and thereby
They grow Ungodly. So I feare do I.

SAINT
Such as are Gracious, Graces have therefore
They evermore desire to have more.
But such as never knew this dainty fare
Do never wish them 'cause they dainties are.

SOUL
Alas! alas! this still doth me benight.
I've no desire, or no Desire aright.
And this is Clear: my Hopes do witherd ly,
Before their buds breake out, their blossoms dy.

SAINT
When fruits do thrive, the blossom falls off quite.
No need of blossoms when the seed is ripe.
The Apple plainly prooves the blossoms were.
Thy withred Hopes hold out Desires as Cleare.

SOUL
Alas! my Hopes seem but like blasted fruit.
Dead on the Stoole before it leaves its root.

439

For if it lively were a growth it hath,
And would be grown e're this to Saving Faith.

SAINT
[OMITTED] I'le make most plain
[OMITTED]
Which lively is, layes hold on Christ too, though
Thou deemst it doth like blasted blossoms show.

SOUL
If it was so, then Certainly I should,
With Faith Repentance have. But, oh! behold,
This Grace leaves not in mee a single print.
Mine Eyes are Adamant, my Heart is Flint.

SAINT
Repentance is not argued so from Tears.
As from the Change that in the Soul appears.
And Faith Ruld by the Word. Hence ever spare
To mete Repentance out by Satans square.

SOUL
I fear Repentance is not Genuine.
Its Feare that makes me from my sins decline.
And if it was, I should delight much more,
To bathe in all Gods Ordinances pure.

SAINT
And dost thou not? Poore Soule, thou dost I know.
Why else dost thou Relent, and sorrow so?
But Satan doth molest thee much to fling
Thee from thy Dutie into e'ry Sin.

SOUL
If these were my Delight, I should Embrace
The royall Retinue of Saving Grace,
Peace, Patience Pray're, Meekness, Humility,
Love, Temp'rance, Feare, Syncerety, and Joy.

440

SAINT
You do: though not alike at all times sure,
And you do much desire to have more.
I wonder that you judge them worth the having,
Or Crave them, if they are not got by Craving.

SOUL
My measure is so small, I doubt, alas!
Its next to none, and will for nothing pass.
But if I had but this or that Degree,
Of all these Graces, then thrice Happy mee!

SAINT
You have not what you Would, and therefore will
Not own you have at all. What Sullen still?
If God should fill you, and not work your bane,
You would not be Content, but would Complain.

SOUL
What must my vessell voide of Grace be thrust
By you in Glory thus among the Just
As Gracious though the Dose of Grace I finde
Is scarce a Grain? Can this Content your minde?

SAINT

God, and His All, 's the Object of the Will:
All God alone can onely it up fill.
He'd kill the Willer, if his Will he should
Fill to the brim, while Cabbined in mould.
What Mortall can contain immortall bliss;
If it be poured on him as it is?
A single Beam thus touching him Would make
The stoutest mortall man to ashes shake.
Will nothing give Content unless you have
While here a mortall, all your Will can Crave?
If so, the Promise which is made to those
That hunger after Righteousness you'l lose.
For being full, you could not hunger still
Nor Wish for more you having once your Will.

441

You cant contain Halfe, what in truth you would
Or do not Wish for Halfe of what you should.
Can't all the sea o'refill an Acorn bole?
Can't God orefill a little Whimpring Soul?
What Can a Nutshell all the World Enfold?
Or can thy Heart all Heavens Glory Hold?
And never break? What! Canst thou here below
Weld Heavens bliss while mortall thus? Oh! No.
God Loves you better than to grant your Cry,
When you do Cry for that which will destroy.
Give but a Child a Knife to still his Din:
He'l cut his Fingers with it ere he blin.

SOUL
Had I but any Sparke of Grace, I might
Have much more than I have with much delight.
How can I trust to you? You do not know
Whether I have a Grain of Grace, or no.

SAINT
You think you might have more: you shall have so,
But if you'd all at once, you could not grow.
And if you could not grow, you'd grieving fall.
All would not then Content you, had you all.
Should Graces Floodgate thus at once breake down
You most would lose, or else it would you drown.
He'l fill you but by drops that so he may
Not drown you in't, nor Cast a Drop away.

Doubts from Satans Temptations Answered.

SOUL
But oh the Tempter harries me so fast
And on me falls to make me fall at last.

442

Had I but Grace surely I might repell
His firy Darts that dart on fire from hell.

SAINT
If you had none, he never would bestow
Such darts upon you Grace to overthrow.
The Bullets shot are blinde, the fowlers eye
Aims at the marke before he lets them fly.

SOUL
But he bewilders me: I scarce can finde
But lose myselfe again within my minde.
My thoughts are Laberryntht, I can't enjoyn
Any thereof the rest to discipline.

SAINT
I once was thus. The Crooked Serpent old
Doth strive to hinder what he can't withhold.
And where he cannot keep from Grace, he's loath,
To keep from keeping Saving Grace from Growth.

SOUL
But if a Pious thought appeare, I finde
It's brambled in the briers of my minde.
Or in those brambles lost, or slinks away:
But Viprous thoughts do in these thickets stay.
With these I pest'red am in Duty so,
I doubt I undo all thereby I do.

SAINT
First Satan envies each Choice thought: then hee
To murder it, or make't short winded bee
Doth raise a Fog, or fude of thoughts most vile
Within the soul; and darkens all that ile.
And when he cannot hinder pray're he'le strive
To spoil the same, but still hold on, and thrive.

443

SOUL
But yet I feare there oft lurks secretly
Under each Duty done Hypocrisy.
I finde no heart unto the Wayes of Grace.
It's but their End my heart would fain imbrace.

SAINT

Why give you Credit to your deadly foe?
He turns ore ery stone Grace t'overthrow.
He'l fight on both sides Grace, Grace to destroy.
To ruinate your Souls Eternally.
He makes some thus red mad on mischiefe grow
And not to matter what they say, or do.
He makes Civility to pass for Grace,
With such as hunt riches hot senting trace.
To such as God doth Call, he doth reply
That all their Grace is but Hypocrisy.

Contrarily, a Refuge strong to make
For e'ry sin, he doth this method take.
He tells the Doubting soul, this is no Sin,
Until he Diveth over head therein.
But then to breake his Heart he doth reply:
That done is Sin, He sinned willingly.
He to the Sinner saith, Great Sins are small,
Small Sins he telleth him, are none at all.
And so to such there is no sin: for why
Great sins are small, Small None. But oh but eye
If God awakes a Soul, he doth begin
To make him count indifferent things as Sin,
Nay Lawfull things wanting a Circumstance
Or having one too much although by Chance.
And thus he doth involve the doubting soule
In dismall doubts and makes it fear to rowle,
Himselfe on Christ for fear it should presume.
But if he doth he quickly turns his tune

444

And doth accuse, because he did not take
As soon as mercy did an offer make.
Oh! see the Craft the Serpent old doth use
To hopple souls in Sin, and Sin to Choose.
One while he terms true Grace a morall thing.
One while morality a splendid Sin.

SOUL
You shew the matter as the matter is
But shew me how in such a Case as this,
T'repell the Tempter, and the field t'obtain,
To Chaff away the Chaff and Choose the grain.

SAINT

Perform the Duty, leave th'event unto
His Grace that doth both in, and outside know.
Beg pardon for your Sins: bad thoughts defy,
That are Cast in you by the Enemy.
Approove yourselfe to God, and unto his
And beg a pardon where you do amiss.
If wronged go to God for right, and pray
Hard thoughted Saints black thoughted thoughts away.
Renew your acts of Faith: believe in him,
Who died on the Cross to Cross out Sin.
Allow not any Sin: and if you sin
Through frailty, Faith will a new pardon bring.
Do all Good Works, work all good things you know
As if you should be sav'd for doing so.
Then undo all you've done, and it deny
And on a naked Christ alone rely.
Believe not Satan, Unbelieve his tales
Lest you should misbelieve the Gospell bales.
Do what is right, and for the right Contend.
Make Grace your way, and Glory'l be your End.

Yet as a further Caution still I'le shew
You other Wiles of Satan to eschue.
And that a Saint may of a Saint account
Not as a Saint though once with God in th'mount.

445

Some of Satans Sophestry.

The Tempter greatly seeks, though secretly,
With an Ath'istick Hoodwinke man to blinde,
That so the Footsteps of the Deity
Might stand no longer stampt upon his minde.
Which when he can't blot out, by blinding quite,
He strives to turn him from the Purer Light.

With Wiles enough, he on his thoughts intrudes,
That God's a Heape of Contradictions high,
But when these thoughts man from his thoughts excludes
Thou knowst not then (saith he) this Mystery.
And when the first String breaks, he strives to bring
Into sins brambles by the other string.

When God Calls out a Soule, he subtilly
Saith God is kinde: you need not yet forsake
Your Sins: but if he doth, he doth reply,
Thou'st outstood Grace. Justice will vengeance take.
He'l tell you you Presume on Grace, to fright
You to despare, beholding Justice bright.

Though just before mans mountain sins were mites,
His mites were nothing. Now the scales are turn'd.
His mites are mountains now, of mighty height
And must with Vengeance-Lightening be burn'd.
Greate Sins are Small, till men repent of Sin:
Then Small are far too big to be forgi'n.

While man thinks slightly, that he will repent,
There's time enough (saith he), it's easly done.
But when repent he doth, the time is spent,
Saith he, it is too late to be begun.
To keep man from't, it's easly done, saith he,
To dant him in't, he saith, it Cannot bee.

446

So Faith is easy till the Soule resolves
To Live to Christ, and upon Christ rely.
Then Saving Faith he bold presumption Calls.
Hast thou (saith he) in Christ propriety?
The Faithfulls Faith, he stiles Presumption great,
But the Presumptuous, theirs is Faith Compleat.

Nay though the Faith be true he acts so sly,
As to raise doubts: and then it must not do:
Unless Assurance do it Certify:
Which if it do, it douts of it also.
Faith is without Assurance shuffled out,
And if Assurance be, that's still a Doubt.

But should the Soule assured once, once Doubt,
Then his Assurance no Assurance is:
Assurance doth assure the Soul right out
Leave not a single Doubt to do amiss.
But Satan still will seeke to Pick an hole
In thy Assurance to unsure thy Soul.

Should any Soule once an Assurance get,
Into his hands, soon Satans Pick-Lock key
With Sinfull Wards Unlocks his Cabinet
To Steal the Jewell in it thence away.
The Soul thus pillag'de, droops unto the grave.
It's greater grief to lose than not to have.

He doth molest the Soule, it cannot see
Without Assurance Extraordinary
Which should it have, it would soon take to bee
A Mere Delusion of the Adversary.
Assurance would not serve, should God Convay
It in an Usuall or Unusuall way.

Thus I might search, Poor Soul, the Magazeen
Of Gospell Graces over: I might paint
Out Satan sculking each side each unseen
To Hoodwinck Sinners, and to hopple Saints.
For he to dim their Grace, and slick up sin
Calls Brass bright Gold, bright Golde but brass or tin.

447

He tempts to bring the soul too low or high,
To have it e're in this or that extream:
To see no want or want alone to eye:
To keep on either side the golden mean.
If it was in't to get it out he'l 'ledge,
Thou on the wrong side art the Pale or Hedge.

When God awakes a Soule he'l seeke to thrust
It on Despare for want of Grace or get
And puff't with Pride, or in Securety hush't
Or Couzen it with Graces Counterfet.
Which if he can't he'l Carp at Grace, and raile
And say, this is not Grace, it thus doth faile.

And thus he strives with Spite, Spleen, bitter Gall
That Sinners might Dishonour God Most high:
That Saints might never honour God at all.
That those in Sin, Those not in Grace might dy.
And that the Righteous, Gracious, Pious, Grave,
Might have no Comfort of the Grace they have.

Lest you be foild herewith, watch well unto
Your Soul, that thrice Ennobled noble Gem:
For Sins are flaws therein, and double woe
Belongs thereto if it be found in them.
Are Flaws in Venice Glasses bad? What in
Bright Diamonds? What then in man is Sin?

Difficulties arising from Uncharitable Cariages of Christians.

When these assaults proove vain, the Enemy
One Saint upon another oft doth set,
To make each fret like to Gum'd Taffity,
And fire out Grace thus by a Chafe or Fret.

448

Uncharitable Christians inj'rous are:
Two Freestons rubd together each do ware.

When Satan jogs the Elbow of the one
To Spleenish Passions which too oft doth rise,
For want of Charity, or hereupon
From some Uncharitable harsh Surmise,
Then the Poore Doubting Soul is oft oppresst,
By hard Reflections from an harder breast.

Th' Uncharitable Soul oft thus reflects,
After each Birth a second birth doth Come.
Your Second Birth no Second Birth ejects.
The Babe of Grace then's strangld in the Womb.
There's no new Birth born in thy Soul thou'lt find
If that the after Birth abide behinde.

The Babe of Grace, thinks he, 's not born its sure.
Sins Secundine is not as yet out Cast.
The Soul no Bracelet of Graces pure
Doth ware, while wrapt in nature's slough so fast.
And thus he doth for want of Charity,
The wounded wound Uncharitably.

And thus some Child of God, when led awry
By Satan, doth with Satan take a part,
Against some Child of God, whom frowardly
He by Reflections harsh wounds thus in heart.
Pough! Here's Religion! Strange indeed! Quoth hee.
Grace makes a Conscience of things here that bee.

Grace Conscious makes one how to spend ones time
How to perform the Duties of one's place
Not onely in the things which are Divine;
But in the things which ware a Sublime Face.
Do you do so? And order good persue?
Don't Earth and Heaven interfer in you?

Will God accept the service if the time
Is stolen from our Calling him to pay?

449

What will he yield that Sacrifice his shine,
That from anothers Altar's stole away?
God and our Callings Call: and th' Sacrifice
Stole from our Callings Altar he defies.

Yet if it falls on worldly things intense
Its soon scourgd then with whips of Worldliness:
It gives to many, nay to all, offence
And gathers to itselfe great penciveness.
Intense on God, or on the world, all's one.
The Harmless Soule is hardly thought upon.

Such Traps, and Wilds as these are, Satan sets,
For to intrap the Innocent therein:
These are his Wyers, Snares, and tangling Nets,
To hanck, and hopple harmless souls in Sin.
If in such briars thou enbrambled light
Call on the Mighty God with all thy might.

On God in Christ Call hard: For in him hee
Hath Bowells melting, and Expanded arms:
Hath sweet imbraces, Tender mercy free
Hath Might Almighty too to save from harms.
Into his Dove streakt Downy bosom fly,
In Spite of Spite, or Spiters Enmity.

These are Gods Way-Marks thus inscrib'd; this hand
Points you the way unto the Land Divine,
The Land of Promise, Good Immanuels Land.
To New Jerusalem above the line.
Ten thousand times thrice tribled blesst he is,
That walketh in the suburbs here of bliss.

His Wildred state will wane away, and hence
These Crooked Passages will soon appeare
The Curious needlework of Providence,
Embrodered with golden Spangles Cleare.
Judge not this Web while in the Loom, but stay
From judging it untill the judgment day.

450

For while its foiled up the best Can see
But little of it, and that little too
Shews weather beaten but when it shall bee
Hung open all at once, Oh beautious shew!
Though thrids run in, and out, Cross snarld and twinde
The Web will even be enwrought you'l finde.

If in the golden Meshes of this Net
(The Checkerwork of Providence) you're Caught
And Carride hence to Heaven, never fret:
Your Barke shall to an Happy Bay be brought.
You'l se both Good and Bad drawn up hereby,
These to Hells Horrour, those to Heavens Joy.

Fear not Presumption then, when God invites:
Invite not Fear, when that he doth thee Call:
Call not in Question whether he delights
In thee, but make him thy Delight, and all.
Presumption lies in Backward Bashfulness,
When one is backward though a bidden Guest.

The Effect of this Discourse upon the second, and third Rancks.

RANK TWO
Whence Come these Spicy Gales? Shall we abuse
Such sweet Perfumes with putrid noses?
Who did in this Diffusive Aire Diffuse
Such Aromatick fumes or Posies?
These Spirits are with Graces sweetly splic'te;
What Good Comes in them? Oh! they Come from Christ!

451

RANK THREE
Whence Come these Cloudy Pillars of Perfume?
Sure Christ doth on his Garden blow
Or open Graces Spice Box, I presume
From whence these Reechs do flow:
For oh! heart Ravishing steams do scale my Soule,
And do in Heavenly Raptures it enrowle.

RANK TWO
Sure Grace a progress in her Coach doth ride,
Lapt up in all Perfumes, whose sent,
Hath suffocated sin, and nullifi'de
Sad Griefe, as in our Souls it went.
Sin sincks the Soul to Hell: but here is Love
Sincks Sin to Hell; and soars the Soul above.

RANK THREE
I strove to soar on high. But oh! methought
Like to a Lump of Lead my sin
Prest down my Soul; But now it's off, she's Caught
In holy Raptures up to him.
Oh! let us then sing Praise: methinks I soar
Above the stars, and stand at Heavens Doore.

Our Insufficiency to Praise God suitably, for his Mercy.

Should all the World so wide to atoms fall
Should th'Aire be shred to motes, should we
Se all the Earth hackt here so small
That none Could smaller bee?
Should Heaven, and Earth be Atomizd, we guess
The Number of these Motes were numberless.

452

But should we then a World each Atom deem,
Where dwell as many pious men
As all these Motes the world Could teem
Were it shred into them?
Each Atom would the World surmount wee guess
Whose men in number would be numberless.

But had each pious man, as many Tongues
At singing all together then
The Praise that to the Lord belongs
As all these Atoms men?
Each man would sing a World of Praise, we guess,
Whose Tongues in number would be numberless.

And had each Tongue, as many Songs of Praise
To sing to the Almighty ALL
As all these men have Tongues to raise
To him their Holy Call?
Each Tongue would tune a World of Praise, we guess
Whose songs in number would be numberless.

Nay, had each song as many Tunes most sweet
Or one intwisting in't as many,
As all these Tongues have songs most meet
Unparallelld by any?
Each song a world of Musick makes we guess
Whose Tunes in number would be numberless.

Now should all these Conspire in us that we
Could breath such Praise to thee, Most High?
Should we thy Sounding Organs be
To ring such Melody?
Our Musick would the World of Worlds out ring
Yet be unfit within thine Eares to ting.

Thou didst us mould, and us new mould when wee
Were worse than mould we tread upon.
Nay Nettles made by Sin wee bee.
Yet hadst Compassion.
Thou hast pluckt out our Stings; and by degrees
Hast of us, lately Wasps, made Lady-Bees.

453

Though e're our Tongues thy Praises due can fan
A Weevle with the World may fly,
Yea fly away: and with a span
We may out mete the Sky.
Though what we can is but a Lisp, We pray
Accept thereof. We have no better pay.

The Soule Seeking Church-Fellowship.

The Soul refresht with gracious Steams, behold,
Christs royall Spirit richly tended
With all the guard of Graces manifold
Throngs in to solace it amended
And by the Trinity befriended.

Befriended thus! It lives a Life indeed
A Life! as if it Liv'd for Life.
For Life Eternall: wherefore with all heed
It trims the same with Graces rife
To be the Lambs espoused Wife.

Yea, like a Bride all Gloriously arraide
It is arrai'de Whose dayly ware
Is an Imbrodery with Grace inlaide,
Of Sanctuary White most Faire,
Its drest in Heavens fashion rare.

Each Ordinance and Instrument of Grace
Grace doth instruct are Usefull here.
They're Golden Pipes where Holy Waters trace
Into the spirits spicebed Deare,
To vivify what withering were.

Hence do their Hearts like Civit-Boxes sweet
Evaporate their Love full pure,
Which through the Chincks of their Affections reechs

454

To God, Christ, Christians all, though more,
To such whose Counsills made their Cure.

Hence now Christ's Curious Garden fenced in
With Solid Walls of Discipline
Well wed, and watered, and made full trim:
The Allies all Laid out by line:
Walks for the Spirit all Divine.

Whereby Corruptions are kept out, whereby
Corrupters also get not in,
Unless the Lyons Carkass secretly
Lies lapt up in a Lamblike skin
Which Holy seems yet's full of sin.

For on the Towers of these Walls there stand
Just Watchmen Watching day, and night,
And Porters at each Gate, who have Command
To open onely to the right.
And all within may have a sight.

Whose Zeale, should it along a Channell slide
Not banckt with Knowledg right and Good,
Nor Bottomed with Love: nor wiers ti'de
To hinder prejudiciall Blood
The Currant will be full of mud.

But yet this Curious Garden richly set,
The Soul accounts Christs Paradise
Set with Choice slips, and flowers: and longs to get
Itselfe set here: and by advice
To grow herein and so rejoyce.

455

The Soul admiring the Grace of the Church Enters into Church Fellowship.

How is this City, Lord, of thine bespangled
With Graces shine?
With Ordinances alli'de, and inam'led,
Which are Divine?
Walld in with Discipline her Gates obtaine
Just Centinalls with Love Imbellisht plain.

Hence glorious, and terrible she stands;
That Converts new
Seing her Centinalls of all demand
The Word to shew;
Stand gazing much between two Passions Crusht
Desire, and Feare at once which both wayes thrust.

Thus are they wrackt. Desire doth forward screw
To get them in,
But Feare doth backward thrust, that lies purdue,
And slicks that Pin.
You cannot give the word, Quoth she, which though
You stumble on't its more than yet you know.

But yet Desires Screw Pin doth not slack:
It still holds fast.
But Fears Screw Pin turns back or Screw doth Crack
And breaks at last.
Hence on they go, and in they enter: where
Desire Converts to joy: joy Conquours Fear.

They now enCovenant With God: and His:
They thus indent.
The Charters Seals belonging unto this
The Sacrament

456

So God is theirs avoucht, they his in Christ.
In whom all things they have, with Grace are splic'te.

Thus in the usuall Coach of Gods Decree
They bowle and swim
To Glory bright, if no Hypocrisie
Handed them in.
For such must shake their handmaid off lest they
Be shakt out of this Coach, or dy in th'way.

The Glory of and Grace in the Church set out.

Come now behold
Within this Knot What Flowers do grow:
Spanglde like gold:
Whence Wreaths of all Perfumes do flow.
Most Curious Colours of all sorts you shall
With all Sweet Spirits sent. Yet thats not all.

Oh! Look, and finde
These Choicest Flowers most richly sweet
Are Disciplinde
With Artificiall Angells meet.
An heap of Pearls is precious: but they shall
When set by Art Excell: Yet that's not all.

Christ's Spirit showers
Down in his Word, and Sacraments
Upon these Flowers
The Clouds of Grace Divine Contents.
Such things of Wealthy Blessings on them fall
As make them sweetly thrive: Yet that's not all.

Yet still behold!
All flourish not at once. We see

457

While some Unfold
Their blushing Leaves, some buds there bee.
Here's Faith, Hope, Charity in flower, which call
On yonders in the Bud. Yet that's not all.

But as they stand
Like Beauties reeching in perfume
A Divine Hand
Doth hand them up to Glories room:
Where Each in sweet'ned Songs all Praises shall
Sing all ore heaven for aye. And that's but all.

The Souls Admiration hereupon.

What I such Praises sing! How can it bee?
Shall I in Heaven sing?
What I, that scarce durst hope to see
Lord, such a thing?
Though nothing is too hard for thee:
One Hope hereof seems hard to mee.

What, Can I ever tune those Melodies
Who have no tune at all?
Not knowing where to stop nor Rise,
Nor when to Fall.
To sing thy Praise I am unfit.
I have not learn'd my Gam-Ut yet.

But should these Praises on string'd Instruments
Be sweetly tun'de? I finde
I nonplust am: for no Consents
I ever minde.
My Tongue is neither Quill, nor Bow:
Nor Can my Fingers Quavers show.

But was it otherwise I have no Kit:
Which though I had, I could

458

Not tune the strings, which soon would slip
Though others should.
But should they not, I cannot play:
But for an F should strike an A.

And should thy Praise upon Winde Instruments
Sound all o're Heaven Shrill?
My Breath will hardly through such Vents
A Whistle fill,
Which though it should, its past my spell
By Stops, and Falls to sound it Well.

How should I then, joyn in such Exercise?
One sight of thee'l intice
Mine Eyes to heft: Whose Extasies
Will stob my Voice.
Hereby mine Eyes will bind my Tongue.
Unless thou, Lord, do Cut the thong.

What Use of Useless mee, then there, poore snake?
There Saints, and Angels sing,
Thy Praise in full Cariere, which make
The Heavens to ring.
Yet if thou wilt thou Can'st me raise
With Angels bright to sing thy Praise.

The Joy of Church Fellowship rightly attended.

In Heaven soaring up, I dropt an Eare
On Earth: and oh! sweet Melody:
And listening, found it was the Saints who were
Encoacht for Heaven that sang for Joy.
For in Christs Coach they sweetly sing;
As they to Glory ride therein.

459

Oh! joyous hearts! Enfir'de with holy Flame!
Is speech thus tassled with praise?
Will not your inward fire of Joy contain;
That it in open flames doth blaze?
For in Christ's Coach Saints sweetly sing,
As they to Glory ride therein.

And if a string do slip, by Chance, they soon
Do screw it up again: whereby
They set it in a more melodious Tune
And a Diviner Harmony.
For in Christs Coach they sweetly sing
As they to Glory ride therein.

In all their Acts, publick, and private, nay
And secret too, they praise impart.
But in their Acts Divine and Worship, they
With Hymns do offer up their Heart.
Thus in Christs Coach they sweetly sing
As they to Glory ride therein.

Some few not in; and some whose Time, and Place
Block up this Coaches way do goe
As Travellers afoot, and so do trace
The Road that gives them right thereto
While in this Coach these sweetly sing
As they to Glory ride therein.