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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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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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II.

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III.

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Eleg. 17.

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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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469

Eleg. 17.

Rivers of marish teares have over-flowne
My blubber'd cheeks my tongue can find no Tone
So sharpe as silence, to bewaile that woe,
Whose flowing Tides, an Ebbe could never know:
Weepe on (mine eyes) mine eyes shall never cease;
Speake on (my Tongue) forget to hold thy peace;
Cease not thy teares; close not thy lips so long,
Til heaven shal wipe thine eies, & heare thy tongue:
What heart of brasse, what Adamantine brest
Can know the torments of my soule, and rest?
What stupid braine, (ah me!) what marble eye
Can see these, these my ruines, and not cry?