XIII. PSALMS LV. VI.
O that I had the wings of a Dove, for then I would flee away and be at rest.
1
And am I sworne a dunghill slave for ever
To earths base drudg'ry? Shall I never find
A night of Rest? Shall my Indentures never
Be cancel'd? Did injurious nature bind
My soule earths Prentice, with no Clause, to leave her?
No day of freedome? must I ever grinde?
O that I had the pineons of a Dove
That I might quit my Bands, and sore above
And powre my just Complaints before the great JEHOVE!
2
How happy are the Doves, that have the pow'r,
When ere they please, to spread their ayry wings!
Or cloud-dividing Eagles, that can tow'r
Above the Sent of these inferiour things!
How happy is the Lark, that ev'ry howre,
Leaves earth, and then for joy, mounts up and sings!
Had my dull soule but wings as well as they,
How I would spring from earth, and clip away,
As wise Astraea did, and scorne this ball of Clay!
3
O how my soule would spurne this Ball of Clay,
And loath the dainties of earths painfull pleasure!
O how I'de laugh to see men night and day,
Turmoyle, to gaine that Trash they call their treasure!
O how I'de smile to see what plots they lay
To catch the blast, or owne a smile from Caesar!
Had I the pineons of a mounting Dove,
How I would sore and sing, and hate the Love
Of transitory Toyes, and feed on Joyes above!
4
There should I find that everlasting Pleasure,
Which Change removes not, and which Chance prevents not;
There should I find that everlasing Treasure
Which force deprives not, fortune dis-augments not;
There should I find that everlasting Caesar,
Whose hand recals not, and whose heart repents not:
Had I the pineons of a clipping Dove,
How I would climbe the skies, and hate the Love
Of transitory Toyes, and joy in Things above!
5
No rank-mouth'd slander, there, shall give offence,
Or blast our blooming names, as here they doe;
No liver-scalding Lust shall, there, incense
Our boyling veines: There is no Cupids Bow:
LORD, give my soule the milk-white Innocence
Of Doves, and I shall have their pineons too:
Had I the pineons of a sprightly Dove,
How I would quit this earth, and sore above,
And heav'ns blest kingdome find, with heav'ns blest King JEHOVE.
S. AUGUST. in Psal. 138.
What wings should I desire but the two precepts of love, on which the Law
and the Prophets depend? O if I could obtaine these wings, I could fly from thy
face to thy face, from the face of thy Justice to the face of thy Mercy: Let us
find those wings by love which we have lost by lust.
S. AUGUST. in Psal. 76.
Let us cast off whatsoever hinders, entangles or burthens our flight untill
we attaine that which satisfies: beyond which nothing is; beneath which, all
things are; of which, all things are.
EPIGRAM 13.
[Tell me, my wishing soule, didst ever trie]
Tell me, my wishing soule, didst ever trie
How fast the wings of Red-crost Faith can flie?
Why beg'st thou the the pineons of a Dove?
Faiths wings are swifter, but the swiftest, Love.
