The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations

§ Mans medley. HEark, how the birds do sing, And woods do ring. All creatures have their joy: and man hath his. Yet if we rightly measure, Mans joy and pleasure Rather hereafter, then in present, is. To this life things of sense Make their pretence: In th' other Angels have a right by birth: Man ties them both alone, And makes them one, With th' one hand touching heav'n, with th' other earth. In soul he mounts and flies, In flesh he dies. He wears a stuffe whose thread is course and round, But trimm'd with curious lace, And should take place After the trimming, not the stuffe and ground. Not that he may not here Taste of the cheer, But as birds drink, and straight lift up their head, So he must sip and think Of better drink He may attain to, after he is dead. But as his joyes are double; So is his trouble. He hath two winters, other things but one: Bothe frosts and thoughts do nip, And bite his lip; And he of all things fears two deaths alone. Yet ev'n the greatest griefs May be reliefs, Could he but take them right, and in their wayes. Happie is he, whose heart Hath found the art To turn his double pains to double praise.

¶ Marie Magdalene. When blessed Marie wip'd her Saviours feet, (Whose precepts she had trampled on before) And wore them for a jewell on her head, Shewing his steps should be the street, Wherein she thenceforth evermore With pensive humblenesse would live and tread: She being stain'd her self, why did she strive To make him clean, who could not be defil'd? Why kept she not her tears for her own faults, And not his feet? Though we could dive In tears like seas, our sinnes are pil'd Deeper then they, in words, and works, and thoughts. Deare soul, she knew who did vouchsafe and deigne To bear her filth; and that her sinnes did dash Ev'n God himself: wherefore she was not loth, As she had brought wherewith to stain, So to bring in wherewith to wash: And yet in washing one, she washed both.

¶ Mattens. I Cannot ope mine eyes, But thou art ready there to catch My morning-soul and sacrifice: Then we must needs for that day make a match. My God, what is a heart? Silver, or gold, or precious stone, Or starre, or rainbow, or a part Of all these things, or all of them in one? My God, what is a heart, That thou shouldst it so eye, and wooe, Powring upon it all thy art, As if that thou hadst nothing els to do? Indeed mans whole estate Amounts (and richly) to serve thee: He did not heav'n and earth create, Yet studies them, not him by whom they be. Teach me thy love to know; That this new light, which now I see, May both the work and workman show: Then by a sunne-beam I will climbe to thee.

¶ Miserie. LOrd, let the Angels praise thy name. Man is a foolish thing, a foolish thing; Folly and Sinne play all his game. His house still burns; and yet he still doth sing, Man is but grasse, He knows it, fill the glasse. How canst thou brook his foolishnesse? Why, he'l not lose a cup of drink for thee: Bid him but temper his excesse; Not he: he knows where he can better be, As he will swear, Then to serve thee in fear. What strange pollutions doth he wed, And make his own, as if none knew but he! No man shall beat into his head, That thou within his curtains drawn canst see: They are of cloth, Where never yet came moth. The best of men, turn but thy hand For one poore minute, stumble at a pinne: They would not have their actions scann'd, Nor any sorrow tell them that they sinne, Though it be small, And measure not their fall. They quarrell thee, and would give over The bargain made to serve thee: but thy love Holds them unto it, and doth cover Their follies with the wing of thy milde Dove, Not suff'ring those Who would, to be thy foes.

My God, Man cannot praise thy name: Thou art all brightnesse, perfect puritie: The sunne holds down his head for shame, Dead with eclipses, when we speak of thee. How shall infection Presume on thy perfection? As dirtie hands foul all they touch, And those things most, which are most pure and fine! So our clay hearts, ev'n when we crouch To sing thy praises, make them lesse divine. Yet either this, Or none thy portion is. Man cannot serve thee; let him go And serve the swine: there, there is his delight: He doth not like this Vertue, no; Give him his dirt to wallow in all night: These Preachers make His head to shoot and ake. Oh foolish man, where are thine eyes? How hast thou lost them in a croud of cares? Thou pull'st the rug, and wilt not rise, No, not to purchase the whole pack of starres: There let them shine, Thou must go sleep, or dine. The bird that sees a daintie bowre Made in the tree, where she was wont to sit, Wonders and sings, but not his power, Who made the arbour: this exceeds her wit. But Man doth know The spring, whence all things flow:

And yet as though he knew it not, His knowledge winks, and lets his humours reigne; They make his life a constant blot, And all the bloud of God to run in vain. Ah wretch! what verse Can thy strange wayes rehearse? Indeed at first Man was a treasure, A box of jewels, shop of rarities, A ring, whose posie was, My pleasure: He was a garden in a Paradise: Glorie and grace Did crown his heart and face. But sinne hath fool'd him. Now he is A lump of flesh, without a foot or wing To raise him to the glimpse of blisse: A sick toss'd vessel, dashing on each thing; Nay, his own shelf: My God, I mean my self.

¶ Mortification. HOw soon doth man decay! When clothes are taken from a chest of sweets To swaddle infants, whose young breath Scarce knows the way; Those clouts are little winding sheets, Which do consigne and send them unto death. When boyes go first to bed, They step into their voluntarie graves; Sleep bindes them fast; onely their breath Makes them not dead: Successive nights, like rolling waves, Convey them quickly, who are bound for death. When youth is frank and free, And calls for musick, while his veins do swell, All day exchanging mirth and breath In companie; That musick summons to the knell, Which shall befriend him at the house of death. When man grows staid and wise, Getting a house and home, where he may move Within the circle of his breath, Schooling his eyes; That dumbe inclosure maketh love Into the coffin, that attends his death. When age grows low and weak, Marking his grave, and thawing ev'ry yeare, Till all do melt, and drown his breath When he would speak; A chair or litter shows the biere, Which shall convey him to the house of death.

Man, ere he is aware, Hath put together a solemnitie, And drest his herse, while he has breath As yet to spare. Yet Lord, instruct us so to die, That all these dyings may be life in death.

¶ Nature. FUll of rebellion, I would die, Or fight, or travell, or denie That thou hast ought to do with me. O tame my heart: It is thy highest art To captivate strong holds to thee. If thou shalt let this venome lurk, And in suggestions fume and work, My soul will turn to bubbles straight, And thence by kinde Vanish into a winde, Making thy workmanship deceit. O smooth my rugged heart, and there Engrave thy rev'rend Law and fear: Or make a new one, since the old Is saplesse grown, And a much fitter stone To hide my dust, then thee to hold.

¶ Obedience. MY God, if writings may Convey a Lordship any way Whither the buyer and the seller please; Let it not thee displease, If this poore paper do as much as they. On it my heart doth bleed As many lines, as there doth need To passe it self and all it hath to thee: To which I do agree, And here present it as my speciall deed. If that hereafter Pleasure Cavill, and claim her part and measure, As if this passed with a reservation, Or some such words in fashion; I here exclude the wrangler from thy treasure. O let thy sacred will All thy delight in me fulfill! Let me not think an action mine own way, But as thy love shall sway, Resigning up the rudder to thy skill. Lord, what is Man to thee, That thou shouldst minde a rotten tree? Yet since thou canst not choose but see my actions; So great are thy perfections, Thou mayst as well my actions guide, as see. Besides, thy death and bloud Show'd a strange love to all our good: Thy sorrows were in earnest; no faint proffer, Or superficiall offer Of what we might not take, or be withstood.

Wherefore I all forgo: To one word onely I say, No. Where in the deed there was an intimation Of a gift or donation, Lord, let it now by way of purchase go. He that will passe his land, As I have mine, may set his hand And heart unto this deed, when he hath read; And make the purchase spread To both our goods, if he to it will stand. How happie were my part, If some kinde man would thrust his heart Into these lines; till in heav'ns court of rolls They were by winged souls Entred for both, farre above their desert!

§ Paradise. I Bless thee, Lord, because I GROW Among thy trees, which in a ROW To thee both fruit and order OW. What open force, or hidden CHARM Can blast my fruit, or bring me HARM, While the inclosure is thine ARM. Inclose me still for fear I start. Be to me rather sharp and tart, Then let me want thy hand & art. When thou dost greater judgments spare, And with thy knife but prune and pare, Ev'n fruitfull trees more fruitful are. Such sharpnes shows the sweetest frend: Such cuttings rather heal then rend: And such beginnings touch their end.

¶ Peace. SWeet Peace, where dost thou dwell? I humbly crave, Let me once know. I sought thee in a secret cave, And ask’d, if Peace were there. A hollow winde did seem to answer, No: Go seek elsewhere. I did; and going did a rainbow note: Surely, thought I, This is the lace of Peaces coat: I will search out the matter. But while I lookt, the clouds immediately Did break and scatter. Then went I to a garden, and did spy A gallant flower, The Crown Imperiall: Sure, said I, Peace at the root must dwell. But when I digg’d, I saw a worm devoure What show’d so well. At length I met a rev’rend good old man; Whom when for Peace I did demand, he thus began: There was a Prince of old At Salem dwelt, who liv’d with good increase Of flock and fold. He sweetly liv'd; yet sweetnesse did not save His life from foes. But after death out of his grave There sprang twelve stalks of wheat: Which many wondring at, got some of those To plant and set. It prosper'd strangely, and did soon disperse Through all the earth: For they that taste it do rehearse, That vertue lies therein; A secret vertue bringing peace and mirth By flight of sinne.

Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, And grows for you; Make bread of it: and that repose And peace, which ev'ry where With so much earnestnesse you do pursue Is onely there.

¶ Praise. TO write a verse or two, is all the praise, That I can raise: Mend my estate in any wayes, Thou shalt have more. I go to Church; help me to wings, and I Will thither flie; Or, if I mount unto the skie, I will do more. Man is all weaknesse; there is no such thing As Prince or King: His arm is short; yet with a sling He may do more. An herb distill'd, and drunk, may dwell next doore, On the same floore, To a brave soul: Exalt the poore, They can do more. O raise me then! Poore bees, that work all day, Sting my delay, Who have a work, as well as they, And much, much more.

¶ Praise. King of Glorie, King of Peace, I will love thee: And that love may never cease, I will move thee. Thou hast granted my request, Thou hast heard me: Thou didst note my working breast, Thou hast spar'd me. Wherefore with my utmost art I will sing thee, And the cream of all my heart I will bring thee. Though my sinnes against me cried, Thou didst cleare me; And alone, when they replied, Thou didst heare me. Sev'n whole dayes, not one in seven, I will praise thee. In my heart, though not in heaven, I can raise thee. Thou grew'st soft and moist with tears, Thou relentedst: And when Justice call'd for fears, Thou disentedst. Small it is, in this poore sort To enroll thee: Ev'n eternitie is to short To extoll thee.

¶ Praise. Lord, I will mean and speak thy praise, Thy praise alone. My busie heart shall spin it all my dayes: And when it stops for want of store, Then will I wring it with a sigh or grone, That thou mayst yet have more. When thou dost favour any action, It runnes, it flies: All things concurre to give it a perfection. That which had but two legs before, When thou dost blesse, hath twelve: one wheel doth rise To twentie then, or more. But when thou dost on businesse blow, It hangs, it clogs: Not all the teams of Albion in a row Can hale or draw it out of doore. Legs are but stumps, and Pharaohs wheels but logs, And struggling hinders more. Thousands of things do thee employ In ruling all This spacious globe: Angels must have their joy, Devils their rod, the sea his shore, The windes their stint: and yet when I did call, Thou heardst my call, and more. I have not lost one single tear: But when mine eyes Did weep to heav'n, they found a bottle there (As we have boxes for the poore) Readie to take them in; yet of a size That would contain much more.

But after thou hadst slipt a drop From thy right eye, (Which there did hang like streamers neare the top Of some fair church to show the sore And bloudie battell which thou once didst trie) The glasse was full and more. Wherefore I sing. Yet since my heart, Though press'd, runnes thin; O that I might some other hearts convert, And so take up at use good store: That to thy chests there might be coming in Both all my praise, and more!

¶ Prayer. PRayer the Churches banquet, Angels age, Gods breath in man returning to his birth, The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage, The Christian plummet sounding heav'n and earth, Engine against th' Almightie, sinners towre, Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear, The six-daies world-transposing in an houre, A kinde of tune, which all things heare and fear, Softnesse, and peace, and joy, and love, and blisse, Exalted Manna, gladnesse of the best, Heaven in ordinarie, man well drest, The milkie way, the bird of Paradise, Church-bels beyond the starres heard, the souls bloud, The land of spices; something understood.

¶ Prayer. OF what an easie quick accesse, My blessed Lord, art thou! how suddenly May our requests thine eare invade! To shew that state dislikes not easinesse. If I but lift mine eyes, my suit is made: Thou canst no more not heare, then thou canst die. Of what supreme almightie power Is thy great arm which spans the east and west, And tacks the centre to the sphere! By it do all things live their measur'd houre: We cannot ask the thing which is not there, Blaming the shallownesse of our request. Of what unmeasurable love Art thou possest, who, when thou couldst not die, Wert fain to take our flesh and curse, And for our sakes in person sinne reprove; That by destroying that which ty'd thy purse, Thou mightst make way for liberalitie! Since then these three wait on thy throne, Ease, Power, and Love; I value prayer so, That were I to leave all but one, Wealth, fame, endowments, vertues, all should go; I and deare prayer would together dwell, And quickly gain, for each inch lost, an ell.

¶ Providence. O Sacred Providence, who from end to end Strongly and sweetly movest! shall I write, And not of thee, through whom my fingers bend To hold my quill? shall they not do thee right? Of all the creatures both in sea and land Onely to Man thou hast made known thy wayes, And put the pen alone into his hand, And made him Secretarie of thy praise. Beasts fain would sing; birds dittie to their notes; Trees would be tuning on their native lute To thy renown: but all their hands and throats Are brought to Man, while they are lame and mute. Man is the worlds high Priest: he doth present The sacrifice for all; while they below Unto the service mutter an assent, Such as springs use that fall, and windes that blow. He that to praise and laud thee doth refrain, Doth not refrain unto himself alone, But robs a thousand who would praise thee fain, And doth commit a world of sinne in one. The beasts say, Eat me: but, if beasts must teach, The tongue is yours to eat, but mine to praise. The trees say, Pull me: but the hand you stretch, Is mine to write, as it is yours to raise.

Wherefore, most sacred Spirit, I here present For me and all my fellows praise to thee: And just it is that I should pay the rent, Because the benefit accrues to me. We all acknowledge both thy power and love To be exact, transcendent, and divine; Who dost so strongly and so sweetly move, While all things have their will, yet none but thine. For either thy command, or thy permission Lay hands on all: they are thy right and left. The first puts on with speed and expedition; The other curbs sinnes stealing pace and theft. Nothing escapes them both; all must appeare, And be dispos'd and dress'd, and tun'd by thee, Who sweetly temper'st all. If we could heare Thy skill and art, what musick would it be! Thou art in small things great, not small in any: Thy even praise can neither rise, nor fall. Thou art in all things one, in each thing many: For thou art infinite in one and all. Tempests are calm to thee; they know thy hand, And hold it fast, as children do their fathers, Which crie and follow. Thou hast made poore sand Check the proud sea, ev'n when it swells and gathers.

Thy cupboard serves the world: the meat is set, Where all may reach: no beast but knows his feed. Birds teach us hawking; fishes have their net: The great prey on the lesse, they on some weed. Nothing ingendred doth prevent his meat: Flies have their table spread, ere they appeare. Some creatures have in winter what to eat; Others do sleep, and envie not their cheer. How finely dost thou times and seasons spin, And make a twist checker’d with night and day! Which as it lengthens, windes, and windes us in, As bouls go on, but turning all the way. Each creature hath a wisdome for his good. The pigeons feed their tender off-spring, crying, When they are callow; but withdraw their food When they are fledge, that need may teach thẽ flying. Bees work for man; and yet they never bruise Their masters flow'r, but leave it, having done, As fair as ever, and as fit to use: So both the flow'r doth stay, and hony run. Sheep eat the grasse, and dung the ground for more: Trees after bearing drop their leaves for soil: Springs vent their streams, and by expense get store: Clouds cool by heat, and baths by cooling boil.

Who hath the vertue to expresse the rare And curious vertues both of herbs and stones? Is there a herb for that? O that thy care Would show a root, that gives expressions! And if an herb hath power, what have the starres? A rose, besides his beautie, is a cure. Doubtlesse our plagues and plentie, peace and warres Are there much surer then our art is sure. Thou hast hid metals: man may take them thence; But at his perill: when he digs the place, He makes a grave; as if the thing had sense, And threatned man, that he should fill the space. Ev'n poysons praise thee. Should a thing be lost? Should creatures want for want of heed their due? Since where are poysons, antidots are most, The help stands close, and keeps the fear in view. The sea, which seems to stop the traveller, Is by a ship the speedier passage made. The windes, who think they rule the mariner, Are rul'd by him, and taught to serve his trade. And as thy house is full, so I adore Thy curious art in marshalling thy goods. The hills with health abound; the vales with store; The South with marble; North with furres & woods.

Hard things are glorious; easie things good cheap. The common all men have: that which is rare, Men therefore seek to have, and care to keep. The healthy frosts with summer-fruits compare. Light without winde is glasse: warm without weight Is wooll and furres: cool without closenesse, shade: Speed without pains, a horse: tall without height, A servile hawk: low without losse, a spade. All countreys have enough to serve their need: If they seek fine things, thou dost make them run For their offence; and then dost turn their speed To be commerce and trade from sunne to sunne. Nothing wears clothes but Man; nothing doth need But he to wear them. Nothing useth fire, But Man alone, to show his heav'nly breed: And onely he hath fuell in desire. When th' earth was dry, thou mad'st a sea of wet: Whẽ that lay gather'd, thou didst broach the moũtains: When yet some places could no moisture get, The windes grew gard'ners, and the clouds good fountains. Rain, do not hurt my flowers; but gently spend Your hony drops: presse not to smell them here: When they are ripe, their odour will ascend, And at your lodging with their thanks appeare.

How harsh are thorns to pears! and yet they make A better hedge, and need lesse reparation. How smooth are silks compared with a stake, Or with a stone! yet make no good foundation. Sometimes thou dost divide thy gifts to man, Sometimes unite. The Indian nut alone Is clothing, meat and trencher, drink and kan, Boat, cable, sail and needle, all in one. Most herbs that grow in brooks, are hot and dry. Cold fruits warm kernels help against the winde. The lemmons juice and rinde cure mutually. The whey of milk doth loose, the milk doth binde. Thy creatures leap not, but expresse a feast, Where all the guests sit close, and nothing wants. Frogs marry fish and flesh; bats, bird and beast; Sponges, non-sense and sense; mines, th'earth & plants. To show thou art not bound, as if thy lot Were worse then ours; sometimes thou shiftest hands. Most things move th' under-jaw; the Crocodile not. Most things sleep lying; th' Elephant leans or stands. But who hath praise enough? nay who hath any? None can expresse thy works, but he that knows them: And none can know thy works, which are so many, And so complete, but onely he that owes them.

All things that are, though they have sev'rall wayes, Yet in their being joyn with one advise To honour thee: and so I give thee praise In all my other hymnes, but in this twice. Each thing that is, although in use and name It go for one, hath many wayes in store To honour thee; and so each hymne thy fame Extolleth many wayes, yet this one more.

¶ Redemption. HAving been tenant long to a rich Lord, Not thriving, I resolved to be bold, And make a suit unto him, to afford A new small-rented lease, and cancell th' old. In heaven at his manour I him sought: They told me there, that he was lately gone About some land, which he had deerly bought Long since on earth, to take possession. I straight return'd, and knowing his great birth, Sought him accordingly in great resorts; In cities, theatres, gardens, parks, and courts: At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth Of theeves and murderers: there I him espied, Who straight, Your suit is granted, said, & died.

¶ Repentance. LOrd, I confesse my sinne is great; Great is my sinne. Oh! gently treat With thy quick flow'r, thy moment anie bloom; Whose life still pressing Is one undressing, A steadie aiming at a tombe. Mans age is two houres work, or three:  Each day doth round about us see. Thus are we to delights: but we are all To sorrows old, If life be told  From what life feeleth, Adams fall. O let thy height of mercy then  Compassionate short-breathed men. Cut me not off for my most foul transgression: I do confesse My foolishnesse;  My God, accept of my confession. Sweeten at length this bitter bowl,  Which thou hast pour'd into my soul: Thy wormwood turn to health, windes to fair weather: For if thou stay, I and this day,  As we did rise, we die together. When thou for sinne rebukest man,  Forthwith he waxeth wo and wan: Bitternesse fills our bowels; all our hearts Pine and decay, And drop away,  And carrie with them th' other parts. But thou wilt sinne and grief destroy;  That so the broken bones may joy, And tune together in a well-set song, Full of his praises, Who dead men raises. Fractures well cur'd make us more strong.

¶ Self-condemnation. Thou who condemnest Jewish hate, For choosing Barabbas a murderer Before the Lord of glorie; Look back upon thine own estate, Call home thine eye (that busie wanderer) That choice may be thy storie. He that doth love, and love amisse This worlds delights before true Christian joy, Hath made a Jewish choice: The world an ancient murderer is; Thousands of souls it hath and doth destroy With her enchanting voice. He that hath made a sorrie wedding Between his soul and gold, and hath preferr'd False gain before the true, Hath done what he condemnes in reading: For he hath sold for money his deare Lord, And is a Judas-Jew. Thus we prevent the last great day, And judge our selves. That light, which sin & passion Did before dimme and choke, When once those snuffes are ta'ne away, Shines bright and cleare, ev'n unto condemnation, Without excuse or cloke.

¶ Sepulchre. O Blessed bodie! Whither art thou thrown? No lodging for thee, but a cold hard stone? So many hearts on earth, and yet not one Receive thee? Sure there is room within our hearts good store; For they can lodge transgressions by the score: Thousands of toyes dwell there, yet out of doore They leave thee. But that which shews them large, shews them unfit. What ever sinne did this pure rock commit, Which holds thee now? Who hath indited it Of murder? Where our hard hearts have took up stones to brain thee, And missing this, most falsly did arraigne thee; Onely these stones in quiet entertain thee, And order. And as of old, the Law by heav'nly art Was writ in stone; so thou, which also art The letter of the word, find'st no fit heart To hold thee. Yet do we still persist as we began, And so should perish, but that nothing can, Though it be cold, hard, foul, from loving man Withhold thee.

¶ Sighs and grones. O Do not use me After my sinnes! look not on my desert, But on thy glorie! then thou wilt reform And not refuse me: for thou onely art The mightie God, but I a sillie worm; O do not bruise me! O do not urge me! For what account can thy ill steward make? I have abus'd thy stock, destroy'd thy woods, Suckt all thy magazens: my head did ake, Till it found out how to consume thy goods: O do not scourge me! O do not blinde me! I have deserv'd that an Egyptian night Should thicken all my powers; because my lust Hath still sow'd fig-leaves to exclude thy light: But I am frailtie, and alreadie dust; O do not grinde me! O do not fill me With the turn'd viall of thy bitter wrath! For thou hast other vessels full of bloud, A part whereof my Saviour empti'd hath, Ev'n unto death: since he di'd for my good, O do not kill me! But O reprieve me! For thou hast life and death at thy command; Thou art both Judge and Saviour, feast and rod, Cordiall and Corrosive: put not thy hand Into the bitter box; but O my God, My God, relieve me!

¶ Sinne. LOrd, with what care hast thou begirt us round!  Parents first season us: then schoolmasters    Deliver us to laws; they send us bound To rules of reason, holy messengers, Pulpits and sundayes, sorrow dogging sinne,  Afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes,  Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in, Bibles laid open, millions of surprises, Blessings beforehand, tyes of gratefulnesse,  The sound of glorie ringing in our eares:  Without, our shame; within, our consciences; Angels and grace, eternall hopes and fears. Yet all these fences and their whole aray  One cunning bosome-sinne blows quite away.

¶ Sinne. O That I could a sinne once see! We paint the devil foul, yet he Hath some good in him, all agree. Sinne is flat opposite to th' Almighty, seeing It wants the good of vertue, and of being. But God more care of us hath had: If apparitions make us sad, By sight of sinne we should grow mad. Yet as in sleep we see foul death, and live: So devils are our sinnes in perspective.

¶ Sinnes round. SOrrie I am, my God, sorrie I am, That my offences course it in a ring. My thoughts are working like a busie flame, Untill their cockatrice they hatch and bring: And when they once have perfected their draughts, My words take fire from my inflamed thoughts. My words take fire from my inflamed thoughts, Which spit it forth like the Sicilian hill. They vent the wares, and passe them with their faults, And by their breathing ventilate the ill. But words suffice not, where are lewd intentions: My hands do joyn to finish the inventions. My hands do joyn to finish the inventions: And so my sinnes ascend three stories high, As Babel grew, before there were dissentions. Yet ill deeds loyter not: for they supplie New thoughts of sinning: wherefore to my shame, Sorrie I am, my God, sorrie I am.

¶ Sion. LOrd, with what glorie wast thou serv'd of old, When Solomons temple stood and flourished! Where most things were of purest gold; The wood was all embellished With flowers and carvings, mysticall and rare: All show'd the builders, crav'd the seers care. Yet all this glorie, all this pomp and state Did not affect thee much, was not thy aim; Something there was, that sow'd debate: Wherefore thou quitt'st thy ancient claim: And now thy Architecture meets with sinne; For all thy frame and fabrick is within. There thou art struggling with a peevish heart, Which sometimes crosseth thee, thou sometimes it: The fight is hard on either part. Great God doth fight, he doth submit. All Solomons sea of brasse and world of stone Is not so deare to thee as one good grone. And truly brasse and stones are heavie things, Tombes for the dead, not temples fit for thee: But grones are quick, and full of wings, And all their motions upward be; And ever as they mount, like larks they sing; The note is sad, yet musick for a King.

¶ Submission. BUt that thou art my wisdome, Lord, And both mine eyes are thine, My minde would be extreamly stirr'd   For missing my designe. Were it not better to bestow   Some place and power on me? Then should thy praises with me grow,   And share in my degree. But when I thus dispute and grieve,   I do resume my sight, And pilfring what I once did give,   Disseize thee of thy right. How know I, if thou shouldst me raise,   That I should then raise thee? Perhaps great places and thy praise   Do not so well agree. Wherefore unto my gift I stand;   I will no more advise: Onely do thou lend me a hand,   Since thou hast both mine eyes.

¶ Sunday. O Day most calm, most bright; The fruit of this, the next worlds bud, Th' indorsement of supreme delight, Writ by a friend, and with his bloud; The couch of time; cares balm and bay: The week were dark, but for thy light: Thy torch doth show the way. The other dayes and thou Make up one man; whose face thou art, Knocking at heaven with thy brow: The worky-daies are the back-part; The burden of the week lies there, Making the whole to stoup and bow, Till thy release appeare. Man had straight forward gone To endlesse death: but thou dost pull And turn us round to look on one, Whom, if we were not very dull, We could not choose but look on still; Since there is no place so alone, The which he doth not fill. Sundaies the pillars are, On which heav'ns palace arched lies: The other dayes fill up the spare And hollow room with vanities. They are the fruitfull beds and borders In Gods rich garden: that is bare, Which parts their ranks and orders. The Sundaies of mans life, Thredded together on times string, Make bracelets to adorn the wife Of the eternall glorious King. On Sunday heavens gate stands ope; Blessings are plentifull and rife, More plentifull then hope.

This day my Saviour rose, And did inclose this light for his: That, as each beast his manger knows, Man might not of his fodder misse. Christ hath took in this piece of ground, And made a garden there for those Who want herbs for their wound. The rest of our Creation Our great Redeemer did remove With the same shake, which at his passion Did th'earth and all things with it move. As Samson bore the doores away, Christs hands, though nail'd, wrought our salvation, And did unhinge that day. The brightnesse of that day We sullied by our foul offence: Wherefore that robe we cast away, Having a new at his expense, Whose drops of bloud paid the full price, That was requir'd to make us gay, And fit for Paradise. Thou art a day of mirth: And where the week-dayes trail on ground, Thy flight is higher, as thy birth. O let me take thee at the bound, Leaping with thee from sev'n to seven, Till that we both, being toss'd from earth, Flie hand in hand to heaven!

Superliminare. THou, whom the former precepts have Sprinkled and taught, how to behave Thy self in church; approach, and taste The churches mysticall repast. AVoid profanenesse; come not here: Nothing but holy, pure, and cleare, Or that which groneth to be so, May at his perill further go.

§ The 23 Psalme. The God of love my shepherd is, And he that doth me feed: While he is mine, and I am his, What can I want or need? He leads me to the tender grasse, Where I both feed and rest; Then to the streams that gently passe: In both I have the best. Or if I stray, he doth convert And bring my minde in frame: And all this not for my desert, But for his holy name. Yea, in deaths shadie black abode Well may I walk, not fear: For thou art with me; and thy rod To guide, thy staffe to bear. Nay, thou dost make me sit and dine, Ev'n in my enemies sight: My head with oyl, my cup with wine Runnes over day and night. Surely thy sweet and wondrous love Shall measure all my dayes: And as it never shall remove, So neither shall my praise.

¶ The Agonie. PHilosophers have measur'd mountains, Fathom'd the depths of seas, of states, and kings, Walk'd with a staffe to heav'n, and traced fountains: But there are two vast, spacious things, The which to measure it doth more behove: Yet few there are that sound them; Sinne and Love. Who would know Sinne, let him repair Unto mount Olivet; there shall he see A man so wrung with pains, that all his hair, His skinne, his garments bloudie be. Sinne is that presse and vice, which forceth pain To hunt his cruell food through ev'ry vein. Who knows not Love, let him assay And taste that juice, which on the crosse a pike Did set again abroach; then let him say If ever he did taste the like. Love is that liquour sweet and most divine, Which my God feels as bloud; but I, as wine.

The Altar. A broken Altar, Lord, thy servant reares, Made of a heart, and cemented with teares: Whose parts are as thy hand did frame; No workmans tool hath touch'd the same. A Heart alone Is such a stone, As nothing but Thy power doth cut. Wherefore each part Of my hard heart Meets in this frame, To praise thy name: That if I chance to hold my peace, These stones to praise thee may not cease. O let thy blessed Sacrifice be mine, And sanctifie this Altar to be thine.

¶ The Answer. My comforts drop and melt away like snow: I shake my head, and all the thoughts and ends Which my fierce youth did bandie, fall and flow Like leaves about me, or like summer friends, Flyes of estates and sunne-shine. But to all, Who think me eager, hot, and undertaking, But in my prosecutions slack and small; As a young exhalation, newly waking, Scorns his first bed of dirt, and means the skie; But cooling by the way, grows pursie and slow, And setling to a cloud, doth live and die In that dark state of tears: to all, that so Show me, and set me, I have one reply, Which they that know the rest, know more then I.

¶ The Bag. Away despair; my gracious Lord doth heare. Though windes and waves assault my keel, He doth preserve it: he doth steer, Ev'n when the boat seems most to reel. Storms are the triumph of his art: Well may he close his eyes, but not his heart. Hast thou not heard, that my Lord Jesus di'd? Then let me tell thee a strange storie. The God of power, as he did ride In his majestick robes of glorie, Resolv'd to light: and so one day He did descend, undressing all the way. The starres his tire of light and rings obtain'd, The cloud his bow, the fire his spear, The skie his azure mantle gain'd. And when they ask'd, what he would wear; He smil'd and said as he did go, He had new clothes a making here below. When he was come, as travellers are wont, He did repair unto an inne. Both then and after, many a brunt He did endure to cancell sinne: And having giv'n the rest before, Here he gave up his life to pay our score.

But as he was returning, there came one That ran upon him with a spear. He, who came hither all alone, Bringing nor man, nor arms, nor fear, Receiv'd the blow upon his side, And straight he turn'd, and to his brethren cry'd, If ye have any thing to send or write, (I have no bag, but here is room) Unto my fathers hands and sight (Beleeve me) it shall safely come. That I shall minde, what you impart; Look, you may put it very neare my heart. Or if hereafter any of my friends Will use me in this kinde, the doore Shall still be open; what he sends I will present, and somewhat more, Not to his hurt. Sighs will convey Any thing to me. Heark despair, away.

¶ The Banquet. Welcome sweet and sacred cheer, Welcome deare; With me, in me, live and dwell: For thy neatnesse passeth sight, Thy delight Passeth tongue to taste or tell. O what sweetnesse from the bowl Fills my soul, Such as is, and makes divine! Is some starre (fled from the sphere) Melted there, As we sugar melt in wine? Or hath sweetnesse in the bread Made a head To subdue the smell of sinne; Flowers, and gummes, and powders giving All their living, Lest the enemie should winne? Doubtlesse, neither starre nor flower Hath the power Such a sweetnesse to impart: Onely God, who gives perfumes, Flesh assumes, And with it perfumes my heart. But as Pomanders and wood Still are good, Yet being bruis'd are better sented: God, to show how farre his love Could improve, Here, as broken, is presented. When I had forgot my birth, And on earth In delights of earth was drown'd; God took bloud, and needs would be Spilt with me, And so found me on the ground. Having rais'd me to look up, In a cup Sweetly he doth meet my taste. But I still being low and short, Farre from court, Wine becomes a wing at last.

For with it alone I flie To the skie: Where I wipe mine eyes, and see What I seek, for what I sue; Him I view, Who hath done so much for me. Let the wonder of this pitie Be my dittie, And take up my lines and life: Hearken under pain of death, Hands and breath; Strive in this, and love the strife.

¶ The British Church. I Joy, deare Mother, when I view Thy perfect lineaments, and hue Both sweet and bright. Beautie in thee takes up her place, And dates her letters from thy face, When she doth write. A fine aspect in fit aray, Neither too mean, nor yet too gay, Shows who is best. Outlandish looks may not compare: For all they either painted are, Or else undrest. She on the hills, which wantonly Allureth all in hope to be By her preferr'd, Hath kiss'd so long her painted shrines, That ev'n her face by kissing shines, For her reward. She in the valley is so shie Of dressing, that her hair doth lie About her eares: While she avoids her neighbours pride, She wholly goes on th' other side, And nothing wears. But dearest Mother, (what those misse) The mean thy praise and glorie is, And long may be. Blessed be God, whose love it was To double-moat thee with his grace, And none but thee.

§ The Call. Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life: Such a Way, as gives us breath: Such a Truth, as ends all strife: And such a Life, as killeth death. Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength: Such a Light, as shows a feast: Such a Feast, as mends in length: Such a Strength, as makes his guest. Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart: Such a Joy, as none can move: Such a Love, as none can part: Such a Heart, as joyes in love.

¶ The Church-floore. MArk you the floore? that square & speckled stone, Which looks so firm and strong, Is Patience: And th'other black and grave, wherewith each one Is checker'd all along, Humilitie: The gentle rising, which on either hand Leads to the Quire above, Is Confidence: But the sweet cement, which in one sure band Ties the whole frame, is Love And Charitie. Hither sometimes Sinne steals, and stains The marbles neat and curious veins: But all is cleansed when the marble weeps. Sometimes Death, puffing at the doore, Blows all the dust about the floore: But while he thinks to spoil the room, he sweeps. Blest be the Architect, whose art Could build so strong in a weak heart.

The Church-porch. Perirrhanterium. Hou, whose sweet youth and early hopes inhance Thy rate and price, and mark thee for a treasure; Hearken unto a Verser, who may chance Ryme thee to good, and make a bait of pleasure.  A verse may finde him, who a sermon flies,  And turn delight into a sacrifice. Beware of lust: it doth pollute and foul Whom God in Baptisme washt with his own blood. It blots thy lesson written in thy soul; The holy lines cannot be understood.  How dare those eyes upon a Bible look,  Much lesse towards God, whose lust is all their book? Abstain wholly, or wed. Thy bounteous Lord Allows thee choise of paths: take no by-wayes; But gladly welcome what he doth afford; Not grudging, that thy lust hath bounds and staies.  Continence hath his joy: weigh both; and so  If rottennesse have more, let Heaven go. If God had laid all common, certainly Man would have been th'incloser: but since now God hath impal'd us, on the contrarie Man breaks the fence, and every ground will plough.  O what were man, might he himself misplace!  Sure to be crosse he would shift feet and face.

Drink not the third glasse, which thou canst not tame, When once it is within thee; but before Mayst rule it, as thou list; and poure the shame, Which it would poure on thee, upon the floore.  It is most just to throw that on the ground,  Which would throw me there, if I keep the round. He that is drunken, may his mother kill Bigge with his sister: he hath lost the reins, Is outlawd by himself: all kinde of ill Did with his liquour slide into his veins.  The drunkard forfets Man, and doth devest  All worldly right, save what he hath by Beast. Shall I, to please anothers wine-sprung minde, Lose all mine own? God hath giv'n me a measure Short of his canne, and bodie; must I finde A pain in that, wherein he findes a pleasure?  Stay at the third glasse: if thou lose thy hold,  Then thou art modest, and the wine grows bold. If reason move not Gallants, quit the room, (All in a shipwrack shift their severall way) Let not a common ruine thee intombe: Be not a beast in courtesie; but stay,  Stay at the third cup, or forgo the place.  Wine above all things doth Gods stamp deface.

Yet, if thou sinne in wine or wantonnesse, Boast not thereof; nor make thy shame thy glorie. Frailtie gets pardon by submissivenesse; But he that boasts, shuts that out of his storie.  He makes flat warre with God, and doth defie  With his poore clod of earth the spacious skie. Take not his name, who made thy mouth, in vain: It gets thee nothing, and hath no excuse. Lust and wine plead a pleasure, avarice gain: But the cheap swearer through his open sluce  Lets his soul runne for nought, as little fearing.  Were I an Epicure, I could bate swearing. When thou dost tell anothers jest, therein Omit the oathes, which true wit cannot need: Pick out of tales the mirth, but not the sinne. He pares his apple, that will cleanly feed.  Play not away the vertue of that name,  Which is thy best stake, when griefs make thee tame. The cheapest sinnes most deerely punisht are; Because to shun them also is so cheap: For we have wit to mark them, and to spare. O crumble not away thy souls fair heap.  If thou wilt die, the gates of hell are broad:  Pride and full sinnes have made the way a road.

Lie not; but let thy heart be true to God, Thy mouth to it, thy actions to them both: Cowards tell lies, and those that fear the rod; The stormie working soul spits lies and froth.  Dare to be true. Nothing can need a ly:  A fault, which needs it most, grows two thereby. Flie idlenesse, which yet thou canst not flie By dressing, mistressing, and complement. If those take up thy day, the sunne will crie Against thee: for his light was onely lent.  God gave thy soul brave wings; put not those feathers  Into a bed, to sleep out all ill weathers. Art thou a Magistrate? then be severe: If studious; copie fair, what time hath blurr'd; Redeem truth from his jawes: if souldier, Chase brave employments with a naked sword  Throughout the world. Fool not: for all may have,  If they dare try, a glorious life, or grave. O England! full of sinne, but most of sloth! Spit out thy flegme, and fill thy brest with glorie: Thy Gentry bleats, as if thy native cloth Transfus'd a sheepishnesse into thy storie:  Not that they all are so; but that the most  Are gone to grasse, and in the pasture lost.

This losse springs chiefly from our education. Some till their ground, but let weeds choke their sonne: Some mark a partridge, never their childes fashion. Some ship them over, and the thing is done.  Studie this art, make it thy great designe;  And if Gods image move thee not, let thine. Some great estates provide, but doe not breed A mast'ring minde; so both are lost thereby: Or els they breed them tender, make them need All that they leave: this is flat povertie.  For he, that needs five thousand pound to live,  Is full as poore as he that needs but five. The way to make thy sonne rich, is to fill His minde with rest, before his trunk with riches: For wealth without contentment, climbes a hill To feel those tempests, which fly over ditches.  But if thy sonne can make ten pound his measure,  Then all thou addest may be call'd his treasure. When thou dost purpose ought, (within thy power) Be sure to do it, though it be but small. Constancie knits the bones, and makes us stowre, When wanton pleasures becken us to thrall.  Who breaks his own bond, forfeiteth himself:  What nature made a ship, he makes a shelf.

Do all things like a man, not sneakingly: Think the king sees thee still; for his King does. Simpring is but a lay-hypocrisie: Give it a corner, and the clue undoes.  Who fears to do ill, sets himself to task:  Who fears to do well, sure should wear a mask. Look to thy mouth; diseases enter there. Thou hast two sconses, if thy stomack call; Carve, or discourse; do not a famine fear. Who carves, is kind to two; who talks, to all.  Look on meat, think it dirt, then eat a bit;  And say withall, Earth to earth I commit. Slight those who say amidst their sickly healths, Thou liv'st by rule. What doth not so, but man? Houses are built by rule, and common-wealths. Entice the trusty sunne, if that you can,  From his Ecliptick line: becken the skie.  Who lives by rule then, keeps good companie. Who keeps no guard upon himself, is slack, And rots to nothing at the next great thaw. Man is a shop of rules, a well truss'd pack, Whose every parcell under-writes a law.  Lose not thy self, nor give thy humours way:  God gave them to thee under lock and key.

By all means use sometimes to be alone. Salute thy self: see what thy soul doth wear. Dare to look in thy chest; for 'tis thine own: And tumble up and down what thou find'st there.  Who cannot rest till he good fellows finde,  He breaks up house, turns out of doores his minde. Be thrifty, but not covetous: therefore give Thy need, thine honour, and thy friend his due. Never was scraper brave man. Get to live; Then live, and use it: els, it is not true  That thou hast gotten. Surely use alone  Makes money not a contemptible stone. Never exceed thy income. Youth may make Ev'n with the yeare: but age, if it will hit, Shoots a bow short, and lessens still his stake, As the day lessens, and his life with it.  Thy children, kindred, friends upon thee call;  Before thy journey fairly part with all. Yet in thy thriving still misdoubt some evil; Lest gaining gain on thee, and make thee dimme To all things els. Wealth is the conjurers devil; Whom when he thinks he hath, the devil hath him.  Gold thou mayst safely touch, but if it stick  Unto thy hands, it woundeth to the quick.

What skills it, if a bag of stones or gold About thy neck do drown thee? raise thy head; Take starres for money; starres not to be told By any art, yet to be purchased.  None is so wastfull as the scraping dame:  She loseth three for one; her soul, rest, fame. By no means runne in debt: take thine own measure. Who cannot live on twentie pound a yeare, Cannot on fourtie: he's a man of pleasure, A kinde of thing that's for it self too deere.  The curious unthrift makes his cloth too wide,  And spares himself, but would his taylor chide. Spend not on hopes. They that by pleading clothes Do fortunes seek, when worth and service fail, Would have their tale beleeved for their oathes, And are like empty vessels under sail.  Old courtiers know this; therefore set out so,  As all the day thou mayst hold out to go. In clothes, cheap handsomnesse doth bear the bell. Wisedome's a trimmer thing, then shop e're gave. Say not then, This with that lace will do well; But, This with my discretion will be brave.  Much curiousnesse is a perpetuall wooing  Nothing with labour, folly long a doing.

Play not for gain, but sport. Who playes for more, Then he can lose with pleasure, stakes his heart; Perhaps his wives too, and whom she hath bore: Servants and churches also play their part.  Onely a herauld, who that way doth passe,  Findes his crackt name at length in the church-glasse. If yet thou love game at so deere a rate, Learn this, that hath old gamesters deerely cost: Dost lose? rise up: dost winne? rise in that state. Who strive to sit out losing hands, are lost.  Game is a civil gunpowder, in peace  Blowing up houses with their whole increase. In conversation boldnesse now bears sway. But know, that nothing can so foolish be, As empty boldnesse: therefore first assay To stuffe thy minde with solid braverie;  Then march on gallant: get substantiall worth.  Boldnesse guilds finely, and will set it forth. Be sweet to all. Is thy complexion sowre? Then keep such companie; make them thy allay: Get a sharp wife, a servant that will lowre. A stumbler stumbles least in rugged way.  Command thy self in chief. He lifes warre knows,  Whom all his passions follow, as he goes.

Catch not at quarrels. He that dares not speak Plainly and home, is coward of the two. Think not thy fame at ev'ry twitch will break: By great deeds shew, that thou canst little do;  And do them not: that shall thy wisdome be;  And change thy temperance into braverie. If that thy fame with ev'ry toy be pos'd, 'Tis a thinne webbe, which poysonous fancies make: But the great souldiers honour was compos'd Of thicker stuffe, which would endure a shake.  Wisdome picks friends; civilitie playes the rest.  A toy shunn'd cleanly passeth with the best. Laugh not too much: the wittie man laughs least: For wit is newes onely to ignorance. Lesse at thine own things laugh; lest in the jest Thy person share, and the conceit advance.  Make not thy sport, abuses: for the fly  That feeds on dung, is coloured thereby. Pick out of mirth, like stones out of thy ground, Profanenesse, filthinesse, abusivenesse. These are the scumme, with which course wits abound: The fine may spare these well, yet not go lesse.  All things are bigge with jest: nothing that's plain  But may be wittie, if thou hast the vein.

Wit's an unruly engine, wildly striking Sometimes a friend, sometimes the engineer: Hast thou the knack? pamper it not with liking: But if thou want it, buy it not too deere.  Many affecting wit beyond their power,  Have got to be a deare fool for an houre. A sad wise valour is the brave complexion, That leads the van, and swallowes up the cities. The gigler is a milk-maid, whom infection, Or a fir'd beacon frighteth from his ditties.  Then he's the sport: the mirth then in him rests,  And the sad man is cock of all his jests. Towards great persons use respective boldnesse: That temper gives them theirs, and yet doth take Nothing from thine: in service, care, or coldnesse Doth ratably thy fortunes marre or make.  Feed no man in his sinnes: for adulation  Doth make thee parcell-devil in damnation. Envie not greatnesse: for thou mak'st thereby Thy self the worse, and so the distance greater. Be not thine own worm: yet such jealousie, As hurts not others, but may make thee better,  Is a good spurre. Correct thy passions spite;  Then may the beasts draw thee to happy light.

When basenesse is exalted, do not bate The place its honour, for the persons sake. The shrine is that which thou dost venerate; And not the beast, that bears it on his back.  I care not though the cloth of state should be  Not of rich arras, but mean tapestrie. Thy friend put in thy bosome: wear his eies Still in thy heart, that he may see what's there. If cause require, thou art his sacrifice; Thy drops of bloud must pay down all his fear:  But love is lost; the way of friendship's gone,  Though David had his Jonathan, Christ his John. Yet be not surety, if thou be a father. Love is a personall debt. I cannot give My childrens right, nor ought he take it: rather Both friends should die, then hinder them to live.  Fathers first enter bonds to Natures ends;  And are her sureties, ere they are a friends. If thou be single, all thy goods and ground Submit to love; but yet not more then all. Give one estate, as one life. None is bound To work for two, who brought himself to thrall.  God made me one man; love makes me no more,  Till labour come, and make my weaknesse score.

In thy discourse, if thou desire to please: All such is courteous, usefull, new, or wittie. Usefulnesse comes by labour, wit by ease; Courtesie grows in court; news in the citie.  Get a good stock of these, then draw the card;  That suites him best, of whom thy speech is heard. Entice all neatly to what they know best; For so thou dost thy self and him a pleasure: (But a proud ignorance will lose his rest, Rather then shew his cards) steal from his treasure  What to ask further. Doubts well rais'd do lock  The speaker to thee, and preserve thy stock. If thou be Master-gunner, spend not all That thou canst speak, at once; but husband it, And give men turns of speech: do not forestall By lavishnesse thine own, and others wit,  As if thou mad'st thy will. A civil guest  Will no more talk all, then eat all the feast. Be calm in arguing: for fiercenesse makes Errour a fault, and truth discourtesie. Why should I feel another mans mistakes More, then his sicknesses or povertie?  In love I should: but anger is not love,  Nor wisdome neither: therefore gently move.

Calmnesse is great advantage: he that lets Another chafe, may warm him at his fire, Mark all his wandrings, and enjoy his frets; As cunning fencers suffer heat to tire.  Truth dwells not in the clouds: the bow that's there,  Doth often aim at, never hit the sphere. Mark what another sayes: for many are Full of themselves, and answer their own notion. Take all into thee; then with equall care Ballance each dramme of reason, like a potion.  If truth be with thy friend, be with them both:  Share in the conquest, and confesse a troth. Be usefull where thou livest, that they may Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still. Kindnesse, good parts, great places are the way To compasse this. Finde out mens wants and will,  And meet them there. All worldly joyes go lesse  To the one joy of doing kindnesses. Pitch thy behaviour low, thy projects high; So shalt thou humble and magnanimous be: Sink not in spirit. Who aimeth at the sky, Shoots higher much then he that means a tree.  A grain of glorie mixt with humblenesse  Cures both a fever and lethargicknesse.

Let thy minde still be bent, still plotting where, And when, and how the businesse may be done. Slacknesse breeds worms; but the sure traveller, Though he alight sometimes, still goeth on.  Active and stirring spirits live alone.  Write on the others, Here lies such a one. Slight not the smallest losse, whether it be In love or honour: take account of all; Shine like the sunne in every corner: see Whether thy stock of credit swell, or fall.  Who say, I care not, those I give for lost;  And to instruct them, 'twill not quit the cost. Scorn no mans love, though of a mean degree; (Love is a present for a mightie king) Much lesse make any one thine enemie. As gunnes destroy, so may a little sling.  The cunning workman never doth refuse  The meanest tool, that he may chance to use. All forrain wisdome doth amount to this, To take all that is given; whether wealth, Or love, or language; nothing comes amisse: A good digestion turneth all to health:  And then as farre as fair behaviour may,  Strike off all scores; none are so cleare as they.

Keep all thy native good, and naturalize All forrain of that name; but scorn their ill: Embrace their activenesse, not vanities. Who follows all things, forfeiteth his will.  If thou observest strangers in each fit,  In time they'l runne thee out of all thy wit. Affect in things about thee cleanlinesse, That all may gladly board thee, as a flowre. Slovens take up their stock of noisomnesse Beforehand, and anticipate their last houre.  Let thy mindes sweetnesse have his operation  Upon thy body, clothes, and habitation. In Almes regard thy means, and others merit. Think heav'n a better bargain, then to give Onely thy single market-money for it. Joyn hands with God to make a man to live.  Give to all something; to a good poore man,  Till thou change names, and be where he began. Man is Gods image; but a poore man is Christs stamp to boot: both images regard. God reckons for him, counts the favour his: Write, So much giv'n to God; thou shalt be heard.  Let thy almes go before, and keep heav'ns gate  Open for thee; or both may come too late.

Restore to God his due in tithe and time: A tithe purloin'd cankers the whole estate. Sundaies observe: think when the bells do chime, 'Tis angels musick; therefore come not late.  God then deals blessings: If a king did so,  Who would not haste, nay give, to see the show? Twice on the day his due is understood; For all the week thy food so oft he gave thee. Thy cheere is mended; bate not of the food, Because 'tis better, and perhaps may save thee.  Thwart not th' Almighty God: O be not crosse.  Fast when thou wilt; but then 'tis gain, not losse. Though private prayer be a brave designe, Yet publick hath more promises, more love: And love's a weight to hearts, to eies a signe. We all are but cold suitours; let us move  Where it is warmest. Leave thy six and seven;  Pray with the most: for where most pray, is heaven. When once thy foot enters the church, be bare. God is more there, then thou: for thou art there Onely by his permission. Then beware, And make thy self all reverence and fear.  Kneeling ne're spoil'd silk stocking: quit thy state.  All equall are within the churches gate.

Resort to sermons, but to prayers most: Praying 's the end of preaching. O be drest; Stay not for th' other pin: why thou hast lost A joy for it worth worlds. Thus hell doth jest  Away thy blessings, and extreamly flout thee,  Thy clothes being fast, but thy soul loose about thee. In time of service seal up both thine eies, And send them to thine heart; that spying sinne, They may weep out the stains by them did rise: Those doores being shut, all by the eare comes in.  Who marks in church-time others symmetrie,  Makes all their beautie his deformitie. Let vain or busie thoughts have there no part: Bring not thy plough, thy plots, thy pleasures thither. Christ purg'd his temple; so must thou thy heart. All worldly thoughts are but theeves met together  To couzin thee. Look to thy actions well:  For churches are either our heav'n or hell. Judge not the preacher; for he is thy Judge: If thou mislike him, thou conceiv'st him not. God calleth preaching folly. Do not grudge To pick out treasures from an earthen pot.  The worst speak something good: if all want sense;  God takes a text, and preacheth patience.

He that gets patience, and the blessing which Preachers conclude with, hath not lost his pains. He that by being at church escapes the ditch, Which he might fall in by companions, gains.  He that loves Gods abode, and to combine  With saints on earth, shall one day with them shine. Jest not at preachers language, or expression: How know'st thou, but thy sinnes made him miscarrie? Then turn thy faults and his into confession: God sent him, whatsoe're he be: O tarry,  And love him for his Master: his condition,  Though it be ill, makes him no ill Physician. None shall in hell such bitter pangs endure, As those, who mock at Gods way of salvation. Whom oil and balsames kill, what salve can cure? They drink with greedinesse a full damnation.  The Jews refused thunder; and we, folly.  Though God do hedge us in, yet who is holy? Summe up at night what thou hast done by day; And in the morning, what thou hast to do. Dresse and undresse thy soul: mark the decay And growth of it: if with thy watch, that too  Be down, then winde up both; since we shall be  Most surely judg'd, make thy accounts agree.

In brief, acquit thee bravely; play the man. Look not on pleasures as they come, but go. Deferre not the least vertue: lifes poore span Make not an ell, by trifling in thy wo.  If thou do ill; the joy fades, not the pains:  If well; the pain doth fade, the joy remains.

Lmightie Lord, who from thy glorious throne Seest and rulest all things ev'n as one: The smallest ant or atome knows thy power, Known also to each minute of an houre Much more do Common-weals acknowledge thee, And wrap their policies in thy decree, Complying with thy counsels, doing nought Which doth not meet with an eternall thought. But above all, thy Church and Spouse doth prove Not the decrees of power, but bands of love. Early didst thou arise to plant this vine, Which might the more indeare it to be thine. Spices come from the East; so did thy Spouse, Trimme as the light, sweet as the laden boughs Of Noahs shadie vine, chaste as the dove; Prepar'd and fitted to receive thy love. The course was westward, that the sunne might light As well our understanding as our sight. Where th' Ark did rest, there Abraham began To bring the other Ark from Canaan. Moses pursu'd this: but King Solomon Finisht and fixt the old religion. When it grew loose, the Jews did hope in vain By nailing Christ to fasten it again. But to the Gentiles he bore crosse and all, Rending with earthquakes the partition-wall. Onely whereas the Ark in glorie shone, Now with the crosse, as with a staffe, alone, Religion, like a pilgrime,

westward bent, Knocking at all doores, ever as she went. Yet as the sunne, though forward be his flight, Listens behinde him, and allows some light, Till all depart: so went the Church her way; Letting, while one foot stept, the other stay Among the eastern nations for a time, Till both removed to the western clime. To Egypt first she came, where they did prove Wonders of anger once, but now of love. The ten Commandments there did flourish more Then the ten bitter plagues had done before. Holy Macarius and great Anthonie Made Pharaoh Moses, changing th' historie. Goshen was darknesse, Egypt full of lights, Nilus for monsters brought forth Israelites. Such power hath mightie Baptisme to produce For things misshapen, things of highest use. How deare to me, O God, thy counsels are! Who may with thee compare? Religion thence fled into Greece, where arts Gave her the highest place in all mens hearts. Learning was pos'd, Philosophie was set, Sophisters taken in a fishers net. Plato and Aristotle were at a losse, And wheel'd about again to spell Christ-Crosse. Prayers chas'd syllogismes into their den, And Ergo was transform'd into Amen. Though Greece took horse as soon as Egypt did, And Rome as both; yet Egypt faster rid, And spent her period and prefixed time Before

the other. Greece being past her prime, Religion went to Rome, subduing those, Who, that they might subdue, made all their foes. The Warrier his deere skarres no more resounds, But seems to yeeld Christ hath the greater wounds; Wounds willingly endur'd to work his blisse, Who by an ambush lost his Paradise. The great heart stoops, and taketh from the dust A sad repentance, not the spoils of lust: Quitting his spear, lest it should pierce again Him in his members, who for him was slain. The Shepherds hook grew to a scepter here, Giving new names and numbers to the yeare. But th' Empire dwelt in Greece, to comfort them Who were cut short in Alexanders stemme. In both of these Prowesse and Arts did tame And tune mens hearts against the Gospel came: Which using, and not fearing skill in th' one, Or strength in th' other, did erect her throne. Many a rent and struggling th' Empire knew, (As dying things are wont) untill it flew At length to Germanie, still westward bending, And there the Churches festivall attending: That as before Empire and Arts made way, (For no lesse Harbingers would serve then they) So they might still, and point us out the place Where first the Church should raise her downcast face. Strength levels

grounds, Art makes a garden there; Then showres Religion, and makes all to bear. Spain in the Empire shar'd with Germanie, But England in the higher victorie; Giving the Church a crown to keep her state, And not go lesse then she had done of late. Constantines British line meant this of old, And did this mysterie wrap up and fold Within a sheet of paper, which was rent From times great Chronicle, and hither sent. Thus both the Church and Sunne together ran Unto the farthest old meridian. How deare to me, O God, thy counsels are! Who may with thee compare? Much about one and the same time and place, Both where and when the Church began her race, Sinne did set out of Eastern Babylon, And travell'd westward also: journeying on He chid the Church away, where e're he came, Breaking her peace, and tainting her good name. At first he got to Egypt, and did sow Gardens of gods, which ev'ry yeare did grow, Fresh and fine deities. They were at great cost, Who for a god clearely a sallet lost. Ah, what a thing is man devoid of grace, Adoring garlick with an humble face, Begging his food of that which he may eat, Starving the while he worshippeth his meat! Who makes a root

his god, how low is he, If God and man be sever'd infinitely! What wretchednesse can give him any room, Whose house is foul, while he adores his broom? None will beleeve this now, though money be In us the same transplanted foolerie. Thus Sinne in Egypt sneaked for a while; His highest was an ox or crocodile, And such poore game. Thence he to Greece doth passe, And being craftier much then goodnesse was, He left behinde him garrisons of sinnes, To make good that which ev'ry day he winnes. Here Sinne took heart, and for a garden-bed Rich shrines and oracles he purchased: He grew a gallant, and would needs foretell As well what should befall, as what befell. Nay, he became a poet, and would serve His pills of sublimate in that conserve. The world came both with hands and purses full To this great lotterie, and all would pull. But all was glorious cheating, brave deceit, Where some poore truths were shuffled for a bait To credit him, and to discredit those Who after him should braver truths disclose. From Greece he went to Rome: and as before He was a God, now he's an Emperour. Nero and others lodg'd him bravely there, Put him in trust to rule the Romane sphere. Glorie was his chief

instrument of old: Pleasure succeeded straight, when that grew cold: Which soon was blown to such a mighty flame, That though our Saviour did destroy the game, Disparking oracles, and all their treasure, Setting affliction to encounter pleasure; Yet did a rogue with hope of carnall joy Cheat the most subtill nations. Who so coy, So trimme, as Greece and Egypt? yet their hearts Are given over, for their curious arts, To such Mahometan stupidities, As the old heathen would deem prodigies. How deare to me, O God, thy counsels are! Who may with thee compare? Onely the West and Rome do keep them free From this contagious infidelitie. And this is all the Rock, whereof they boast, As Rome will one day finde unto her cost. Sinne being not able to extirpate quite The Churches here, bravely resolv'd one night To be a Church-man too, and wear a Mitre: The old debauched ruffian would turn writer. I saw him in his studie, where he sate Busie in controversies sprung of late. A gown and pen became him wondrous well: His grave aspect had more of heav'n then hell: Onely there was a handsome picture by, To which he lent a corner of his eye. As Sinne in Greece a Prophet was before, And in old Rome a mightie Emperour;

So now being Priest he plainly did professe To make a jest of Christs three offices: The rather since his scatter'd jugglings were United now in one both time and sphere. From Egypt he took pettie deities, From Greece oracular infallibities, And from old Rome the libertie of pleasure, By free dispensings of the Churches treasure. Then in memoriall of his ancient throne He did surname his palace, Babylon. Yet that he might the better gain all nations, And make that name good by their transmigrations; From all these places, but at divers times, He took fine vizards to conceal his crimes: From Egypt Anchorisme and retirednesse, Learning from Greece, from old Rome statelinesse: And blending these he carri'd all mens eyes, While Truth sat by, counting his victories: Whereby he grew apace and scorn'd to use Such force as once did captivate the Jews; But did bewitch, and finely work each nation Into a voluntarie transmigration. All poste to Rome: Princes submit their necks Either t' his publick foot or private tricks. It did not fit his gravitie to stirre, Nor his long journey, nor his gout and furre. Therefore he sent out able ministers, Statesmen within, without doores cloisterers: Who without spear, or sword, or other drumme Then what was in their tongue, did overcome; And having conquer'd,

did so strangely rule, That the whole world did seem but the Popes mule. As new and old Rome did one Empire twist; So both together are one Antichrist, Yet with two faces, as their Janus was; Being in this their old crackt looking-glasse. How deare to me, O God, thy counsels are! Who may with thee compare? Thus Sinne triumphs in Western Babylon; Yet not as Sinne, but as Religion. Of his two thrones he made the latter best, And to defray his journey from the east. Old and new Babylon are to hell and night, As is the moon and sunne to heav'n and light. When th' one did set, the other did take place, Confronting equally the law and grace. They are hells land-marks, Satans double crest: They are Sinnes nipples, feeding th' east and west. But as in vice the copie still exceeds The pattern, but not so in vertuous deeds; So though Sinne made his latter seat the better, The latter Church is to the first a debter. The second Temple could not reach the first: And the late reformation never durst Compare with ancient times and purer yeares; But in the Jews and us deserveth tears. Nay, it shall ev'ry yeare decrease and fade; Till such a darknesse do the world invade At Christs

last coming, as his first did finde: Yet must there such proportions be assign'd To these diminishings, as is between The spacious world and Jury to be seen. Religion stands on tip-toe in our land, Ready to passe to the American strand. When height of malice, and prodigious lusts, Impudent sinning, witchcrafts, and distrusts (The marks of future bane) shall fill our cup Unto the brimme, and make our measure up: When Sein shall swallow Tiber, and the Thames By letting in them both, pollutes her streams: When Italie of us shall have her will, And all her calender of sinnes fulfill; Whereby one may fortell, what sinnes next yeare Shall both in France and England domineer: Then shall Religion to America flee: They have their times of Gospel, ev'n as we. My God, thou dost prepare for them a way By carrying first their gold from them away: For gold and grace did never yet agree: Religion alwaies sides with povertie. We think we rob them, but we think amisse: We are more poore, and they more rich by this. Thou wilt revenge their quarrell, making grace To pay our debts, and leave our ancient place To go to them, while that which now their nation But lends to us, shall be our desolation. Yet as the Church shall

thither westward flie, So Sinne shall trace and dog her instantly: They have their period also and set times Both for their vertuous actions and their crimes. And where of old the Empire and the Arts Usher'd the Gospel ever in mens hearts, Spain hath done one; when Arts perform the other, The Church shall come, & Sin the Church shall smother: That when they have accomplished the round, And met in th' east their first and ancient sound, Judgement may meet them both & search them round. Thus do both lights, as well in Church as Sunne, Light one another, and together runne. Thus also Sinne and Darknesse follow still The Church and Sunne with all their power and skill. But as the Sunne still goes both west and east; So also did the Church by going west Still eastward go; because it drew more neare To time and place, where judgement shall appeare. How deare to me, O God, thy counsels are! Who may with thee compare?

I struck the board, and cry'd, No more; I will abroad. What? shall I ever sigh and pine? My lines and life are free; free as the rode, Loose as the winde, as large as store. Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me bloud, and not restore What I have lost with cordiall fruit? Sure there was wine Before my sighs did drie it: there was corn Before my tears did drown it. Is the yeare onely lost to me? Have I no bayes to crown it? No flowers, no garlands gay? all blasted? All wasted? Not so, my heart: but there is fruit, And thou hast hands. Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute Of what is fit, and not. Forsake thy cage, Thy rope of sands, Which pettie thoughts have made, and made to thee Good cable, to enforce and draw, And be thy law, While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. Away; take heed, I will abroad. Call in thy deaths head there: tie up thy fears. He that forbears To suit and serve his need, Deserves his load. But as I rav'd and grew more fierce and wilde At every word, Me thoughts I heard one calling, Childe: And I reply'd, My Lord.

¶ The Crosse. What is this strange and uncouth thing? To make me sigh, and seek, and faint, and die, Untill I had some place, where I might sing, And serve thee; and not onely I, But all my wealth, and familie might combine To set thy honour up, as our designe. And then when after much delay, Much wrastling, many a combate, this deare end, So much desir'd, is giv'n, to take away My power to serve thee; to unbend All my abilities, my designes confound, And lay my threatnings bleeding on the ground. One ague dwelleth in my bones, Another in my soul (the memorie What I would do for thee, if once my grones Could be allow'd for harmonie) I am in all a weak disabled thing, Save in the sight thereof, where strength doth sting. Besides, things sort not to my will, Ev'n when my will doth studie thy renown: Thou turnest th' edge of all things on me still, Taking me up to throw me down: So that, ev'n when my hopes seem to be sped, I am to grief alive, to them as dead.

To have my aim, and yet to be Farther from it then when I bent my bow; To make my hopes my torture, and the fee Of all my woes another wo, Is in the midst of delicates to need, And ev'n in Paradise to be a weed. Ah my deare Father, ease my smart! These contrarieties crush me: these crosse actions Doe winde a rope about, and cut my heart: And yet since these thy contradictions Are properly a crosse felt by thy sonne, With but foure words, my words, Thy will be done.

¶ The Dawning. AWake sad heart, whom sorrow ever drowns; Take up thine eyes, which feed on earth; Unfold thy forehead gather’d into frowns: Thy Saviour comes, and with him mirth: Awake, awake; And with a thankfull heart his comforts take. But thou dost still lament, and pine, and crie; And feel his death, but not his victorie. Arise sad heart; if thou dost not withstand, Christs resurrection thine may be: Do not by hanging down break from the hand, Which as it riseth, raiseth thee: Arise, Arise; And with his buriall-linen drie thine eyes: Christ left his grave-clothes, that we might, when grief Draws tears, or bloud, not want an handkerchief.

¶ The Dedication. LOrd, my first fruits present themselves to thee; Yet not mine neither: for from thee they came, And must return. Accept of them and me, And make us strive, who shall sing best thy Name.  Turn their eyes hither, who shall make a gain:  Theirs, who shall hurt themselves or me, refrain.

¶ The Discharge. Busie enquiring heart, what wouldst thou know? Why dost thou prie, And turn, and leer, and with a licorous eye Look high and low, And in thy lookings stretch and grow? Hast thou not made thy counts, and summ'd up all? Did not thy heart Give up the whole, and with the whole depart? Let what will fall: That which is past who can recall? Thy life is Gods, thy time to come is gone, And is his right. He is thy night at noon: he is at night Thy noon alone. The crop is his, for he hath sown. And well it was for thee, when this befell, That God did make Thy businesse his, and in thy life partake: For thou canst tell, If it be his once, all is well. Onely the present is thy part and fee. And happy thou, If, though thou didst not beat thy future brow, Thou couldst well see What present things requir'd of thee. They ask enough; why shouldst thou further go? Raise not the mudde Of future depths, but drink the cleare and good. Dig not for wo In times to come; for it will grow.

Man the present fit: if he provide, He breaks the square. This houre is mine: if for the next I care, I grow too wide, And do encroach upon deaths side. For death each hour environs and surrounds. He that would know And care for future chances, cannot go Unto those grounds, But through a Churchyard which thē bounds. Things present shrink and die: but they that spend Their thoughts and sense On future grief, do not remove it thence, But it extend, And draw the bottome out an end. God chains the dog till night: wilt loose the chain, And wake thy sorrow? Wilt thou forestall it, and now grieve to morrow, And then again Grieve over freshly all thy pain? Either grief will not come: or if it must, Do not forecast: And while it cometh, it is almost past. Away distrust: My God hath promis’d; he is just.

¶ The Elixer. Teach me, my God and King, In all things thee to see, And what I do in any thing, To do it as for thee: Not rudely, as a beast, To runne into an action; But still to make thee prepossest, And give it his perfection. A man that looks on glasse, On it may stay his eye; Or if he pleaseth, through it passe, And then the heav'n espie. All may of thee partake: Nothing can be so mean, Which with his tincture (for thy sake) Will not grow bright and clean. A servant with this clause Makes drudgerie divine: Who sweeps a room, as for thy laws, Makes that and th' action fine. This is the famous stone That turneth all to gold: For that which God doth touch and own Cannot for lesse be told.

§ The Familie. WHat doth this noise of thoughts within my heart As if they had a part? What do these loud complaints and pulling fears, As if there were no rules or eares? But, Lord, the house and familie are thine, Though some of them repine. Turn out these wranglers, which defile thy seat: For where thou dwellest all is neat. First Peace and Silence all disputes controll, Then Order plaies the soul; And giving all things their set forms and houres, Makes of wilde woods sweet walks and bowres. Humble Obedience neare the doore doth stand, Expecting a command: Then whom in waiting nothing seems more slow, Nothing more quick when she doth go. Joyes oft are there, and griefs as oft as joyes; But griefs without a noise: Yet speak they louder then distemper'd fears. What is so shrill as silent tears? This is thy house, with these it doth abound: And where these are not found, Perhaps thou com'st sometimes, and for a day; But not to make a constant stay.

¶ The Flower. How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean Are thy returns! ev'n as the flow'rs in spring; To which, besides their own demean, The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. Grief melts away Like snow in May, As if there were no such cold thing. Who would have thought my shrivel'd heart Could have recover'd greennesse? It was gone Quite under ground,as flow'rs depart To see their mother-root, when they have blown; Where they together All the hard weather, Dead to the world, keep house unknown. These are thy wonders, Lord of power, Killing and quickning, bringing down to hell And up to heaven in an houre; Making a chiming of a passing-bell, We say amisse, This or that is: Thy word is all, if we could spell. O that I once past changing were, Fast in thy Paradise, where no flow'r can wither! Many a spring I shoot up fair, Offring at heav'n, growing and groning thither: Nor doth my flower Want a spring-showre, My sinnes and I joyning together.

But while I grow in a straight line, Still upwards bent, as if heav'n were mine own, Thy anger comes, and I decline: What frost to that? what pole is not the zone, Where all things burn, When thou dost turn, And the least frown of thine is shown? And now in age I bud again, After so many deaths I live and write; I once more smell the dew and rain, And relish versing: O my onely light, It cannot be That I am he On whom thy tempests fell all night. These are thy wonders, Lord of love, To make us see we are but flow'rs that glide: Which when we once can finde and prove, Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide. Who would be more, Swelling through store, Forfeit their Paradise by their pride.

¶ The Foil. If we could see below The sphere of vertue, and each shining grace As plainly as that above doth show; This were the better skie, the brighter place. God hath made starres the foil To set off vertues; griefs to set off sinning: Yet in this wretched world we toil, As if grief were not foul, nor vertue winning.

¶ The Forerunners. The harbingers are come. See, see their mark; White is their colour, and behold my head. But must they have my brain? must they dispark Those sparkling notions, which therein were bred? Must dulnesse turn me to a clod? Yet have they left me, Thou art still my God. Good men ye be, to leave me my best room, Ev'n all my heart, and what is lodged there: I passe not, I, what of the rest become, So Thou art still my God, be out of fear. He will be pleased with that dittie; And if I please him, I write fine and wittie. Farewell sweet phrases, lovely metaphors. But will ye leave me thus? when ye before Of stews and brothels onely knew the doores, Then did I wash you with my tears, and more, Brought you to Church well drest and clad; My God must have my best, ev'n all I had. Lovely enchanting language, sugar-cane, Hony of roses, whither wilt thou flie? Hath some fond lover tic'd thee to thy bane? And wilt thou leave the Church, and love a stie? Fie, thou wilt soil thy broider'd coat, And hurt thy self, and him that sings the note.

Let foolish lovers, if they will love dung, With canvas, not with arras clothe their shame: Let follie speak in her own native tongue. True beautie dwells on high: ours is a flame But borrow'd thence to light us thither. Beautie and beauteous words should go together. Yet if you go, I passe not; take your way: For, Thou art still my God, is all that ye Perhaps with more embellishment can say, Go birds of spring: let winter have his fee; Let a bleak palenesse chalk the doore, So all within be livelier then before.

¶ The Glance. When first thy sweet and gracious eye Vouchsaf'd ev'n in the midst of youth and night To look upon me, who before did lie Weltring in sinne: I felt a sugred strange delight, Passing all cordials made by any art, Bedew, embalme, and overrunne my heart, And take it in. Since that time many a bitter storm My soul hath felt, ev'n able to destroy, Had the malicious and ill-meaning harm His swing and sway: But still thy sweet originall joy Sprung from thine eye, did work within my soul, And surging griefs, when they grew bold, controll, And got the day. If thy first glance so powerfull be, A mirth but open'd, and seal'd up again; What wonders shall we feel, when we shall see Thy full-ey'd love! When thou shalt look us out of pain, And one aspect of thine spend in delight More then a thousand sunnes disburse in light, In heav'n above.

¶ The Glimpse. Whither away delight? Thou cam'st but now; wilt thou so soon depart, And give me up to night? For many weeks of lingring pain and smart But one half houre of comfort for my heart? Me thinks delight should have More skill in musick, and keep better time. Wert thou a winde or wave, They quickly go and come with lesser crime: Flowers look about, and die not in their prime. Thy short abode and stay Feeds not, but addes to the desire of meat. Lime begg'd of old (they say) A neighbour spring to cool his inward heat; Which by the springs accesse grew much more great. In hope of thee my heart Pickt here and there a crumme, and would not die; But constant to his part, When as my fears foretold this, did replie, A slender thread a gentle guest will tie. Yet if the heart that wept Must let thee go, return when it doth knock. Although thy heap be kept For future times, the droppings of the stock May oft break forth, and never break the lock.

If I have more to spinne, The wheel shall go, so that thy stay be short. Thou knowst how grief and sinne Disturb the work. O make me not their sport, Who by thy coming may be made a court!

¶ The H. Communion. NOt in rich furniture, or fine aray, Nor in a wedge of gold, Thou, who from me wast sold, To me dost now thy self convey; For so thou should'st without me still have been, Leaving within me sinne: But by the way of nourishment and strength Thou creep'st into my breast; Making thy way my rest, And thy small quantities my length; Which spread their forces into ev'ry part, Meeting sinnes force and art. Yet can these not get over to my soul, Leaping the wall that parts Our souls and fleshly hearts; But as th' outworks, they may controll My rebel-flesh, and carrying thy name, Affright both sinne and shame. Onely thy grace, which with these elements comes, Knoweth the ready way, And hath the privie key, Op'ning the souls most subtile rooms; While those to spirits refin'd, at doore attend Dispatches from their friend. Give me my captive soul, or take My bodie also thither. Another lift like this will make Them both to be together. Before that sinne turn'd flesh to stone, And all our lump to leaven; A fervent sigh might well have blown Our innocent earth to heaven.

For sure when Adam did not know To sinne, or sinne to smother; He might to heav'n from Paradise go, As from one room t'another. Thou hast restor'd us to this ease By this thy heav'nly bloud; Which I can go to, when I please, And leave th' earth to their food.