University of Virginia Library

On the Title, that was fixed upon the Cross of our Blessed Saviour:
Jesus of Nazareth King of the Jews.

Imploration.

A Dream of Dooms Day.

Dreams are the Stories of our Sleep, they be
The things that best perswade, Security
Is not in beds of softest Down, for they
Disturb by Night, like our Designs by Day:
Yet there be some who have them in election,
To be the Prophets of our next days Action:
I shall hold no opinion, but refer
Them and their Natures to th' Interpreter:
But I'le declare my own; The hour of Night,
Nature, and Custome, did at once invite
My weary Brain to Rest. I made my Prayer
To my Preserver, and did straight prepare
To entertain their bounty: Not an hour
Had Sleep possess'd me with his passive pow'r,
But such a Dream I had, as made me flow
In my own Sweat and Tears, a greater woe
Nere did engrosse the grieving soul of Man,
Since those black days, Egipts ten plagues began.

The Dream.

Me thought up to a barren Mountains head,
High as ambitious Babel, I was led
By my own gentle Genius, there to see
What was nere taught me by Cosmography,
The Quarters of the World; Casting my eyes
Full in the East, the glorious Sun gan rise
Just in my Face, his Beams had so much pow'r,
They spoil'd my prospect; yet before an hour
Was full expir'd, me thought the Sun began
His Declination, it backwards ran,
Or else my eys deciev'd me; all the Air
Me thought grew thick, as if it did prepare
To give the Earth a showre; for I could spie
The chanting Birds unto their Nests to flie,
Beasts to their Caves, the Night-bird to begin
Her dismal Note, as when the Day shuts in:
And now the Sun was turn'd to darkness to,
Night never was so dark, Day did nere shew
So opposetly light, so that my Hand
Could scarce declare where my own feet did stand:
My Senses all were numm'd, and did resign
Their Faculties; I wish'd the Moon would shine,
That, since I was depriv'd the short Days light,
I might receive som solace from the Night:
The Moon did rise, and yet no sooner shone
In her full Sphear of Glorie, but was gone,
And nothing was left to be understood
Where she declined, but an Orb of Bloud.
Lord! how I trembled then, so did the Hill
Whereon I stood, as if't were Sensible
Of this prodigious Change, the Stars did fall
As soon as fix, and now, were wandring all:
Where were (thought I) th' Astronomers this year,
They did not quote this in the Kalender?
Now down the Hill I creep'd, purpos'd to see
How the great City took this Prodigie:
I saw 't was full of Lights, ere I was there,
I heard the cries of Women, a great fear
Possess'd the Poorer sort, and such as those,
Whom, Heaven knows, had nought but Lives to lose:
The Rich were banquetting, ye might have spyed
In such a street a Bridegroom and his Bride
Wedded for Lust, and Riches; here agen,
A Crew of costly Drunkards, that had been
Making one Day of seven; there another,
Like cursed Cain, destroying his own Brother:
Yonder a Fourth, who, in as great excesse,
Wasteth his Soul with an Adulteress:
Ere I could turn to such another sight,
I did behold in Heaven a strange Light,
As if't were burning Brimstone, and, at last,
I could perceive it fall like rain, so fast,
I thought that Heaven would have dropt, I cry'd
All you that will by Faith be Justified,
Stir not a foot; this is the Fatal Day,
For which our Saviour bids you Watch and Pray.
Great Structures were but Bonfires, Turrets swom
In their own Lead, whil'st here poor wretches come
Half roasted in the Rain, and Mothers flie
Laden with pretty Children, till they die:
No Dug can still their crying, and each Kisse
The Mother gives, a showre of Sulphur is:
Letchers, Insatiate Strumpets, with their shames,
As they first met in fire, depart in flames;
No flattering Epitaph, or Elegie,
Hangs on the Herse of proud Nobility.
The Epidemick fires, at once, do fling
Into one Grave, a Vassal, and a King:
Our Judges leave the Senate, throw away
Their reverend Purple, and in Ashes pray
To that great Judge of Heaven, in whose Eys
Relenting Pitty, and Compunction lies:
Husbands embrace their Wives, but ere they part,
Both burn to Cindars, Death had never Dart
That gave such cruel Torments; some do flie
To Rivers to asswage their Misery,
But all in vain; for fire hath there more power
Than ever water had, the flaming showre
Is not to be avoided; all do run,
But none know whether; now my Dream is done;
For here I wak'd, and glad I was to see
'Twas but a Dream; yet Lord, so gracious be
To my request, that this Nights Dream may stay
Still in my thoughts, then shall I Watch and Pray;
Be ever Penitent with holy Sorrow,
For fear thou mak'st my Dream prove true to Morrow.

On Lot's Wife looking back to Sodom.

Could not the Angels charge (weak woman) turn
Thy longing Eyes from seeing Sodom burn?
What Consolation couldst thou think to see
In Punishments that were as due to thee?
For 'tis without dispute, thy onely Sin
Had made thee One, had not thy Husband been
His Righteousness preserv'd thee, who went on
Without desire to see Confusion
Rain on the wretched Citizens, but joy'd
That God decreed Thou shouldst not be destroy'd,
Nor thy two Daughters, who did likewise flie
The flaming Plague, without casting an Eye
Towards the burning Towers, what urg'd thee then
Since they went on, so to look back agen?
But God whose Mercy would not let his Ire
Punish thy Crime, as it did theirs, in fire;
With his divine Compunction did consent
At once to give thee Death and Monument:
Where I perceive engraved on thy stone
Are lines that tend to Exhortation:
Which that by thy Offence, I may take heed,
I shall (with sacred application) Read.

The Inscription.

On Eve' tasting the Apple.

The Fruit was amiable to the Eys,
'Twas fit for food, 'twas Good, 'twould make one Wise,
The subtil Serpent wanted neither tale,
Nor terms of Art, to set the fruit to sale:
Me thinks the words th' Almighty did repeat,
In saying Of this Tree yee shall not eat,
Proposing punishment likewise, that by
The tasting this forbidden fruit, ye die,
Should have sufficient force in ye to fright
The Tempters craft, and your own Appetite:
Could ye conceit, a Serpent (made as you
By th' will of God) more than your Maker knew?
But 'tis in vain my passion thus to vent
'Gainst you that have receiv'd your punishment,
Yet give me leave to grieve; for, since your fall,
That fruit hath wrought diseases in us all.

On the Children of Israel murmurring at Manna.

Blind Israelites, can ye no sooner boast
Ye are secur'd from Pharaoh, and the coast
Of cruel Egypt, but (that to obtain
Their Flesh-pots) ye would be their Slaves again?
Hath great Jehovah made his Servants free,
And are they angry at their liberty?
Are not your Labours ended? or doth Care
Perplex your sences for the next days fare?
What is't doth cause your murmur and disquiet?
Are ye not fed with Manna? Angels diet:
Are ye not sated ev'ry Morn and Even,
With food in pearly viols, sent from Heaven?
Your two first Parents in the Garden, had
No greater store, why will you then be sad?
And call down angry Justice, to exclude
This plenty from you, for Ingratitude?
Are ye not God's Elect? doth he not tell,
He will protect his chosen Israel?
And yet ye grieve, and murmur at the food
He sends ye, which is temperately good,
Fit for your Constitutions? and doth bless
Your Bodies with it in a Wildernesse:
These Acts of wonder, were your Food as base
As it is very precious, might breed Grace
In your ungratefull souls; you should consent
Together to be thankfully Content,
For these high Favors, which he nere did shew
Since Adams fall, to any but to you:
It is content, and thankefulness that makes
Course Fare appear as fine as Costly Cakes:
Then pray for those two Vertues, you that have
More then a usefull plenty, yet still crave,
Whilst the profusest Banqueter shall sit
T'invent strange Dishes, 'til he wasts his wit,
And starves his bodie to. It is not Meat
Onely, that makes the body shew repleat;
But 'tis the grace of God that must attend
Our Meals in their beginning and their end.
That feeds the poor man when his Table's spread
With a Course cloth, the Rich man's refus'd bread,
And his own dear-got penny-worth, which (eat)
He neither doth repine, or wish for meat;
This is a life of Peace, Content, and Good,
It cherisheth as well the Soul, as bloud;
The dis-contented stomacks when they spie
A dish they like, oft surfet, or else die;
So did the Israelites when Quails were sent,
Their plenty did become their punishment:
But let me crave, Oh! thou Omnipotent,
That canst, and dost allow Food and Content,
Thou Saviour, that didst the thousands feed
With two poor Fishes, and five loves of Bread;
That didst the Tempters rude Request deny,
VVhen as thou saidst, Man not by Bread onely
Must live, but by the precious words that do
Proceed from thee, Grant me those Dishes too:
For then I know Want never can controul
My repleat Body or inspired soul,
Let me with joy thy Benefits embrace
And, when thou send'st me Manna, give me Grace.

On Mary Magdalen's coming to the Tomb of our Saviour.

Whilest the sad night was dark, and silent, then
To th' Sepulcher comes Mary Magdalen,
She fears no idle Fancies of the Night,
Faith in the deepest Darkness, shines most bright,
The Temples rending, nor the Prodigies,
That came to grace the Worlds great Sacrifice,
Frighted not her, but all alone, to th' Tomb
Of her dead Lord is poor Maria come,
No Apparition could her terror be
An Apparition, 'twas she came to see.

On Peter called to be a Fisher of Men.

When Simon Peter from his Fishers trade
By Christ was called, and a Man-fisher made,
The World soon scorn'd him, and would not be caught
Like Fish, by Peter, nor by Jesus Bought;
Yet there is no great wonder in't, for when
Have ye known Fish affect the Fisher-men.

On Peter's Imprisonment and Release.

Is the Great Shepherd, whom our Saviour call'd
To feed his Sheep and Lambs, like them, install'd
Now by a wolvish Tyrant? Or did he
Envy our Peter's office? and would be
Himself in that high place? Badmen (we know)
Desire a Good-man's Title, though they shew
No virtue of their Calling, Thieves would be
Term'd True men, though their Trade be Felony,
'Tis a strange govern'd Kingdom, where they keep
Shepherds in hold, and Wolves to feed their Sheep:
Must Heavens mighty Keeper now obey
The wretched bondage of a Jailors Key?
Must Fetters cling about his sacred Bones?
And, for his Guard, four bold Quaternions
Of Life-depriving Souldiers, such as flie
All acts that tend not unto Tyranny?
What is the Saint accus'd of? Can your Laws
Inflict a punishment without a Cause?
Was he too Holy for your vitious Time?
Too just? or, was his Innocence his Crime?
'Tis a hard case where virtue must intreat
For right, when Guilt sits on the Judgement seat:
Peter this case is thine; yet (thou dost know)
Not thine alone, 'twas our great Masters too,
Then since his Neck unto that Yoke did come
There is no Majesty, like Martyrdom:
Observe the Sequel: In the dead of Night,
VVhen Silence rul'd the sleepy VVorld, and Light
VVas quite extinguish'd, (for the Lord did make
It darker sure, for his lov'd Peter's sake)
For whose abuse Herod and's impious Men
Might well despair of seeing day agen:
In prison 'twixt two stout-arm'd Souldiers, there
Most sweetly slept our holy Prisoner,
Though burthened with his Chains, Nought can immure
Rest from that Soul that is from guilt secure:
A sudden Light more glorious than the Sun
Enter'd the Prison VValls, which first begun
To strike and awake Peter, it is held
A doubt, whether that Peter first did yield
The motion of his Eyes unto the smite
This glorious body gave him, or his Light,
But now he is commanded to arise,
To shake his Bonds off, which he doth, off flies
The Locks, and Bolts of Prison-Doors, and He
Follows this Light that leads to Liberty:
Thus, in one Minute, doth the Jailor leese
(Spight of his care) his Pris'ner, and his Fees.

Imploration.

Lord fill my Soul with Innocence, and then
I care not though I be in Daniels denn,
I'th' firy Furnace nought can me assail;
Were I lock'd up in Jonah's water Goal;
Just Josephs pit, or Peter's prison, all
If I remain in Innocence are small:
And, as thou saidst to Peter, say to me
Shake of thy Bonds, Ile do't, and Follow thee.

On the Penitent Thiefe upon the Cross.

'Twas time to cry Remember, 'twas an hour
Fit to invoke thy dying Saviour
For an eternal life, yet it is strange
To see this blessed, un-expected, Change
In thee, a Thief, how couldst thou hope to be
Preserv'd by him, that was condemn'd like thee?
Or if thou didst conceit his power could give
A Life to thee, Why didst not ask to live?
As did thy Partner, whose desire was thus,
If thou be Christ, save thou thy self and Us:
Then might ye hope after your strange Reprieves
To rob agen, be more notorious Thieves,
Resolve to keep the Passenger in aw,
To steal in spight of Conscience, or Law;
Why didst thou ask his Kingdom, there's no place
Fit for thy Trade, No Mask to hide thy face
From the known Traveller; the Wealth he gives
Can never be devour'd by Rust, or Thieves:
But this was not thy Aim, thy Lord could see;
'Twas not for this thou cri'dst Remember me:
For thou wert Penitent, and from each Eye
True drops did fall to purge thy Felony;
What ever thou didst force from any one
Thy Teares distill'd a Restitution;
But what did cause all this? sure 'twas that Eye
That look'd and made forgetful Peter cry
After his Third Deniall, whose bles'd Sight
Can give a Thief Repentance, blinde men, light;
Thence came that Faith, which made thee to believe
This Jesus had a Kingdom for to give:
That taught thee to obtain it, that did shew
How by Repentance thou must thither go;
That made thee to cry out undauntly,
When thou com'st thither, Lord, Remember me:
Let me Sweet Saviour take this Thief's advice,
And I shall be with thee in Paradise:
No Fagot, Gibbet, Rack, or Ax shall fear me,
If on my Crosse, I have a Cure so near me.

Charity begins at home.

When Christ (to save Believers from all evils)
Gave his Disciples power to cast out Devils,
Judas (who did his Master's life betray)
It is suppos'd, had no lesse power than they;
And yet we cannot read amongst the many
Great Acts they did, that ere he cast out any
The Obstacle is found, for Judas sins
In the first Rule, where Charity begins,
It was not strange, he dis-possessed none
From others, that could not first cast out': own:
Learn here ye Teachers, ere ye go about
To clear mens Eyes, first take your own beams out:
That then those beams of darkness being gon
Men may behold in you the Beams oth' Son.

On holy Fasting, and on holy hunger.

An holy Fasting may be call'd a Feast,
It feeds the fainting Soul, and gives it rest,
He that would gain a life for Everlasting
By God's account, is onely full with fasting,
A holy Hunger doth suppresse all Evil,
That kinde of Hunger famisheth the Devil.

On our Saviour paying Tribute.

It was decreed the King of Kings must pay
Exacted Tribute, to a King of Clay:
Cæsar must have his Image, and his birth
May well exact it, 'tis but Earth to Earth:
We are Christs Image, our Souls onely easer,
Why should not he have's due as well as Cæsar?

On Paul's healing the Creeple at Lystra.

When Christ to Paul his Curing power reveal'd
And he at Lystra had a Creeple heal'd,
The astonish'd People, with hands heav'd on high,
Adore him by the name of Mercury,
The God of Eloquence, and well they might
Whose Tongue could make a Creeple walk upright.

On the holy Ghost descending like a Dove.

When John (unwilling 'cause unworthy) lead
Christ into Jordan, ore his glorious head
Hovers a Dove, whose bright wings would not cease
Till they were spread over the Prince of peace;
Well may our Turtles grieve their sad estates,
When Doves from Heaven come to seek their Mates.

Sapiens Dominabitur Astris.

Gave the star light to th' three Wise men from far?
No 'twas their Faith gave light unto the star.

On the Pharisees requiring of a Sign.

Ye faithless Pharisees, what would ye more
To shew the Coming of our Saviour
Then ye have seen? hath not his power, and might,
Giv'n Creeples legs? and to the blinde their sight?
Restor'd to life, and health, a Corps that dyed,
Was shrowded, coffin'd, grav'd, and putrified?
Fed many souls, turn'd Water into Wine?
Yet (for all this) ye still require a Sign;
Our Saviour still, some greater Sign must give;
It is a sign (vain men) you'll not believe.

On our Saviour's receiving of Children.

Except we be converted, and become
As little Children we shall have no room
In God's eternal Kingdom, and who ere
Can be so humble, shall be greatest there,
Or he that will receive so sweet a flower
Into his bosom, hugs his Saviour:
But he that shall offend such little Ones
That are believing, better 'twere Mill-stones
Were hung about his fatal neck, and he
Render'd a prey to the devouring sea:
If Children Lord, are acceptable then
Make me a Childe, Let me be born agen.

On our Saviour's saying, he brought a Sword.

Our Saviour said, he came to bring a Sword
Into the World, 'tis true, that was his Word,
Lord, strike our hearts with that, and so assure us,
That way of wounding is the means to cure us.

On Saul's Conversion in his Journey to Damascus.

When Saul was call'd to be a Convertite,
God's glorious presence struck him blinde with light:
What strange Enygmaes Heaven can devise,
Saul then saw clearest, when he lost his Eyes,
The lustre struck him to the Earth, and he
At that rebound rise to Eternity;
Look here Ambition, learn this of Saul,
The onely way to rise high, is to fall.

On the words, Scriptum est.

Our Saviour gives the perfect Revelation
To his Disciples of his Death, and Passion,
When Wisemen see known Dangers they prevent um;
Yet Christ fore-saw his Wrongs, but under-went um:
He did expect no quiet, ease, or rest,
Untill he had perform'd Quod scriptum est.

An Eclogue betwixt Saul, the Witch of Endor, and the Ghost of Samuel.

The Introduction.

When as the proud Philistines did prepare
Their Bands in frightfull order to make War
Against the Israelites, Saul (their wish'd King)
March'd forth, and unto Gilboa did bring
All Israel, where (till the sad Events
The threatning War had brought) they pitch'd their Tents:
But when the Host of the proud Foe appear'd
To Saul so infinite, he greatly fear'd;
The rather 'cause he did no more inherit
The Divine Power of a Prophetick Spirit:
For now the Power of God had left him so,
That he by Prophecy nor Dream could know
His future fate, from him all power went
That doth support Kings just, and innocent:
And now a fearfull rage usurpeth all
His nobler thoughts, he doth begin to call
For Wizards, Witches, and his Fate refers
No more to Prophets but to Sorcerers:
A Woman must be found, whose breast inherits
The damn'd Delusions of predictive Spirits:
So in my younger observation
Of this vile World, I have cast my Eyes upon
A fawning Parasite who for some Boon
His Patron had to graunt, would beg, fall down
Before him for it; which being deny'd,
His Humblenesse converts to its old Pride,
He grows Malicious, what he did desire
Before with Meeknesse, now he'll win with Ire:
If Cruelty and Murther can prefer
His long-wish'd Ends, he'll be a Murtherer,
Or any thing of horror, yet will pray
And beg, at first, to ha't the safest way;
Though 'tis not Love, or Service, he extends,
But Flattery to purchase his own Ends:
So Saul's resolv'd, since Heaven denies to tell
What he would know, makes his next means to Hell:
To Endor goes accompanied by No man;
And, with these words, invokes th' Infernal Woman.

Saul and the Witch

Saul.
Thou learned Mother of mysterious Arts,
I come to know what thy deep skill imparts
By Necromancie: Thou whose awfull power
Can raise winds, thunder, lightnings, canst deflower
The Spring of her new Crop: Of thee I crave
That thou wilt raise some spirit from the grave,
Who may divine unto me, whether Fate
Will make me happy, or unfortunate
In my next Enterprize.

Witch.
Strange Man forbear;
Whose Craft instructed thee to set a snare
For my most wretched Life? Dost thou not know
King Saul proclaims himself a mortal foe
To our black Colledge? Hath not his Command
Ruin'd the great'st Magicians of the Land?
Is't not enough, I am confin'd to dwell
In the dark building of an unknown Cell,
Where I converse with nought, but Batts and Owls,
Ravens and night-Crows, who, from dismal holes,
I send to sick-mens windows, to declare
Death's Embassie, to the offended Ear
Of the declining Patient: Wherefore (pray)
Seek ye this horrid Mansion, to betray
The haplesse Owner?

Sau.
Woman do not fear,
I do not seek thee out, or set a snare
To get thy Life; for; finish my intent,
As the Lord lives, there is no punishment
Shall be inflicted on thee; I will be
A gratefull debtor to thy Art and Thee:
Be speedy then. Oh! how I long to hear
The Message of my Fate!

Wit.
Whom shall I rear?

Sau.
Old Samuel.

Wit.
'Tis done. Ye Fiends below,
That wait upon our will, one of you goe,
Assume the shape of Samuel, and appear,
With such a Voice, and Likenesse: or declare
The Reason why you cannot; for I fear,
Ye dare not do it.

Spirit.
Dare not? I am here.

Wit.
Oh! I am lost; the unknown Fates decree
Have set a period to my Art and Me.
Why didst thou thus thy Royalty obscure,
To take me Acting my Designs impure;
In th' midst of them for to contrive my fall;
So sure my Death is, as thy Name is Saul.

Sau.
Though thou divin'st me right, yet do not fear,
But let me understand, what did appear
After thy Incantations?

Wit.
You shall know:
I saw immortal Gods rise from below,
And after them, a Rev'rend aged Man,
Out of the Deep (with speedy passage) ran,
Lapt in a Mantle, his white gentle Hairs
Express'd a Brief of many well-spent years:
Within whose Cheeks, bright Innocence did move,
His Eys reverted to the Joys above,
(Like holy men in prayer) and now appears
To hear your will, and terminate your fears.

Samuel, Saul, and the Witch of Endor.

Sam.
Why from the cold bed of my quiet Grave
Am I thus summon'd Saul? what wouldst thou have?
Why must thy Incantations call up me
From secure sleep? are men in Graves not free?

Saul.
Divinest Spirit of blest Samuel,
The Causes that by Necromantick Spell
I am induc'd to raise thee from thy Grave
Are these, within my restlesse Soul I have
A thousand Torments, The Philistims are
Prepar'd against me with a dreadfull War
And the Almighty who hath stood my Friend
In many Battels, given victorious End
To all my Actions, and (in Dreams) would shew
Whether I should be Conquerour or no,
All things so near unto my Wishes brought
I knew the Battels End, ere it was Fought,
But now no Invocations can desire
The all-disposing Power to inspire
My longing Soul with so much Augury
As serves to prophesie my Misery;
These are the Causes make me thus return
To thee, though sleeping in thy peacefull Urn.

Sam.
Com'st thou to me to know thy Enterprize?
Can Man make manifest what God denies?
Yet I shall ease thy doubt; and now prepare
To hear the fatal passage of thy War,
So sad a Sonnet to thy Soul I'le sing,
Thou'lt say it is a Curse to be a King;
That all his Pomp, Titles, and Dignity,
Are glorious Woes, and Royal Misery:
As good Kings are call'd Gods that suppresse Evils,
So bad Kings (worse than Men) grow worse than Devils.
But these are exhortations fit for those
That have a Crown and People to dispose;
Alas! thou'st none, but what adds to thy Crosse,
Thou hast it, to be ruin'd with the losse;
Thy Diadem, upon thy Head long worn
In Majesty, shall from thy front be torn,
So shall thy Kingdome from thy power be rent,
And given to David as his Tenement;
Before the sun hath once his journey gone
Unto the West, thou shalt be overthrown
By the Philistines, all this shalt thou fee,
And then thou and thy sons shall be with me.
But all these sorrows would have been Delights,
Hadst thou against the Curs'd Amalekites
Obey'd the Almighties will. But 'tis too late
Now to exhort; farewel, attend thy Fate,

Sau.
Oh! dismal Doom, more than my Soul can bear
A thousand Furies in a Band appear,
To execute their charge; a Ghost doth bring
News that doth make a shadow of a King.
Oh! wretched Dignity! what is thy end?
That men should so their fond Affections bend
To compasse their Frail Glory? half these woes
That I have on me, would confound my Foes:
Must these mysterious Miseries begin
With me, the small'st o'th' Tribe of Benjamin?
It could not else be stil'd a perfect Thrall;
The highest Riser, hath the lowest fall.
Would I had still kept on my weary way,
To seek my Fathers Asses, then to stray
This Princely path of passions; I had then,
As now most curs'd, been happiest among men.
Ye Princes, that successefully shall Reign
After my haplesse End, with care and pain,
Peruse my pitied Story, do not be
Too confident of your frail Sov'reignty;
If Titularity could safety bring,
Why was't not mine (a Prophet and a King?)
And (for a Friend) what Mortal can excel
The Knowledge of Seraphick Samuel?
Who had he liv'd, and I his Counsel taken,
I had not (as I am) been thus forsaken:
But now I shake thee off, vain World, Farewel;
Here lies entomb'd the King of Israel.
All you that stand, be wary lest you fall,
And when ye think you're sure, Remember Saul.

LET US PRAY.

After the Creed, our holy Pastors say
Unto their Congregations Let us pray.
The Custome is divine, it argues, they
That are Beleivers must not cease to Pray.
Sure those three words contain a charm that may
Protect Beleevers, therefore Let us pray.
Would we resist temptation, the broad way
That leads to black Damnation? Let us pray.
Would we have Names and Honors nere decay,
But flourish like the Spring-time? Let us pray.
Would we live long and happy, have each day
Crown'd with a thousand blessings? Let us pray.
Would we have Jesus Christ the onely stay
Of our sick souls and bodies? Let us pray.
Are we with Judas ready to betray
Our Friends for fatal treasure? Let us pray.
Are we grown proudly wise, will know no way
To Heaven but our own? pray Let us pray.
Are we so full of wrath, that we could slay
Our nearest, dearest Kindred? Let us pray.
Have we committed Treason, and no way
Is left but desperation? Let us pray.
Do we with Dives let poor Laz'rus stay
Fasting, while we are Feasting? Let us pray.
Lest evil-Angels bear our Souls away,
As they did his, to torment, Let us pray.
Are we in dismal Dungeons doom'd to stay,
'Till Death allow enlargement? Let us pray.
Are we so us'd to swear, that Yea and Nay
Are words of no Assertion? Let us pray.
Doth Pestilence possess us? lest Delay
Consume us in a moment, Let us pray.
Are we in wrathfull War, where Tyrants sway
The sword of black injustice? Let us pray.
Would we return victorious? win the day
From our red Adversaries? Let us pray.
Doth Famine vex our Nation, and decay
Our (once too pamper'd) bodies? Let us pray.
Doth Causeless Care oppresse us, that to day
We cast for food to Morrow? Let us pray,
Are we despis'd? contemn'd? made to obey
The wrath of other Nations? Let us pray.
Are we in sicknesse, and would gladly play
The sanctifi'd Physitians? Let us pray.
Doth Death approach us? lest too long Delay
Lose both our Souls and Bodies, Let us pray.
Would we be ready for Dooms dreadfull day?
Let us (like Ninevites) Fast, Watch, and Pray.
Sure sinfull Sodom had been sav'd, had they
With one entire consent said, Let us pray.
And put those words in practise; what we may
Obtain by Faith and Prayer, who can say,
But those blest Souls in Heaven? If Despair
Poyson the Soul, no Antidote like Prayer.
If, in the stead of Disputatious, we
These seven years, had put our Piety
Into the Act of Prayer, we might have bin
Free from those Mischiefs past, or now begin:
Prayer is the Key of Heaven, way to quiet,
The Lands preservative, the Angels diet:
It breaks the rage of Thunder, calms the Ocean,
It is the sweetest Issue of Devotion;
The Soul put into Language, a Design
That (by just claim) doth make Gods Kingdom thine:
The Princes Treasury, the Earths increase,
The Christian's Sacrifice, the Path to Peace,
If we would have more blisse than Men can say,
Pens write, or Angels tell us, Let us pray.

An Acrostick conteining the Ten COMMANDMENTS.

EXOD. XX.

Intemperance.

A Fancy upon VVords.

Elegiack Poems.

An Elegie on the Death of Mr. John Steward.

If a sad Stranger may presume to mourn,
And build (in Verse) an Altar ore an Urn,
If Tears that com from Heart-instructed Eyes
Appear no despicable Sacrifice;
If you'll conceive Sorrow can keep her Court
In Souls that have the Cause but by Report,
Or if the loss of virtue you believe
Can make its Lover (though a Stranger) grieve:
Admit my Wet Oblation which imparts
Something that shews th' effects of mourning Hearts.
You who have had no Tears for your own Crimes,
And cannot vent a Sigh for these sad Times,
Within whose juiceless Eyes was never seen,
Drops but proceeding from a tickled Spleen:
And you who (valor-harden'd) never cou'd
Bestow one stream to see a Sea of Bloud,
Though of your Sons, or Brothers; Come to me
Ile teach you true grief in this Elegie,
Steward is dead, a man whom Truth, and Fame
With Virtue, ever shall imbalm his Name;
Crave although Young, who in his heart did prize
Learning, and yet not wittier than wise;
Religious without Faction, and could be
Courteous without the Court Hypocrisie,
Just to his Friends, not Hatefull to his Foes,
For he had none, though Virtue seldom goes
By Envie unattended; He was one
In whom appear'd much of Perfection,
But Death (the due of Nature) must be paid,
Beauty, and Strength must in a Grave be laid:
So hasty and unwilling to defer
The time, is our great grim, Commissioner;
Then let us mourn, let our true Sorrow swim,
That he is not with us, or we with him:
'Tis Good to mourn for Good, as to Regard,
Or pity, is a kinde of a Reward:
His latest precious Breathings, had respect
To nothing more than divine Dialect,
Which he committed to his mourning Friends;
In Exhortations for their better Ends
Unlocks his breast, which onely could express
Aspiring Prayers, and pious pensiveness;
Thus like a Traveller (that will not stray
To any talk, but's journey, and his way)
Our Peregrine discourseth, till at last
As Tapers, near their end give greatest blast,
He dies, and all the Duty I can do
Is on his Herse to fix a Line or two.

The Epitaph.

On the Death of the most worthily honour'd Mr. John Sidney, who dyed full of the Small Pox.

Sidney is dead, a Man whose name makes surrows
In his Friends Cheeks, channel'd with Tears for Sorrows,
Within whose Microcosm was combin'd
All Ornaments of Body, and of Minde,
In whose good Acts, you might such vollumes see,
As did exceed th' extent of Heraldry;
Whose well-composed Excellencies, wrought
Beyond the largest scope of humane thought.
Indeed, within his Life's short little Span,
Was all could be contracted in one Man;
And He that would write his true Elegie,
Must not Court Muses, but Divinity.
He's Dead: But Death, I have a Speech, in vain,
Directed unto Thee, where I complain
Upon thy cruel Office, that could find
No way to part his Body and his Mind,
But by a fatal sicknesse, that confounds
The beautious Patient, with so many wounds;
Sure when thou mad'st his Fabrick to shiver,
Thou could'st not chuse but empty all thy Quiver.
What Man (to all odds open) in the Wars,
Dies with such a Solemnity of Scarrs?
Yet his great Spirit gives the Reason why,
Without that Number, Sidney could not die:
And therefore we will Pen it in his Story,
What thou intend'st his Ruine, is his Glory;
So when the Heavenly Globe I've look'd upon,
Have I beheld the Constellation
Of Jupiter, and on all parts descri'd
Th' illuminated Body stellified,
Sprinkled about with Stars, so that you might
Behold his Limbs and Hair, powder'd with Light:
This wee'l apply, that, though we lose him here,
His Soul shall shine in a Cælestial Sphere.

The Epitaph.

An Elegie on the lamented Death of the virtuous Mis. Anne Phillips, Dedicate to her Son and Heir Mr. Edmond Philips.

Religious Creature, on thy sacred Herse
Let my sad Muse ingrave a weeping Verse
In watry Characters, which nere shall dry,
Whil'st Men survive to write an Elegy:
Dull Brass, Proud Marble, and Arabian Gold,
(Though they tyre Time and Ruine) shall not hold
Their aged Letters half so long, as we
Shall keep thy living worth in Memory:
Obedience was thy study, Truth thy aim,
Wisdome thy worship, Fortitude thy fame,
Patience thy peace, and all good Eys might see
Thou did'st retain Faith, Hope, and Charity.
Within the holy treasurie of thy Mind,
Were the choise vertues of all Women-kind:
Nothing that had affinity with good,
But liv'd within thy Spirit or thy Bloud;
No costly Marble need on thee be spent,
Thy deathlesse Worth is thine own Monument.

Thoughts of Life and Death, written upon the occasion, ex tempore.

I never look on Life, but with a loathing,
When it is sterril, and conduceth nothing
To my Eternal Being; but when I
Find it devoted to the Deity,
To love my Neighbour, and obey that State
Which God hath made next, and immediate
Under his sacred Power; when I have will
To Forgive him that doth me greatest ill;
To calm my Passions, to content my Friends,
And do no Acts that savour of self-ends,
Then I love Life; but wanting this, I have
No joy, but to exchange it for a Grave.

An Epitaph on the Death of an Organist.

Within this Earth (a place of low condition)
Intomb'd, here lies, an exquisite Musician:
Living, he thriv'd by Concord, and agreeing,
Looking from all things, to Eternal being:
In Equal Rule and Space he lead his life;
A constant, honest, Consort to his Wife,
Much troubled Musick suffer'd such derision
By many, that began Points of Division:
He now, without controul, no question, sings
Eternal Anthems to the King of Kings.

An Epitaph on Himself.

An Epitaph on a Strumpet, buried at Graves-end, once at my landing there, to go to Canterbury.

We read, that Sacred Solomon would have
No nice distinction 'twixt a Whore and Grave
Since it is so, then now it may be said,
That heare a Grave within a Grave is laid:
She was no Sextons wife, yet now and than
Suspition said, she buried many a Man;
But now the Grave is dead, why then (my Friend)
The worst is past, Thou'rt Welcome to Graves-end.

An Epitaph on my worthy Friend Mr. John Kirk.

Reader , Within this Dormitory, lies
The wet Memento of a Widdows Eys;
A Kirk, though not of Scotland, One in whom
Loyalty liv'd, and Faction found no room:
No Couventicle Christian, but he Died
A Kirk of England by the Mothers side.
In brief, to let you know what you have lost,
Kirk was a Temple of the Holy Ghost.