 | My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee |  |
These were honourable men in their Generations.
Eccles. 44. 7.
20
[My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee]
My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee,Wherewith whole showls of Martyrs once did burn,
Besides their other flames. Doth Poetry
Wear Venus Livery? only serve her turn?
Why are not Sonnets made of thee? and layes
Upon thine Altar burnt? Cannot thy love
Heighten a spirit to sound out thy praise
As well as any she? Cannot thy Dove
Out-strip their Cupid easily in flight?
Or, since thy wayes are deep, and still the same,
Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy name!
Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might
Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose
Than that, which one day, Worms, may chance refuse.
[Sure Lord, there is enough in thee to dry]
Sure Lord, there is enough in thee to dryOceans of Ink; for, as the Deluge did
Cover the Earth, so doth thy Majesty:
Each Cloud distills thy praise, and doth forbid
Poets to turn it to another use.
Roses and Lillies speak thee; and to make
A pair of Cheeks of them, is thy abuse.
Why should I Womens eyes for Chrystal take?
Such poor invention burns in their low mind
21
To praise and on thee Lord, some Ink bestow.
Open the bones, and you shall nothing find
In the best face but filth, when Lord, in thee
The beauty lies, in the discovery.
G. H.
47
TO MY SUCCESSOR.
If thou chance for to findA new House to thy mind,
And built without thy Cost:
Be good to the Poor,
As God gives thee store,
And then, my Labour's not lost.
| My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee | |