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University of Virginia Library

Divine poems

Containing The History of Ionah. Ester. Iob. Sampson. Sions Sonets. Elegies. Written and newly augmented, by Fra: Quarles

Quarles, Francis (1592-1644)

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THE PROPOSITION of this first Worke.

The Introduction.

TO THE MOST HIGH, HIS HVMBLE Servant IMPLORES HIS FAVOVRABLE Assistance.

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A FEAST FOR WORMES.

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The Authors Apology.

The generall Application.

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Meditatio ultima.

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THE GENERALL VSE OF this History.

The particular Application.

A Hymne to God.

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ELEVEN PIOVS Meditations.

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1.

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Mors Christi. 2.

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Fraus Mundi. 3.

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Gloria Cœli. 4.

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Dolor Inferni. 5.

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Mors Christi. 2.

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Fraus Mundi. 3.

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Gloria Cœli. 4.

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Dolor Inferni. 5.

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THE INTRODVCTION.

TO THE HIGHEST: His Humble Servant Implores his gracious ayde.

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THE HISTORIE Of Ester.

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The Proposition of the Worke.

TO THE GREAT Tetragrammaton, LORD PARAMOVNT OF Heaven AND Earth: His Humble Servant dedicates himselfe, and implores the Enfranchising of his Muse.

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The Digestion of the whole History.

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THE HISTORIE OF SAMSON: By Fra. Quarles.

[I sing th'illustrious, and renowned Story]

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THE HISTORIE OF SAMSON.

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SIONS SONETS. Sung By Solomon the King; And Periphras'd

AN EPITHALME TO THE BRIDEGROOME.

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The BRIDE in the person of the BRIDEGROOME.

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The BRIDE in her owne person.

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XXV.

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SIONS ELEGIES. Wept BY IEREMIE THE PROPHET

TO THE TRVE THEANTHROPOS, Iesus Christ, THE Saviovr OF THE WORLD: His Servant implores his favourable assistance.

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Eleg. 22.

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II.

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III.

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IIII.

Threnodia. IIII.

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The Prophet Ieremie his Prayer for the distressed people of Ierusalem, and Sion.

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FUNERALL ELEGIES

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Eleg. 22.

You noysome weeds, that lift your crests so high,
When better plants, for want of moysture die?
Thinke you to flourish ever? and (unspide)
To shoot the flowers of your fruitlesse pride?
If plants be cropt, because their fruits are small,
Thinke you to thrive, that beare no fruit at all?
Looke downe (great God) & from their places teare
These weeds, that suck the juice, shold make us bear
Vndew'd with showers, let them see no Sun,
But feel those frosts, that thy poor plāts have done.
O clense thy Garden, that the world may know
Wee are the seeds, that thy right hand did sow.