Thalia Rediviva The Pass-times and Diversions of a Countrey-muse, In Choice Poems on several Occasions. With Some Learned Remains of the Eminent Eugenius Philalethes. Never made Publick till now [by Henry Vaughan] |
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| III. |
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The Request.
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 | Thalia Rediviva |  |
The Request.
O thou! who did'st deny to me
This world's ador'd felicity,
And ev'ry big, imperious lust,
Which fools admire in sinful Dust;
With those fine, subtile twists, that tye
Their bundles of foul gallantry:
Keep still my weak Eyes from the shine
Of those gay things, which are not thine,
And shut my Ears against the noise
Of wicked, though applauded Joys.
For thou in any land hast store
Of shades and Coverts for thy poor,
Where from the busie dust and heat,
As well as storms, they may retreat.
A Rock, or Bush are douny beds,
When thou art there crowning their heads
With secret blessings: or a Tire
Made of the Comforter's live-fire.
And when thy goodness in the dress
Of anger, will not seem to bless:
Yet do'st thou give them that rich Rain,
Which as it drops, clears all again.
This world's ador'd felicity,
And ev'ry big, imperious lust,
Which fools admire in sinful Dust;
With those fine, subtile twists, that tye
Their bundles of foul gallantry:
Keep still my weak Eyes from the shine
Of those gay things, which are not thine,
And shut my Ears against the noise
Of wicked, though applauded Joys.
For thou in any land hast store
Of shades and Coverts for thy poor,
Where from the busie dust and heat,
As well as storms, they may retreat.
A Rock, or Bush are douny beds,
When thou art there crowning their heads
With secret blessings: or a Tire
Made of the Comforter's live-fire.
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Of anger, will not seem to bless:
Yet do'st thou give them that rich Rain,
Which as it drops, clears all again.
O what kind Visits daily pass
'Twixt thy great self and such poor grass,
With what sweet looks doth thy love shine
On those low Violets of thine!
While the tall Tulip is accurst,
And Crowns Imperial dye with thirst.
O give me still those secret meals,
Those rare Repasts, which thy love deals!
Give me that Joy, which none can grieve,
And which in all griefs doth relieve.
This is the portion thy Child begs,
Not that of rust, and rags and dregs.
'Twixt thy great self and such poor grass,
With what sweet looks doth thy love shine
On those low Violets of thine!
While the tall Tulip is accurst,
And Crowns Imperial dye with thirst.
O give me still those secret meals,
Those rare Repasts, which thy love deals!
Give me that Joy, which none can grieve,
And which in all griefs doth relieve.
This is the portion thy Child begs,
Not that of rust, and rags and dregs.
| Thalia Rediviva | |