Divine poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Hosanna to the Highest. Ioy betide
The heavenly Bridegroome; and his holy Bride:
Let Heaven above be fill'd with songs,
Let Earth triumph below;
For ever silent be those tongues,
That can be silent now.
You Rocks, and Stones, I charge you all to breake
Your flinty silence, if men cease to speake.
You, that professe that sacred Art,
Or now, or never show it,
Plead not, your Muse is out of heart
Here's that creates a Poet.
Be ravisht Earth, to see this contract driven,
'Twixt sinfull Man, and reconciled Heaven.
Dismount you Quire of Angels; come,
With Men, your joyes divide;
Heaven never shew'd so sweet a Groome,
Nor Earth, so faire a Bride.

389

BRIDE.

Sonet. I.

1

O that the bounty of those lips divine,
Wold seale their favors, on these lips of mine,
That by those welcome kisses, I might see
The mutuall love, betwixt my Love and me,
For truer blisse, no worldly joy allowes,
Than sacred Kisses, from so sweet a Spouse,
With which, no earthly pleasures may compare,
Rich Wines are not so delicate as they'r.

2

Nor Myrrh, nor Cassia, nor the choice perfumes
Of unctious Narde, or Aromaticke fumes
Of hot Arabia, doe enrich the Aire
With more delicious sweetnesse, than the faire
Reports, that crowne the merits of thy Name,
With heavenly Lawrels of eternall fame;
Which makes the Virgins fix their eyes upon thee
And all that view thee, are enamour'd one thee.

390

3

O let the beauty of thy Sun-like face
Inflame my soule, and let thy glory chace
Disloyall thoughts: Let not the World allure
My chaste desires, from a Spouse so pure;
But when as time shall place me on thy Throne,
My feares shall cease, and interrupt by none,
I shall transcend the stile of Transitory,
And full of Glory, still be fill'd with glory.

4

Bvt you, my curious (and too nice) allyes,
That view my fortunes, with too narrow eyes,
You say my face is black, and foule; 'tis true;
I'm beauteous, to my Love, though black to you;
My censure stands not upon your esteeme,
He sees me as I am; you, as I seeme;
You see the Clouds, but he discernes the Skie;
Know, 'tis my mask that lookes so black, not I.

5

What if Afflictions doe dis-imbellish
My naturall glory, and deny the rellish
Of my adjourned beauty, yet disdaine not
Her, by whose necessary losse, you gaine not;
I was inforc'd to swelter in the Sun,

391

And keepe a strangers Vine, left mine alone;
Lest mine owne, and kept a strangers Vine;
The fault was mine, but was not onely mine.

6

O thou, whose love I prize above my life,
More worthy farre t'enjoy a fairer wife,
Tell me, to what cool shade dost thou resort?
Where graze thy Sheepe, where doe thy lambs disport
Free from the scorching of this sowltry weather?
O tell thy Love, and let thy Love come thither:
Say (gentle Shepheard) fits it thee, to cherish
Thy private Flocks, and let thy true Love perish?

Sensible graves.

Pure in heart.

The Kingdome of Heaven.

Through apparant infirmities.

Glorious in him.

Weaknesse of the flesh.

Afflictions.

Forced to Idolatrous superstitions.

By reason of my weaknesse.

Being seduced by false Prophets.

Persecutions.

By Jdolatry.

BRIDEGROOME.

Sonet. II.

1

Illustrious Bride, more radiant and more bright,
Then th'eye of Noon, thrice fairer then the light;
Thou dearest off-spring of my dying blood,
And treasure of my soule, why hast thou stood
Parching so long in those ambitious beames?
Come, come & coole thee in these silver streams!
Vnshade thy face, cast back those golden Locks,
And I will make thee Mistris of my Flocks.

392

2

O thou, the Center of my choyce desires,
In whom I rest, in whom my soule respires;
Thou art the flowre of beauty, and I prize thee
Above the world, how e're the world despise thee:
The blinde imagines all things black by kinde;
Thou art as beautifull, as they are blinde:
And as the fairest troopes of Pharoes steeds
Exceed the rest, so Thou the rest exceeds.

3

Thy cheek (the garden where fresh beauty plāts
Her choicest flowers) no adorning wants;
There wants no relish of diviner grace,
To summe compleatnesse, in so sweet a face;
Thy Neck, without a blemish, without blot,
Than pearl's more orient, cleare from stain or spot;
Thy Gemms and Iewels, full of curious art,
Imply the sacred treasures of thy heart.

4

The Sun-bright glory of thy resounding fame,
Addes glory, to the glory of thy Name;
The more's thy honor (Love) the more thou striv'st
To honour me; thou gainest what thou giv'st:
My Father (whom our Contract hath made thine)
Will give thee large endowments of divine,
And everlasting treasure; Thus by me
Thou shalt be rich, that am thus rich, in thee.

Through my merits and thy sanctification.

The Doctrine of the true Prophets.

Teacher of my Congregations.

Thy most visible parts.

Sanctification.

The riches of his holy Spirit.

393

BRIDE.

Sonet. III.

1

Oh, how my soule is ravisht with the joyes
That spring like fountains frō my tru-loves voice
How cordiall are his lips! How sweet his tongue!
Each word, he breathes, is a melodious song;
He absent (ah) how is my glory dim!
I have no beauty, not deriv'd from Him;
What e're I have, from Him alone, I have,
And he takes pleasure in those gifts he gave:

2

As fragrant Myrrh, within the bosome hid,
Sents more delicious, than (before) it did,
And yet receives no sweetnesse from that brest,
That proves the sweeter for so sweet a guest;
Even so the favour of my dearest Spouse,
Thus priz'd and placed in my heart, endowes
My ardent soule with sweetnesse, and inspires
With heavenly ravishment, my rapt desires.

3

Who ever smelt the breath of morning flowres,
New sweet'nd with the dash of twilight shoures,
Of pounded Amber, or the flowring Thyme,
Or purple violets, in their proudest prime,
Or swelling Clusters, from the Cypresse tree?
So sweet's my Love; I farre more sweet is He:
So faire, so sweet, that Heavens bright eye is dim,
And flowers have no sent, compar'd with Him.

394

BRIDEGROOME.

Sonet. IIII.

O thou, the joyes of my sufficed heart,
The more thou think'st me fair, the more thou art;
Looke in the Christall Mirrours of mine eyes,
And view thy beauty; there thy beauty lyes:
See there, th'unmated glory of thy Face,
Well mixt with Spirit, and divinest grace;
The eyes of Doves, are not so faire, as thine:
O, how those eyes, inflame these eyes of mine!

The holy Prophets.

BRIDE.

Sonet V.

1

Most radiant, and refulgent Lampe of light,
Whose midday beauty, yet ne're found a night,
'Tis thou, 'tis onely thou art faire; from Thee
Reflect those rayes, that have enlightned mee,
And as bright Cinthia's borrow'd beames doe shine
From Titan's glory, so doe I, from thine;
So dayly flourishes our fresh delight,
In dayly giving, and receiving light.

2

Nor does thy glory shine to me alone;
What place, wherein thy glory hath not shone
But O, how fragrant with rich odour, smells
That sacred House, where thou my true Love dwells?

395

Nor is it strange: How can those places bee
But fill'd with sweetnesse, if possest with thee!
My heart's a Heaven, for thou art in that heart,
Thy presence makes a Heaven, where e're thou art.

Thy holy Spirit.

In giving grace and receiving glory.

The Congregation of Saints.

BRIDEGROOME.

Sonet VI.

1

Thou soveraigne Lady of my select desires,
I, I am He, whom thy chaste soule admires:
The Rose, for smell, the Lily to the eye,
Is not so sweet, is not so faire as I:
My vailed beautie's not the glorious prize
Of common sight: within, my beautie lies,
Yet ne'rethelesse, my glory were but small,
It should want, to honour thee with all.

2

Nor doe I boast my excellence alone,
But thine (deare spouse) as whō, the world hath none
So true to faith, so pure in love, as whom
Lives not a Bride, so fits so chaste a Grome;
And as the fairest Lily doth exceede
The fruitlesse Bramble, or the foulest weede,
So farre (my love) dost thou exceed the rest,
In perfect beautie of a loyall brest.

Not in outward glorie.

In inward graces.

BRIDE.

Sonet VII.

1

Looke how the fruitfull tree (whose ladē bought
With swelling pride, crowne Autumnes smiling browes)

396

Surpasses idle shrubs, even so in worth,
My love transcends the worthies of the earth:
He was my shore, in shipwracke; and my shelter,
In stormes; my shade, when I began to swelter;
If hungry, he was Food; and if opprest
With wrongs, my Advocate; with toile, my rest.

2

I thirsted; and full charged to the brinke,
He gave me bowles of Nectar, for my drinke
And in his sides, he broacht me (for a signe
Of dearest love) a Sacramentall wine;
He freely gave; I freely dranke my fill;
The more I dranke, the more remained still:
Did never Souldier, to his Colours prove
More chaste, than I, to so entire a Love.

3

O how his beautie sets my soule on fire!
My spirits languish, with extreame desire;
Desires exceeding limits, are too lavish,
And wanting meanes to be effected, ravish;
Then let thy breath, like flaggons of strong wine
Releeve and comfort this poore heart of mine;
For I am sicke, till time (that doth delay
Our Marriage) bring our joyfull Marriage day.

397

4

Till then, O let my dearest Lord, by whom,
These pleasing paines of my sweet sorrowes come
Performe his vowes, and with his due resort,
Blesse me, to make the sullen time seeme short:
In his sweet presence, may I still be blest,
Debarr'd from whom, my soule can finde no rest;
O let all times be prosp'rous, and all places
Be witnesse to our undefil'd Embraces.

5

All you, whose seeming favours have profest
The true affection of a loyall brest,
I charge you all by the true love you beare
To friendship, or what else yee count most deare,
Disturbe ye not my Love, O doe not reive
Him of his joyes, that is so apt to grieve;
Dare not to breake his quiet slumbers, lest
You rouze a raging Lyon from his rest.

6

Harke, harke, I heare that thrice-celestial voice
Wherein my spirits, rapt with joyes, rejoyce;
A voyce, that tels me, my beloved's nie;
I know the Musicke, by the Majestie:
Behold he comes; 'Tis not my blemisht face
Can slacke the swiftnesse of his winged pace;
Behold he comes; His Trumpet doth proclaime,
He comes with speed; A truer love ne're came.

398

7

Behold the fleetnesse of his nimble feet:
The Roe-Bucke, & the Hart were ne're so fleet.
The word I spake, flew not so speedy from me,
As He, the treasure of my soule comes to me,
He stands behinde my wall, as if in doubt
Of welcome: Ah, this Wall debarres him out:
O, how injurious is this Wall of sin,
That barres my Lover out, and bolts me in!

The holy Scriptures.

Thy sweet promises.

Vexe not his spirit with your sinnes.

The imperfections of my present state.

The weakenesse of my flesh.

The BRIDE in the person of the BRIDEGROOME.

SONET VIII.

1

Harke, harke, me thinks I heare my true love say
Breake downe that envious bar & come away,
Arise (my dearest Spouse) and dispossesse
Thy soule of doubtfull feares, nor overpresse
Thy tender spirits, with the dull despaire
Of thy demerits: (Love) thou art as faire,
As Earth will suffer: Time will make thee clearer,
Come forth (my love) then whom, my life's not dearer.

2

Come forth (my joy,) what bold affront of fear
Can fright thy soule, & I, thy Champion here
'Tis I that call, 'tis I, thy Bridegroome, calls thee,
Betide it me, what ever evill befalls thee:
The winter of thy sharpe Afflictions gone:
Why fear'st thou cold, and art so neare the Sunne

399

I am thy Sunne, if thou be cold, draw nearer:
Come forth (my Love) then whō my life's not dearer

3

Come forth (my dear) the spring of joyes invite thee,
The flowers contend for beautie to delight thee
Their sweet ambition's onely, which might be
Most sweet, most faire, because most like to thee:
The Birds (sweet Heralds of so sweet a Spring)
Warble high notes, and Hymeneans sing:
All sing, with joy, t'enjoy so sweet a Hearer:
Come forth (my love) thē whō my life's not dearer.

4

The prosperous Vlne, which this deare hand did plant
Tenders due service to so sweet a Saint:
Her hidden Clusters swell with sacred pride,
To kisse the lips of so, so faire a Bride:
Of asqu'd in their leafes, they lurke, fearing to be
Discryde by any, till first seene by thee:
The clouds are past, the heavens cannot be clearer
Come forth (dear love) thē whō my lif's not dearer.

5

My Dove, whō daily dangers teach new shifts,
That like a Dove, dost haunt the secret clifts
Of solitary Rockes: How e're thou be
Reserv'd from others, be not strange to me,

400

Call me to rescue, and this brawnie Arme
Shall quell thy Foe, & fence thy soule, from harme;
Speake (Love,) Thy voice is sweet; what if thy face,
Be drencht with teares; each teare's a several grace.

6

All you that wish prosperity and peace,
To crowne our contract, with a long encrease
Of future joyes, O shield my simple Love
From those that seeke her ruine, and remov
The base Opposers of her best designes;
Destroy the Foxes, that destroy her Vines;
Her Vines are fruitfull, but her tender grapes
Are spoil'd by Foxes, clad in humane shapes.

The Elect.

Angels.

The Congregation of the faithfull.

To offer up the first fruits of obedience.

Persecutions.

The BRIDE in her owne person.

Sonet IX.

1

What greater joy can bless my soule, thē this
That my beloved's mine, and I am his!
Our soules are knit; the world cannot untwine
The joyfull union of his heart, and mine;
In him, I live; in him, my soule's possest
With heavenly solace, and eternall rest:
Heaven onely knowes the blisse, my soule enjoyes;
Fond earth's too dull, to apprehend such ioyes.

2

Thou sweet perfection of my full delights,
Till that bright Day, devoted to the rites
Of our solemniz'd Nuptialls, shall come,
Come live with me, & make this heart thy Home:

401

Disdaine me not: Although my face appeare
Deform'd and cloudie, yet my heart is cleare;
Wake haste: Let not the swift-foot Roe-bucke flee
The following Hounde so fast, as thou to me.

3

I thought my Love had taken up his rest,
Within the secret Cabin of my brest;
I thought the closed curtaines did immure
His gentle slumbers, but was too secure;
For (driven with love) to the false bed I stept
To view his slumbring beautie, as he slept,
But he was gone; yet plainely there was seene
The curious dint, where he had lately beene,

4

Impatient of his absence, thus bereaven
Of him, than whom, I had no other heaven,
I rav'd a while; not able to digest
So great a losse, to lose so faire a Guest:
I left no path untrac'd; no place nnsought;
No secret Cell unsearcht; no way unthought;
I ask'd the shade, but shadowes could not hide him;
I ask'd the World, but all the world deny'd him.

5

My jealous Love, distemp'red with distraction,
Made fierce with feare, unapt for satisfaction,
Aplyes fresh fuell, to my flaming fires,
With Eagles wings supplies my quicke desires

402

Vp to the walls I trampled, where I spide
The City watch, to whom with teares I cryde,
Ah gentle Watchmen, you aloft descry
What's darke to us; did not my love passe by?

6

At lēgth, whē dul despaire had gain'd the groūnd
Of tyred hopes, my faith fell in a swound;
But He, whose sympathising heart did finde
The tyrant passion of my troubled minde,
Forthwith appear'd: What Angels tongue can let
The world conceive our pleasures, when we met?
And till the joyes of our espoused hearts
Be made cōpleat, the world ne're more shall part's.

The day of Judgement.

By sanctification.

In my soule.

By strict examination.

Amongst the wisest worldlings.

The Ministers of the word.

At the resurrection.

BRIDEGROOME.

Sonet X.

1

Now rests my love: Till now, her tender brest
Wanting her joy, could finde no peace, no rest:
I charge you all by the true love you beare
To friendship, or what else you count most deare,
Disturbe her not, but let her sleepe her fill;
I charge you all upon your lifes, be still,
O may that labouring soule, that lives opprest
For me; in me, receive eternall rest.

2

What curious face is this? what mortall birth
Can shew a beauty, thus unstain'd with earth!

403

What glorious Angell wanders thus alone,
From earths foule dungeon, to my fathers throne!
It is my love; my love that hath denyde
The world, for me; It is my fairest Bride:
How fragrant is her breath! How heavenly faire
Her Angell face! Each glorifying the Aire.

Through sanctification by my merits

BRIDE.

Sonet XI.

1

O how I'm ravisht with eternall blisse!
Who e're thought heavē a joy cōpar'd to this?
How doe the pleasures of this glorious Face
Adde glory to the glory of this place!
See, how Kings Courts surmoūt poore Shepheards cells,
So this, the pride of Salomon excells;
Rich wreathes of glory crowne his royall Head,
And troopes of Angels waite upon his bed.

2

The Court of Princely Salomon was guarded
With able men at armes; their faith rewarded
With fading honours, subject to the fate
Of Fortune, and the jealous frownes of State;
But here th'harmonious quire of heaven attend,
Whose prize is glory, glory without end,
Vnmixt with doubtings, or degenerous feare;
A greater Prince, than Salomon is here!

3

The Bridall bed of Princely Salomon,
(Whose beautie amaz'd the greedie lookers on,

404

Which all the world admired to behold
Was but of Cedar; and her Sted of gold;
Her pillars silver, and her Canopie
Of silkes, but richly stain'd with purple die;
Her curtaines wrought in workes, workes rarely led
By th'needles art, such was the bridall bed.

4

Svch was the bridall bed, which Time, or Age
Durst never warrant from th'opprobrious rage
Of envious fate; Earths measure's but a minit;
Earth fades; all fades upon it; all within it;
O, but the glorie' of this diviner place,
No age can injure, nor yet Time deface;
Too bright an object, for weake eyes to bide,
Or tongues t'expresse: Who ever saw't but dyde?

5

Who e're beheld the royall Crowne, set on
The nuptiall browes of Princely Salomon?
His glorious pompe, whose honour did display
The noysed triumphs of his Marriage day?
A greater Prince, than Salomon is here,
The beauty of whose Nuptials, shall appeare
More glorious farre transcending his, as farre
As heavens bright lamp out-shines th'obscurest star

By heavenly contemplation.

BRIDEGROOME.

Sonet XII.

1

How orient is thy beauty! How divine!
How darke's the glory of the earth, to thine!
Thy vailed eyes out-shine heavens greater light,
Vnconquer'd by the shadie Cloud of night;

405

Thy curious Tresses dangle, all unbound
With unaffected order, to the ground:
How orient is thy beautie! how divine!
How darke's the glory of the earth to thine!

2

Thy Ivory Teeth in whitenesse doe out-goe
The downe of Swans, or winters driven snow
Whose even proportions lively represent
Th'harmonious Musicke of unite consent,
Whose perfect whitenesse, Time could never blot,
Nor age (the Canker of destruction) rot:
How orient is thy beauty! How divine!
How darke's the glory of the earth, to thine!

3

The rubie Portalls of thy ballanc'd words,
Send forth a welcome relish, which affords
A heaven of blisse, and makes the earth rejoyce,
To heare the Accent of thy heavenly voice;
The mayden blushes of thy Cheekes, proclaime
A shame of guilt, but not a guilt of shame:
How orient is thy beauty! How divine!
How darke's the glory of the earth, to thine!

4

Thy necke (unbeautifyde with borrowed grace)
Is whiter than the Lillies of thy face,
If whiter may; for beauty, and for powre,
'Tis like the glory of Davids princely Towre:

406

What vassall spirit could despaire, or faint,
Finding protection from so sure a Saint?
How orient is thy beauty! How divine!
How darke's the glory of the earth, to Thine!

5

The deare-bought fruit of that forbidden Tree,
Was not so dainty, as thy Apples be,
These curious Apples of thy snowy brests,
Wherein a Paradise of pleasure rests;
They breathe such life into the ravisht Eye,
That the inflam'd beholder cannot dye:
How orient is thy beautie! How divine!
How darke's the glory of the earth, to Thine!

6

My dearest Spouse, I'le hie me to my home,
And till that long-expected day shall come,
The light wherof, shall chase the night that shrouds
Thy vailed beauty, in these envious clouds;
Till then, I goe, and in my Throne, provide
A glorious welcome, for my fairest Bride;
Chapplets of conqu'ring Palme, & Lawrel boughs
Shall crowne thy Temples, and adorne thy browes.

7

Would beauty faine be flatter'd with a grace
She never had? May she behold thy face:
Envie would burst, had she no other taske,
Than to behold this face without a maske;

407

No spot, no veniall blemish could she finde,
To feed the famine of her ranc'rous minde;
Thou art the flowre of beauties Crowne, & they're
Much worse than foule, that thinke thee lesse than faire.

8

Feare not (my Love) for when those sacred bands
Of wedlock shall conjoyne our promis'd hands,
I'le come, and quit thee from this tedious place,
Where thou art forc'd to sojourne for a space;
No forrein Angle of the utmost Lands,
Nor seas Abysse shall hide thee from my hands;
No night shall shade thee from my curious eye,
I'le rouze the graves, although grim death stand by.

9

Illustrious beames shot from thy flaming eye,
Made fierce with zeale, and soveraigne Majestie
Have scorcht my soule, and like a fiery dart
Transfixt the Center of my wounded heart;
The Virgin swetnesse of thy heavenly grace
Hath made mine eyes glad pris'ners to thy face;
The beautie of thine eye-balls hath bereft
Me of my heart: O sweet, O sacred theft!

10

O thou, the deare Inflamer of mine eyes,
Life of my soule, and hearts eternall prize,

408

How delectable is thy love! How pure!
How apt to ravish, able to allure
A frozen soule, and with thy secret fire,
T'affect dull spirits with extreame desire.
How doe thy joyes (though in their greatest dearth)
Transcend the proudest pleasures of the earth!

11

Thy lips (my dearest spouse) are the ful treasures
Of sacred Poesie, whose heavenly measures
Ravish with joy the willing heart, that heares,
But strike a deafenesse in rebellious eares:
Thy words, like milke and Honie, doe requite
The season'd soule, with profit and delight:
Heavens higher Palace, and these lower places
Of dungeon-earth are sweetned with thy graces.

12

My Love is like a Garden, full of flowers,
Whose sunny banks, & choice of shady bowres
Give change of pleasures, pleasures wall'd about
With Armed Angels, to keepe Ruine out;
And from her brests ( enclosed from the ill
Of looser eyes) pure Chrystall drops distill,
The fruitfull sweetnesse of whose gentle showres
Inrich her flowrs with beautie', & banks with flowrs

409

13

My Love is like a Paradise beset
With rarest gifts, whose fruits (but tender yet)
The world ne're tasted, dainties farre more rare
Than Edens tempting Apple, and more faire:
Myrrhe, Alloes, Incense, and the Cypresse tree
Can boast no swetnesse, but is breath'd from thee;
Dainties, for taste, and flowers, for the smell
Spring all from thee, whose sweets, all sweets excell.

Through the gifts of my spirit.

The modestie and purity of thy judgement.

Ornaments of necessary Ceremonies.

Sincere Ministers.

Doctrine of thy holy Prophets.

Modest graces of the Spirit.

Magistrates.

The old and new Testaments.

The sanctified & zealous Reader.

The second death.

I will withdraw my bodily presence.

The day of judgement.

Infirmities of the flesh.

This vale of miserie.

Thine eye of Faith.

Divine Harmonie.

The two Testaments.

Riddles to prophane Readers.

Celestiall comforts.

BRIDE.

Sonet XIII.

1

O thou (my deare) whose sweets, all sweets excell
From whom my fruits receive their tast, their smell
How can my thriving plants refuse to grow
Thus quickned with so sweet a Sun as thou?
How can my flowers, which thy Ewers nourish
With showers of living waters, choose but flourish?
O thou, the spring, from whence these waters burst,
Did ever any taste thy streames, and thurst?

2

Am I a Garden? May my flowers bee
So highly honour'd to be smelt by thee;
Inspire them with thy sacred breath, and then
Receive from them, thy borrowed breath agen;
Frequent thy Garden, whose rare fruit invites
Thy welcome presence, to his choise Delights;

410

Taste where thou list, and take thy full repaste,
Here's that wil please thy smel, thine eye, thy taste.

The faithfull.

The Sunne of righteousness.

BRIDEGROOME.

Sonet XIIII.

Thou sacred Center of my soule, in whome
I rest, behold thy wisht-for Love is come;
Refresht with thy delights, I have repasted
Vpon thy pleasures; my full soule hath tasted
Thy rip'ned dainties, and hath freely beene
Pleas'd with those fruits, that are (as yet) but green
All you that love the honour of my Bride,
Come taste her Vineyards, and be deifi'de,

Obedience.

Strong workes of Faith.

The new fruits of the Spirit.

BRIDE.

Sonet XV.

1

It was a night, a night as darke, as foule,
As that blacke Errour, that entranc'd my Soule,
When as my best beloved came and knockt
At my dull gates, too too securely lockt;
Vnbolt (said he) these churlish doores (my Dove,)
Let not false slumbers bribe thee from thy love;
Heare him, that for thy gentle sake came hither,
Long injur'd by this nights ungentle weather.

411

2

I heard the voice, but the perfidious pleasure
Of my sweet slumbers, could not finde the leasure
To ope my drowsie dores; my Spirit could speake
Words faire enough; but ah, my flesh was weake,
And fond excuses taught me to betray
My sacred vowes to a secure delay:
Perfidious slumbers, how have you the might
To blinde true pleasures, with a false delight!

3

When as my Love, with oft repeated knocks
Could not availe, shaking his dewy locks,
Highly displeas'd, he could no longer bide
My slight neglect, but went away denyde;
No sooner gone, but my dull soule discern'd
Her drowzie error; my griev'd Spirit yearn'd
To finde him out; these seiled eyes that slept
So soundly, fast, awak'd, much faster wept.

4

Thus rais'd, and rouz'd from my deceitfull rest,
I op'd my doores, where my departed Guest
Had beene; I thrust the churlish Portals from me
That so deny'de my dearest Bridegroome to me;
But when I smelt of my returned hand,
My soule was rapt, my powers all did stand
Amazed at the sweetnesse they did finde,
Which my neglected Love had left behinde.

412

5

I op'd my doore, my Myrrhe-distilling doore,
But ah, my Guest was gone, had given me o're:
What curious pen, what Artist can define
A matelesse sorrow? Such, ah, such was mine;
Doubts, and despaire had of my life depriv'd me
Had not strong hope of his returne reviv'd me,
I sought, but he refused to appeare;
I call'd, but he would not be heard, nor heare.

6

Thus, with the tyranny of griefe distraught,
I rang'd a round, no place I left unsought,
No eare unask'd; The watch-men of the City
Wounded my soule, without remorse of pity
To virgin teares; They taught my feet to stray,
Whose steps were apt enough to lose their way;
With taunts & scornes they checkt me, and derided
And call'd me Whore, because I walkt unguided.

7

You hallowed Virgins, you, whose tender hearts
Ere felt th'impression of Loves secret darts,
I charge you all, by the deare faith you owe
To Virgin purenesse, and your vestall vowe,
Commend me to my Love, if ere you meet him,
O tell him, that his love-sick spouse doth greet him;
O let him know, I languish with desire
T'enjoy that heart, that sets this heart on fire.

Too much securitie.

My heart.

The pleasures of the Flesh.

Thy hard-hearted unkindenesse.

Repented.

The sweetnesse of his graces.

False teachers.

With their false doctrines.

Divine Love.

413

VIRGINS.

Sonet. XVI.

O thou the fairest flowre of mortall birth,
If such a beautie may be borne of earth,
Angell or Virgin, which? or both in one,
Angell by beauty, Virgin by thy moane,
Say, who is He that may deserve these teares,
These precious drops? Who is't can stop his eares
At these faire lips? Speake Lady, speake at large,
Who is't? For whom giv'st thou so strict a charge?

BRIDE.

Sonet XVII.

1

My Love is the perfection of delight,
Roses, and Doves are not so red, so white;
Vnpatern'd beautie summon'd every grace
To the composure of so sweet a face;
His body is a Heaven, for in his brest
The perfect Essence of a God doth rest;
The brighter eye of Heaven did never shine
Vpon another glorie, so divine.

2

His Head is farre more glorious, to behold,
Than fruitfull Ophyres oft refined gold,
Tis the rich Magazen of secret treasure,
Whence Graces spring in unconfined measure;
His curl'd and dagling Tresses doe proclame
A Nazarite, on whom ne're Razor came.

414

Whose Raven-blacke colour gives a curious relish
To that which beauty did so much imbellish.

3

Like to the eyes of Doves are his faire eyes,
Wherein sterne Iustice, mixt with mercy, lies;
His eyes are simple, yet Majesticall,
In motion nimble, and yet chaste withall,
Flaming like fier, and yet burne they not,
Vnblemisht, undistained with a spot,
Blazing with precious beames, and to behold,
Like two rich Diamonds in a frame of gold.

4

His cheeks are like two fruitfull beds ore-grown
With Aromaticke flowers newly blowne,
Whose odours, beauty, please the smell, the sight,
And doubling pleasures, double the delight:
His lips are like a chrystall spring, from whence
Flow sweetned streames of sacred Eloquence,
Whose drops into the eare distill'd, doe give
Life to the dead, true joyes to them that live.

5

His hāds are deckt with rings of gold; the rings
With costly Iewels, fitting none but Kings.

415

Which (of themselves though glorious, yet) receive
More glorie from those fingers, than they give;
His brests like Ivorie, circled round about
With veines, like Saphyres, winding in and out,
Whose beautie is (though darkened from the eye)
Full of divine, and secret Majestie.

6

His legs like purest Marble, strong and white,
Of curious shape, (though quicke) unapt for flight:
His Feet (as gold that's oft refined) are
Like his upright proceedings, pure and faire;
His Port is Princely, and his Stature tall,
And, like the Cedar, stout, yet sweet withall:
O, who would not repose his life, his blisse,
Vpon a Base so faire, so firme as this?

7

His mouth! but stay, what need my lips be lavish
In choice of words, when one alone wil ravish?
But shall, in briefe, my ruder tongue discover
The speaking Image of my absent Lover?
Then let the curious hand of Art refine
The race of Vertues morall, and divine,
From whence, by heaven let there extracted be
A perfect Quintessence; even such is He.

His Dietie.

His Humanitie.

His judgements and care of his Church.

The dicovery of him in his word.

His promises.

Those that die to sinne.

That live to righteousnesse.

His actins.

His secret counsells.

Inwardly glorious.

With purenesse.

His waies constant, firme, and pure.

His whole carriage.

416

VIRGINS.

Sonet XVIII.

Thrice fairer than the fairest, whose sad teares,
And smiling words, have charm'd our eyes, our eares;
Say, whither is this prize of beauty gone,
More faire than kinde, to let thee weepe alone?
Thy tempting lips have whet our dull desire,
And till we see him, we are all on fire:
Wee'll finde him out, if thou wilt be our guide:
The next way to the Bridegroome, is the Bride.

The Church is the way to Christ.

BRIDE.

Sonet XIX.

1

If errour lead not my dull thoughts amisse,
My Genius tells me, where my true Love is;
He's busie lab'ring on his flowry banks,
Inspiring sweetnesse, and receiving thanks,
Watring those plants, whose tender roots are dry,
And pruning such, whose Crests aspire too high,
Transplanting, grafting, reaping fruits from some,
And covering others, that are newly come.

2

What if the frailty of my feebler part,
Lockt up the Portalls of my drowsie heart?

417

He knowes, the weaknesse of the flesh incumbers
Th'unwilling spirit, with sense-bereaving slumbers,
My hopes assure me, in despight of this,
That my Beloved's mine, and I am his:
My hopes are firme (which time shall ne're remove)
That he is mine, by faith; I, his, by love.

Congregation of the faithfull.

Giving graces.

Receiving glory.

Despairing soules.

Not yet thorowly humbled.

Strengthning the weake in spirit.

BRIDEGROOME.

Sonet XX.

1

Thy timely griefe, (my teares-baptized Love)
Cōpels mine eares to heare; thy tears, to move;
Thy blubber'd beauty, to mine eye appeares
More bright than 'twas: Such is the strength of teares:
Beautie, & Terror, meeting in thine eye,
Have made thy face the Throne of Majestie,
Whose awfull beames, the proudest heart will move
To love for feare, untill it feare for love.

2

Represse those flames, that furnace from thine eye,
They ravish with too bright a Tyrannie;
Thy fires are too-too fierce: O turne them from me,
They pierce my soule, & with their rayes o'recome me.
Thy curious Tresses dangle, all unbound,
With unaffected order, to the ground:
How orient is thy beauty! How divine!
How darke's the glory of the earth to thine!

418

3

Thy Ivory Teeth in whitenesse doe out-goe
The downe of Swans, or Winters driven snowe,
Whose even proportions lively represent
Th'harmonious Musicke of unite consent;
Whose perfect whitenesse, Time could never blot,
Nor age (the envious Worme of Ruine) rot:
How orient is thy beauty! How divine!
How darke's the glory of the earth to thine!

4

Thy Temples, are the Temples of chaste love,
Where beauty sacrific'd her milke-white Dove,
Vpon whose Azure pathes, are alwaies found
The heaven-borne Graces dauncing in a round:
Thy maiden Blushes gently doe proclame
A shame of guilt, but not a guilt of shame:
How orient is thy beauty! How divine!
How darke's the glory of the earth to thine!

5

You, you brave spirits, whose imperiall hand
Enforces, what your lookes cannot command,
Bring forth your pamper'd Queenes, the lustfull prize
And curious wrecks of your imperious eyes;
Surround the Circle of the earth, and levie
The fairest Virgins in Loves fairest bevie;
Then take from each, to make one perfit grace,
Yet would my Love out-shine that borrow'd face.

419

6

I thou art she, corrivalld with no other,
Thou glorious Daughter of thy glorious Mother
The new Ierusalem, whose virgin birth
Shall deifie the Virgins of the earth:
The Virgins of the earth have seene thy beautie,
And stood amaz'd, and in a prostrate duty
Have sued to kisse thy hand, making thine eyes
Their Lamps to light them, til the Bridegroom rise.

7

Harke, how the virgins hallow'd with thy fire,
And wonder-smitten with thy beames, admire,
Who, who is this (say they) whose cheekes resemble
Aurora's blush, whose eye heavens lights dissemble?
Whose face is brighter than the silent Lampe
That lights the earth, to breathe her nightly damp;
Vpon whose brow sits dreadfull Majestie,
The frowne whereof commands a victorie.

8

Faire Bride, why was thy troubled soule dejected
When I was absent? was my faith suspected,
Which I so firmely plighted? Couldst thou thinke
My love could shake, or such a vow could shrinke?
I did but walke among my tender Plants,
To smell their odours, and supply their wants,
To see my Stockes, so lately grifted, sprout,
Or if my vines began to burgen out.

420

9

Though gone was I, my heart was in thy brest,
Although to thee (perchāce) an unknowne guest
'Twas that, that gaue such wings to thy desire,
T'enjoy thy love, and set thy soule on fire;
But my returne was quicke, and with a minde
More nimble (yet more constant) than the winde,
I came; and as the winged shaft doth flie
With undiscerned speed; even so did I.

10

Returne, (O then returne) thou child of Peace
To thy first joyes, O let thy teares surcease;
Returne thee to thy Love; let not the night
With flatt'ring slumbers, tempt thy true delight:
Returne thee to my bosome, let my brest
Be still thy Tent; Take there eternall rest;
Returne, O thou, in whose enchanted eye
Are darts enough, to make an army flye.

11

Faire Daughter of the highest King, how sweet
Are th'unaffected graces of thy Feet!
From every step, true Majestie doth spring,
Fitting the Daughter of so high a King:
Thy Wast is circled with a Virgin Zone,
Imbellisht round with many a precious Stone.

421

Therein thy curious Workeman did fulfill
The utmost glory of his diviner skill.

12

Thy Navell, where thy holy Embrion doth
Receive sweet nourishment, and heavenly growth
Is like a Chrystal spring, whose fresh supply
Of living waters, Sunne, nor Drought can dry:
Thy fruitfull Wombe is like a winnow'd heape
Of purest graine, which heavēs blest hand did reap,
With Lillies fenc'd: True Embleme of rare treasure
Whose graine denotes increase; whose Lillies pleasure.

13

Thy dainty Brests, are like faire twins, both swelling
In equall Majestie; in hue excelling
The new-falne snow upon th'untroden mountains,
From whence there flowes, as from exub'rous fountaines
Rivers of heavenly Nectar, to allay
The holy thirst of soules: Thrice happy they,
And more than thrice, whose blest affections bring
Their thirstie palats to so sweet a Spring.

14

Thy Necke doth represent an Ivory Tower,
In perfect purenesse, and united power,

422

Thine Eyes (like pooles at a frequented gate
For every commer, to draw water at)
Are common treasures, and like chrystall glasses,
Shwes each his lively visage, as he passes.
Thy Nose, the curious Organ of thy Sent,
Wants nothing more, for use, for ornament.

15

Thy Tyres of gold (inricht with glorious gems,
Rare Diamonds, and princely Diadems)
Adorne thy browes, and with their native worth
Aduance thy glory, and set thy beautie forth:
So perfect are thy Graces, so divine,
And full of heaven, are those faire lookes of thine,
That I'm inflamed with the double fire
Of thy full beauty, and my fierce desire.

16

O sacred Symmetrie! O rare connection
Of many perfects, to make one perfection!
O heauenly Musicke, where all parts doe meet
In one sweet straine, to make one perfect sweet!
O glorious members, whose each severall features
Divine, compose so, so divine a Creature!
Faire soule, as all thy parts united be
Entire, so summ'd are all my joyes in thee.

423

17

Thy curious Fabricke, and erected stature
Is like the generous Palme, whose lofty nature,
In spight of envious violence, will aspire,
When most supprest, the more it moūts the higher:
Thy lovely brests, (whose beautie reinvites
My oft remembrance to her oft delights)
Are like the swelling Clusters of the vine;
So full of sweetnesse are those brests of thine.

18

Art thou my Palme? My busie hand shal nourish
Thy fruitfull roots, & make thy brāches flourish:
Art thou my vine? My skilfull arme shall dresse
Thy dying plants; my living springs shall blesse
Thy infant Buds; my blasting breath shall quell
Presumptuous weeds, & make thy clusters swell:
And all that love thee, shall attaine the favour
To taste thy sweetnesse, and to smell thy savour.

19

Those Oracles that from thy lips proceed,
With sweet Evangels, shall delight and feed
Th'attentive eare, and like the Trumpets voyce
Amaze faint hearts, but make brave spirits rejoice:
Thy breath, whose Dialect is most divine,
Incends quicke flames, where ember'd sparkes but shine;
It strikes the Pleaders Rhet'ricke with derision,
And makes the dullest soule a Rhetorician.

The force of repentance.

Sincere Ministers.

Thy visible parts.

Modestie, and zeale.

The pure in heart.

My Spirit.

Securitie.

Worldly pleasures.

Thy wayes.

The girdle of truth.

The precious gifts of the Spirit

Whereby there is a receipt of spirituall Conceptions.

Increase of the faithfull.

The old and new Testament.

Magistrates.

Teachers.

Glorious in all parts.

The ceremonies of the church.

Despairing soules.

Young Converts.

Opposers of the truth.

424

BRIDE.

Sonet XXI.

1

My faith, not merits, hath assur'd thee, mine;
Thy Love, not my desert hath made me, thine:
Vnworthy I, whose drowsie soule rejected
Thy precious favours, and (secure) neglected
Thy glorious presence, how am I become
A Bride befitting so divine a Groome!
It is no merit, no desert of mine,
Thy love, thy love alone, hath made me thine.

2

Since then the bountie of thy deare election
Hath stil'd me thine, O let the sweet reflection
Of thy illustrious beames, my soule inspire,
And with thy spirit, inflame my hot desire;
Vnite our soules; O let thy Spirit rest
And make perpetuall home within my brest;
Instruct me so, that I may gaine the skill,
To suite my service to thy sacred will.

3

Come, come (my soules preserver) thou that art
Th'united joyes of my united heart,
Come, let us visit with the morning light,
Our prosperous Vines; with mutuall delight
Lt's view those grapes, whose clusters being prest
Shall make rich wines, to serve your Mariage feast,
That by the thriving plants it may appeare,
Our joyes perfecting Mariage draweth neere.

425

4

Behold, my new disclosed flowers present
Before thy gates, their tributary sent;
Reserve themselves for Garlands, that they may
Adorne the Bridegorme, on his Mariage day:
My Garden's full of Trees, and every Tree
Laden with fruit, which I devote to thee;
Eternall joyes betide that happy guest,
That tastes the dainties of the Bridegroomes feast.

5

O would to God mine eyes (these fainting eyes,
Whose eager appetite could ne're devise
A dearer object, might but once behold
My Love (as I am, clad in fleshly mold,
That each may corporally converse with other
As friend with friend; as sister with her brother,
O how mine eyes could welcome such a sight!
How would my soule dissolve with o're-delight!

6

Then should this hand conduct my fairest Spouse,
To taste a banquet at my mothers house;
Our fruitfull Garden should present thine eyes
With sweet delights; her trees should sacrifice
Their early fruits to thee; our tender Vine
Should cheare thy palate with her unprest wine;

426

Thy hand should teach my living Plants to thrive;
And such, as are a dying, to revive.

7

Then should my soule enjoy within this breast,
A holy Sabbath of eternall Rest;
Then should my cause that suffers through despight
Of errour, and rude Ignorance, have right;
Then should these streames, whose tydes so often
Be ebb'd away, from my suffused eyes;
Then should my spirits fill'd with heavenly mirth, rise,
Triumph o're Hell, and finde a heaven on earth.

8

All you that wish the bountifull encrease
Of dearest pleasures, and divinest peace,
I charge you all (if ought my charge may move
Your tender hearts) not to disturbe my Love;
Vexe not his gentle Spirit, nor bereave
Him of his joyes, that is so apt to grieve;
Dare not to breake his quiet slumbers, lest
You rouze a raging Lyon from his rest.

9

Who ever lov'd, that ever lov'd as I,
That for his sake renounce my selfe, deny
The worlds best joyes, and have the world forgone?
Who ever lov'd so deare, As I have done?

427

I sought my Love, and found him lowly laid
Beneath the tree of Love, in whose sweet shade
He rested; there his eye sent forth the fire,
That first enflam'd my amorous desire.

10

My dearest Spouse, O seale me on thy heart
So sure, that envious Earth may never part
Our joyned soules; let not the world remove
My chast desiers from so choyce a Love;
For, O, my love's not slight, her flames are serious
Was never death so powerfull, so imperious:
My jealous zeale is a consuming fire,
That burns my soule, through feare & fierce desire.

11

Fires may be quencht; and flames, though ne'r so great,
With many drops shal faint, and lose their heat:
But these quick fires of love, the more supprest,
The more they flame in my inflamed brest;
How darke is Honour! how obscure and dim
Is earths bright glory, but compar'd with him!
How foule is Beauty! what a toyle is Pleasure!
How poore is Wealth! how base a thing is treasure!

12

Have a Sister, which by thy divine
And bounteous Grace, our Marriage shall make thine;
She is mine owne, mine onely Sister, whom
My Mother bare the youngest of her wombe:

428

Shee's yet a childe, her beauty may improve,
Her brests are small, and yet too greene for love;
When time and yeares shall adde perfection to her,
Say (dearest Love) what honour wilt thou do her?

Congregation of the faithfull.

By affliction.

Young Convers.

Assemblies.

Faithfull.

Faith and goodworkes.

The universall Church.

Teares and sorrowes.

Not to vexe and grieve his holy Spirit.

In humility.

The Church of the Gentiles then uncalled.

Vncall'd to the truth.

BRIDEGROOME.

Sonet. XXII.

If she be faire, and with her beauty, prove
As chaste, as loyall to her virgin-Love,
As thou hast beene, then in that high degree
Ile honour her, as I have honour'd thee:
Be she as constant as her Vestall vow,
And true to her devoted faith, as thou,
Ile crowne her head, and fill her hand with power,
And give a Kingdome to her for a Dower.

BRIDE.

Sonet. XXIII.

VVhen time shall ripen these her greene desires,
And holy Love shal breathe her heav'nly fires
Into her Virgin brest, her heart shall be
As true to love, as I am true to thee:
O, when thy boundlesse bountie shall conjoyne
Her equall-glorious Majesty, with mine,
My ioyes are perfect, then, in sacred bands
Wedlocke shall couple our espoused hands.

429

BRIDEGROOME.

Sonet. XXIIII.

1

I am thy Gard'ner, Thou my fruitfull Vine,
Whose rip'ned clusters swell with richest Wine;
The Vines of Solomon were not so faire,
His Grapes were not so pretious, as thine are;
His Vines were subject to the vulgar will
Of hired hands, and mercinary skill;
Corrupted Carles were merry with his Vines,
And at a price return'd their barter'd wines.

2

Bvt mine's a Vineyard, which no ruder hand
Shall touch, subjected to my sole command;
My selfe with this laborious arme, will dresse it,
My presence with a busie eye shall blesse it;
O Princely Solomon, thy thriving Vine
Is not so faire, so bountifull as mine;
Thy greedy sharers claime an earned hire,
But mine's reseru'd, and to my selfe entire.

3

O thou, that dwellest where th'eternall fame
Of my renowne so glorifies my name,
Lustrious Bride, in whose celestiall tongue,
Are sacred Spels t'enchant the ruder throng;
O let thy lips, like a perpetuall story;
Divulge my graces, and declare my glory;

430

Direct those hearts, that errour leads astray,
Dissolve the Waxe, but make obdure the Clay.

In the great Congregation.

The penitent

The presumptuous

BRIDE.

Sonet XXV.

Most glorious Love, and honourable Lord,
My heart's the vowed servant of thy Word,
But I am weake, and as a tender Vine,
Shall fall, unpropt by that deare hand of thine:
Assist me therefore that I may fulfill
What thou commandst, and then command thy wil;
O leave thy Sacred Spirit in my brest,
As earnest of an everlasting Rest.

The end.