Divine raptvres; or, Piety in poesie digested into a queint diversity of sacred fancies / composed by Tho. Iordan ... Jordan, Thomas, 1612?-1685? This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A46242 of text R10497 in the English Short Title Catalog (Wing J1028). Textual changes and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life. The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish. This text has not been fully proofread Approx. 84 KB of XML-encoded text transcribed from 29 1-bit group-IV TIFF page images. EarlyPrint Project Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO 2017 A46242 Wing J1028 ESTC R10497 12425162 ocm 12425162 61816 This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal . The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission. Early English books online. (EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A46242) Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 61816) Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 944:3) Divine raptvres; or, Piety in poesie digested into a queint diversity of sacred fancies / composed by Tho. Iordan ... Jordan, Thomas, 1612?-1685? [2], 46 [i.e. 54] p. [s.n.], London : 1646. Reproduction of original in Huntington Library. eng Religious poetry, English -- Early modern, 1500-1700. A46242 R10497 (Wing J1028). civilwar no Divine raptures or, Piety in poesie; digested into a queint diversity of sacred fancies. Composed by Tho. Iordan, Gent. Jordan, Thomas 1646 13733 12 0 0 0 0 0 9 B The rate of 9 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the B category of texts with fewer than 10 defects per 10,000 words. 2003-01 TCP Assigned for keying and markup 2003-02 SPi Global Keyed and coded from ProQuest page images 2003-06 Judith Siefring Sampled and proofread 2003-06 Judith Siefring Text and markup reviewed and edited 2003-08 pfs Batch review (QC) and XML conversion DIVINE RAPTVRES OR PIETY IN POESIE ; Digested Into a Queint Diversity of sacred FANCIES . Composed by Tho. Iordan , Gent. Demost : Plus ●l●i quam vini mihi consumptum est . LONDON , Printed by Authoritie , for the use of the Author . 1646. The Preface . YOV wanton Lads , that spend your winged time , And chant your eares , in reading lustfull rime , Who like transform'd Acteon range about , And beate the woods to finde Diana out , I' st this you 'ld have ? then hence : here 's no content For you , my Muse ne're knew what Venus meant ; But stay : I may subvert your rude conceit ; And every verse may proove a heavenly baite : O that ye were such captives ! then be Thrice happy : such as these are onely free , Leave , leave your wanton toyes ; and let alone Apollo sporting at his Helicon , Let Vulcan deale with Venus , what 's to thee Although shee dandle Cupids on her knee ? Be not inchanted with her wanton charmes , Let her not hugge thee in her whorish armes , But wisely doe ( as Neptune did ) in spite Of all , spue out the Lady Aphrodite , Come , come fond lad , what ? would'st thou faine espye , A glorious object for thy wandring eye ? And glut thy sight with beauty ? would'st behold A visage that will make thy Venus cold ? If this be all , I le give thy eye delight : Come see that face that lendes the Sunne his light , Come see that face that makes the heavens to shine , Come see that glorious face , that lends thee thine , Come and behold that face which if thou see , Aright , t' will make the earth a heaven to thee , Come see that glistring face from which arise Such glorious beames that dazels Angels eyes , What canst have more ; but dost thou thinke that such ? A comely visage will not let thee touch ? Or dost thou thinke a Sunne that shines so cleare , Will scorne to let a lesser Orbe come neere ? No thou mistak'st : say , dost thou t●uely thirst , For him ? : I dare avouch hee lov'd thee first , Be not dismaid , It needes no more dispute , Come give this glorious face a kinde salute . THE WORLDES METAMORPHOSIS . BEfore all time , when every thing did lye , Wrapt in a Chaos of deformity , When all things nothing were , and could present No comely frame , no heaven , no element , No earth , no water , fire or ayre alone But all as t were compounded all in one , Then with a word our Tri-une Iove did bring , This nothing Chaos into every thing ; Yea then our great Iehovah did present A severall region to each element , Then Time , his houres began to measure out , And he most nimbly garison'd about , This new created Orbe : he tooke his flight And hurried restlesse on both day and night , His motion was so quicke , that scarce t was ey'd , He for ten thousand worlds won't squint aside , Nor once turne backe his head ; by chance I viewd His flight , his wings I thought were then renewd , Yea his unwearied feathers did so soare Swiftly , as if they never flew before , As when the Thracians from their snaky bow Did make there featherd darts so swiftly goe , That they out ranne all sight , so time did flie , As if he strove with winged Mercurie ; No weapon all this while for his defence He bore , he dealt with none but innocence , And now those feggy mists that so did lye , Cloyster'd together from eternity Were all dispersd ; yea now t was very bright And darkenesse was unfetter'd from the light ; When this was done , our great Iehovah lent The world ( as yet scarce made ) a firmament , He separated waters wondrous well , Then Seas with surging billowes ganne to swell , And tossed to and fro with every wave , As if the fretfull region would out brave Her owne Creator ; they were not content With their but now appointed regiment , Their watry mountaines did so oft aspire To Heaven , as if they would be placed higher , But now great Iove lookt on they did not dare Surpasse their stations , nay , nor once impaire Their bounds , he quickly queld their lusty prankes , And causd the waves to crouch within their bankes , When he had conquerd this unruly stran , Within two dayes he crownes Leviathan , King of the liquid region , and doth give Ten thousand thousand more with him to live , Then fruitfull earth which is the Ocean barres 〈…〉 and heavens bespangled all with starres The ●unne begins 〈…〉 , And proudly danceth up the Orient , He nor his horses can no longer sleepe , But gallop from the orientall deepe , He rid so fast that in few houres was spide All bravely wrapt in his meridian pride , But when he clamber'd to the highest brinke , He view'd the fabricke , then began to sinke , And all the way as hee did homewards goe , He laughed , to see so brave a frame below , Still whipping on his Iades , untill his head Was safely laid into his Westerne bed . Silver Lucina as yet did not enter , But lay immured within the reeking center , Whilst he had mounted on his flaming seate , And viewd a glorious orbe , wondrous , compleate , With that the purple Lady straight prepares , Attended with ten thousand thousand starres , Shee clambers up in this her rich aray , And viewes the goodly building all the way , Sweete smiles shee cast from her admiring eye , Whilst all her little babes stood twinkling by , Playing the wantons by their mothers side , As if they were inamour'd with the pride Of such a Fabricke : to expresse their mirth , Some shot from heaven , as though they 'd live on Earth , This done , sweete Phoebe soone beganne to drop Her borrowed beames into her brothers lap , And ever since to see this glorious sight One laughes at day ; the other smiles at night . And can you blame them ? earth is spread with bowres , And trees , and proudly deckt with sundry flowers , Shee that ere while in dunghill Chaos lay , Is now with Vi'lets purp'ld every day , And damaskt all with Roses , yea shee s clad With sweeter herbes then ever Ceres had , Her fruitfull wombe brings forth most dainty cates , And lovely fruites , these are her comely brattes , No rusticke Plowman now doth take the paines To peirce her entrailes , or to squeeze her veines , But heaven and shee unites , they scorne to see A bastard weede , disgrace their pedigree , Shee 's overspread with pinkes and Daffadillies , Carnations , Roses , and the whitest Lilies , Those fondlings lolling in her armes doe lye , Shaking their heads , and in her bosome dye ; These in their mothers sides doe take their rest , Till they doe drop their leaves into her brest , And now the little birds doe every day , Sit singing in the boughs , and chirpe , and play , The Phesant and the Partridge slowly flye , Vndaunted even before the Faulcons eye , Now comes Behemoth with his Lordly gate , Gazing , as if he stood admiring at So rich a frame , first having fixt his sight On glorious earth , he alwayes tooke delight In viewing that ; and would not looke on high , Nay all the glorious spangles of the skye Could not entice him , ever from his birth He spent his time in looking on the earth . All other beasts their greedy eyes did fling On lovely earth , as did their crowned King : Yea now the Lion with the Lambe did goe , And knew not whether blood were sweete or no , The little Kids to shew their wanton pride , Came dancing by the loving Tigers side , The Hare being minded with the Hounds to play , Would give a sporting touch , and so away , And then returne , being willing to be found , And take his turne to chace the wanton Hound . The busie Mice sat sporting all the day , Meane while the Cat did smile to see them play . The Foxe stands still , to see the Geese asleepe , The harmelesse Wolfe now grazeth with the Sheepe , Here was no raping , but all beasts did lye As link'd in one , O Heavenly Sympathy ! The goodly Pastures springing from the Clay , Did wooe their mouthes to banquet , all the way Was spread with dainty herbes , and as they found Occasion , they would oft salute the ground , Those uncontrouled creatures then begunne To sport , and all lay basking in the Sunne , No creature was their Lord , gaine said by none , As if that Heaven and earth were all their owne . Thus when this mighty builder did inrobe Himselfe with night , and Chaos to a globe Convert , of this he tooke a serious view , And did as t were create it all anew , He made a little Orbe , cald man ; the same , Onely compacted in a lesser frame , For what is all this all , that man in one Doth not enjoy . A man that 's onely blowne With heavens breath , a man that doth present Life , Spirit , sense , and every element : Yea in this little world great Iove did place His glorious Image , and this miry face Was heavens picture , t was this face alone That still lookt up to his Creators throne , Then God did make ( a place to be admir'd , Surely t was heaven it selfe had then conspir'd , To finde it out , ) a garden sweetly blowne , With pleasant fruite , and man's exempt from none , Of all these plants , except a middle tree , And what can one among a thousand bee ! O glorious place , that God doth now provide For durty clay ! the earth in all her pride , He tramples on : and heav'n that 's so beset With spangles and each glistring Chrysolet Doth give attendance , yea it serves to be A covering for his head , his Canopie . Thus man of heaven and earth is all possest , This span of durt , is Lord of all the rest , Me think's I see how all the Creatures bring Their severall Congies to their new made King , Behemoth which ere while did range about Vncheckt , and tossing up his bony snowt , Feard none : now having cast his rowling eyes Vpon his Lord , see how he crouching lyes , Behind a sheltring bush , he seemes to be , Imploring aide of every spreading tree , The Lyon which ere while was in his pride , Squinting by chance his gogle-eyes aside , Espies his King , he dares not stay for haste , Spues out his meate halfe chaw'd , and will not taste Of his intended food ; but sneakes away , Counting his life to be his chiefest prey , It was but now the raven was espide , Sporting her wings upon the Tigars hide , But now , O how her feather'd sayles doe soare , As if shee vowd to touch the earth no more ! See how the Goates doe clamber to the top Of highest mountaines , and the Conies drop Into their holes , see how the Roebucke flings himselfe , almost exchanging legs for wings . Why ? what 's the matter , that ye haste away , Ye that ere while , were sporting all the day ? Tell me yee Creatures , say , what fearefull sight Hath put you to this unexpected flight ? Speake , speake thou giddy lambe , wer 't not thou spide At play but now ? why then dost skip aside ? What ? is it man that frights you ? can his face Stretch out your legs unto their swiftest pace ? Can one looke daunt you all ? what neede this bee ? Are ye not made of Clay , as well as hee ? Have ye not one Creator ? are ye not His elder Brothers , and the first begot ? Why start ye then ? is it not strange to see One weake-one make ten thousand strong ones flee ? But ah I neede not aske , I know it now , You spied your makers image in his brow . T' was even so indeed , no time to stay , Your Lord was comming , fit , he should have way . And thus these Creatures dares not come in sight ; Surely t' was heavens Idea , causd the fright . Now see how flattering earth doth strive alone To please this Lord ; each tree presents a done , See how the fruite hangs with a comely grace , And wooes his hands to rent them from their place , O how they bow , and would not have him bring His hands to them , they bend unto their King , But if by chance he will not plucke and taste , They breake the boughes , and so for griefe they waste . See how the little pinkes when they espie Their Lord , doe Curtsy as he passeth by , The wanton Dazies shake their leavy heads , The purple Vilets startle from their beds , The Primrose sweete and every flowre that growes , Bestrowes his way with odours as he goes ; Thus did the herbes , the trees , the pleasant flowres Welcome their Lord into his Eden bowres . But all this while , the earth with all her pride , Shee nor her store could not aford a bride Fitting for man , no , no , to end the strife The man himselfe must yeeld himselfe a wife , It was not meete for him to be alone . Then did our one-in-three our three-in-one Cast him into a sleepe , and did divide His ribbes , and brought a woman from his side . When this was done , the devill did entice The wife from Gods , unto his Paradice , See how the lying serpent maketh choise Of the forbidden tree : a tacite voice It hath indeede most lovely to the eye , Presents it to her , and shee by and by Forsooth must taste : and so must Adam too . What cannot women by entreaties doe ! God he intends a wife for mans reliefe , But oftentimes shee prooves the greatest griefe . Was there but one forbid ? and must shee bee So base a wretch to taste of such a tree ? Must Adam too ? Ah see how shee pluckes downe Her husbands glory , and kickes off his crowne ! O see how angry God himselfe comes downe , To curse these wretches ! heaven begins to frowne , Alas poore naked soules , me thinkes I see Transformed Adam crouch behind a tree , T' is time to runne when once God doth reject him , T is not his leavy armour can protect him , Heaven and hell with all the spight they can Strive for revenge against this monster man . O how the Creatures frowne , and bend their brow , As if they all conspir'd and tooke a vow Against this caytive , hearke how earth complaines That shee by man is barrd of mod'rate raines , Shee s now become a strumpet , fruitfull seedes , And dainty flowers , are turn'd to bastard weedes , Disrob'd of all her glory , lost her pride , The creatures now lie starving by her side , O how shee sighes , and sends up hideous cryes , To see poore cattell fall before her eyes , For want of foode : they rip their mothers wombe For meate , but finding none , doe makt their tombe , Harke how the buls and angry Lyons roare To heaven , and tell how man decreast their store , Heare how the little Lambes which yesterday Did honour to their King , and gave him way , O how they begge for vengeance to come downe On man , and dispossesse him of his Crowne , See , see what raping and what cruell thrall Is us'd : t is man alone that murders all , The Lion mild ere while for want of foode , Doth fill his paunch with unaccustom'd blood , The wolfe which lately was more apt to keepe The tender lambes , now prosecutes the sheepe , Surely the ravenous beasts ( did not they spye The glimpse of heaven within mans purblind eye , ) Would straight devoure him , did not mercy now Come downe and smooth her fathers wrinkled brow : The earth would scorne to beare him , but divide Her selfe , and make this Dathan sincke in pride ; The earth would not indure the plough to passe Into her iron sides , the heavens as brasse Would soone become , and both doe what they can To starve up this deformed monster man . See how this Caytife causeth discontent , And raiseth discord in each element , How often have I seene the raging fire Vnto the top of highest Towres aspire , And clamber mighty buildings ? t is unbound , Surely t' would burne the fabricke to the ground , Did not our God looke from his mercy seat , And make the watry sister quell the heate . How is the ayre poysned with misty fogges , And churlish vapours ; onely such that clogs The Corps with deadly humours , such that brings The Pestilence , yea such that quickely flings Loathsome diseases alwayes tipt with death , Did not Iove fanne it with his mighty breath . Harke how the impatient seas beginne to thunder , As if they 'd rent their prison walls in sunder ; See how the mounting waves doe swiftly flye To heaven , as if they meant to tell the skye How basely man hath dealt : O how they roare , Beating their foming waves against the shore , Chiding their sister earth that dares to beare So base a wretch ; see how the waves doe teare Her bowels , and with all the spight they can Strive for to drowne this wretched Caytife man . CHRISTS BIRTH AND PASSION . O Thou most Sacred Dove that I may write Thy praises , drop thou from thy soaring flight A quill : come aide my muse , for shee intends To sing such love no mortall comprehends , Guide thou her stamring tongue , and let her be Strongly protected in her infancy , Then shee 'll tell how the King of Kings by birth Forsooke his throne , to live on dunghill earth , Then shee 'le declare how great creating Iove , Whose starre-depaved pallace is above All whose attendance is a glorious troope , Of glitt'ring cherubs , unto whom doe stoope Each glorious Angell , flinging himselfe downe , Presenting at his feete his pearely crowne , To be his pallace heaven it selfe 's not meete , And dunghill earth's too little for his feete ; Yet this great King-creating King did slide To earth , and laid his Diadem aside , Exchanging it for thornes , and did untire His glorious selfe , and clad himselfe in mire ; At whose appearance singing Angels shot Like starres from heaven ( newes nere to be forgot ) Yea winged Cherubs from the highest came As Heavens Heralds to divulge his fame . All heaven did obeysance but for earth ( Vngratefull soile unworthy of the birth Of such a babe ) t was readier to intombe The dying Lord , then to afford a roome , Proud Salem was too high to entertaine Poore Maries babe , t was kept for Herods traine , And Rome that seavenhild Citty was too greate To lodge this Child , t is Caesars royall seate , T' is Bethlem , little Bethlem must suffice To lighten Iosephs Consorts weary thighes , And that 's almost too proud to lodge him in , No private house , but even a vulgar Inne , And tha're not harbourd in the choisest roomes , No , not so well as with the common groomes , But this ( ah most unworthy ) worthy guests Is thrust ( and gladly too ) among the beasts , He that before was wont to take his rest , All coverd in his fathers silken breast , Is now constrained to lay his worthy head , Vpon an undeserved strawy bed , He that was wont to heare the pleasant tones Of sweete-voyc'd Angels , now the saddest grones Of dolefull Mary , mixt with brinish teares , These onely these are harbour'd in his eares , The Babe is scarcely borne , but sought to dye , As yet not learn'd to goe , but forc'd to flye , And to avoid the Tetrarchs furious Curse , Hard hearted Egypt's now become a Nurse , He that can make both Heaven and earth to dread , Loe patiently takes all , and hides his head , Yet hee 'le returne , no , not the bitter wrongs , Nor spightfull usage , nor the smarting thongs , Nor sharpest scourges , no nor blackest hell , Can quench the boundlesse love , nor yet expell His strong affections , let the traitors set A thorny crowne on 's head , and also wet His glorious face with spittle , and deride , And scourge till blood falls trickling downe his side , Nay though he be constrain'd to leave his breath , And 's dying soule is heavy unto death , He can't but smile upon his bitter foe , And love the traitors whe're they will or no , Yet see how ●ordid man repayeth all His kindnesse , with an undeserved thrall , Whil'st he ( sad soule ) lay prostrate all alone , Fast fixing both his eyes at heavens throne , And sending up such sighes , as though he 'd make The weakned vaults of heaven and earth to shake , His sweate dropt downe like dew , and as he stood He staind Mount Olives with his Crimson blood , Whilst all his sad Disciples drowsy lye , Scarce able to hold up a sluggish eye , Now he 's betraid by Iudas , he that bore The bagge , and was intrusted with the store , He that did scorne the traitors name , and cry , Who shall betray thee Lord ? Lord speake ? is 't I ? Yet now an abject Christ becomes , to be , And thirty pence is valu'd more then he , The bloody steward with a treacherous kisse Forsooke his Master and eternall blisse , And sould the body of a Lord so good To souldiers , such as thirsted after blood , And then for feare the Innocent should passe Vntoucht , was straight accused by Caiaphas , Condemn'd by Pontius Pilate , to expell The guilt , he washt his hands , and all was well , O see what force weake water had to quench His sparkling Conscience , and his flaming sence ! Alas not Nilus , no nor Iordans flood Can cleanse the staines of such a Crimson blood ; No t is the streames of a repenting eye T is onely this takes out a scarlet dye , Thus our Astrea stands arraign'd to dye And nothing's to be heard but Crucifye : When this alarum sounded to the hight And heav'n and hell conspired both to fight Against this Captaine , then his daunted troope Forsooke their Lord , each soule began to droope ; Yet gracious he imparted his renowne He wonne the battell and gave them the Crowne , Yea he became a curse that knew no sinne He was inrob'd and disinrob'd ag'in ; His temples crown'd with thornes , his glorious face Was spit upon and beate with all disgrace That abject slaves could use , and then they cry , To blinded Christ who beate thee ? prophecy . Ah stupid soules as if that piercing sight That viewes all secrets in the darkest night , That tries the thoughts of every heart , and stares Into each soule is now as blind as theirs ; Thus was he basely us'd , but all 's not done The hell-invented fury is to come , By vulgar slaves the very Sonne of God Is falsely scourg'd and forc'd to kisse the rod , Yea he whose nostrils able are to cast Out flame , and burne the world at every blast , Whose mighty breath is able for to fanne Ten thousand worlds , and puffe out every man Like chaffe , and make the flanting world to tosse Like waves , is now compeld to beare his crosse ; Whereon his body in a vulgar streete Hung naked pierc'd with nayles both hands and feete : The well of water , he that gave the first To all his creatures , now 's himselfe a thirst , Yea he to whom all thirsty creatures call For drinke , must now drinke vinegar with gall , They pierc'd his side from whence came watry blood , More soveraigne farre then all Bethesda's flood , These tyrants thus ( though to themselves denide ) Did make a way to heaven through his side . Alas my muse for sighes can scarce prolong The fatall tuning of so dire a song , To see heavens faire Idea seeme so foule Sobbing and sighing out his burdned soule , Those eyes which now seeme dim , were once so bright , From hence it was that Phoebus begd his light , Those armes which now hang weake did from their birth Support the tottring vaults of heaven and earth , That tongue that now lyes speechlesse in his head , A word of that would soone revive the dead , One touch of those Pale fingers would suffice To heale the sicke and make the dead man rise : Those legges which now are peircd by abject slaves were kindly entertaind amongst the waves : The coate whose warmth did give his sides reliefe The hem , the very hem could cure a griefe ; But now strength 's weake , th'omnipotent's a crying For aid , health's sicke and life it selfe 's a dying , His head hangs drooping and his eyes are fixt , His weakned armes growne pale , the sunne's eclipst ( O boundlesse love , thus thus thou didst expose Thy selfe no damned paines to save thy foes ) Hell fought against him , heaven began to frowne And justice soone sent vengeance posting downe , Who clad with fury , being angry shakes Her ugly head whose haire doth nurture snakes , Shee layes about her greedy of her prey Quencheth h●r t●irst with blood and so away , And mercy now lies cover'd in a cloud And will not heare although his sighes are loud ( Although his cries are such that cause a stone To heare , yet sinne makes heav'n forget her owne ) Heav'n frownes as if shee had her owne forgot , Mercy lookes off as if shee knew him not , He suffred paines that hell it selfe devisd , So much , that justice cride I am suffic'd : His tortures were so high , so great , so sore , That hell cride out : I can inflict no more : Which done the heavens closd up their lamping light And turn'd the day into a dismall night ; Bright Phoebus vaild his face and would not see , Wormes actors of so bloody treachery : And quivering earth her wonted rigour lackt And straight stood trembling at so dire a fact : The buri'd Saints arose to see betwixt Two dusky clouds , their glorious Sunne eclipst : Thus heav'n it selfe with the terrestriall Ball Doth joyne to celebrate his funerall : The Landlord of the globe who first did raise Earths fabricke , was a tenant for three dayes ; But when once Christ did cease to be turmoyld Heaven and he was gladly reconcil'd , Mercy came dancing from the angry denne Tost off her cloudy mantle , smild againe , Pearch'd on her brightest throne , and makes a vow To smooth the wrinckled furrowes of her brow : And grim fac'd vengeance shee that 's onely fed With poyson , dares nor shew her snaky head For feare : all angers banisht cleane away , Sterne justice now hath not a word to say , And now the Fathers anger being done Double imbraces entertaine the Sonne : As when a tender mother sometime beates Her wanton boy for his unruly feates Shee wipes his blubberd face and by and by Presents a thousand gugoyes to his eye , Shee angry with her selfe beginnes to seeke His former love teares trickling downe her cheeke , Quickly forgetting what was done amisse , Ending her anger in a lovely kisse , Doubtlesse her fondling burnes the rod and then Come peace my babe kisse and be friends agen . Iust so when God inflicted on his Sonne His bittrest wrath , the anger being done O then how soone he doubled his renowne ? Adorn'd his Temple with a richer Crowne ? Angry with those that would not heare his moane Ready to fling grim vengeance from his throne , And chide with mercy shee that once did runne To hide her selfe from this his dying Sonne , And for this fact would surely overthrow The fabricke , did not Iustice hold the blow . Thus heaven was friends againe , but sordid man Poore mortall dust whose dayes are but a span Doth strive against his God , like dogges that storme And barke and brawle and fome at Phoebes horne : Ah Lord , why are they so extreame to thee ? What is the cause thou madst their blindmen see ? Or why didst thou their fury thus inrage ? Because thou didst revive their dead mens age ? Me thinkes t is strange good God thou shouldst enflame Their anger by restoring legges too lame . How is it Lord thou sowedst glorious seedes And loe a harvest all compact of weedes ? Thou gavest them life , and spentst thy dearest breath For them , and now thou art repaid with death : What griefe was ere like thine ? would not thy mone Quickly dissolve an adamantine stone ? Wold not those sighs ( which could not peirce their eares ) Have turnd a rocke into a sea of teares ? Would not those wrongs thou bor'st without reliefe , Make every cave , to echo out thy griefe ? For greedy Lions are more kind then men , They entertaind thy limbe within their denne : Forget their wonted humours and became As carefull shepherdes to thy tender Lambe , The croking raven , shee whose natures wilde Became a tender nurse unto thy Childe , And to obey thy voice the stony rocke Became a springing fountaine to thy flocke , Yea rather then thy babes shall live in thrall , The very sea it selfe provides a wall , The flames forget their force , through thy constraint Lose heate and know not how to burne a Saint , Yea when thy souldiers wanted day to fight , The Sun stood still and lent them longer light : When boistrous seas did shew their lusty prancks , Scorning to be imprison'd in their banckes , And with their billowes vaulted up so high , As if they meant to scale the starry sky , And boundlesse Boreas from his frozen Cave Rusht out and proudly challeng'd every wave , One nod of thine did quell those seas agen , And sent proud Boreas to his sullen denne : Thus thou the senselesse creatures oft did'st checke , And mad'st the proudest pliant to thy becke , For devils trembled and that breath of thine Made them seeke shelter in a heard of swine , They knew thy greatnesse and confest thy name . Hell sent forth Heraulds to divulge thy fame But man ( Lord what 's he made of ? ) stupid soule Is now more greedy then the raping foule : Harder then slint , his nature is so grimme , That questionlesse the Lyon chang'd with him : Hotter then flame , more boystrous then the winde , More fierce then waves , and hels not more unkinde . Yet thou ( O match lesse love ) didst undergoe An undeserved curse to save thy foe : Yea guiltlesse thou because thou would'st suffice For guilty man , becom'st a Sacrifice . Thou Grand Physitian for thy patients good Didst mixe thy Physicke with thy dearest blood : Man from the sweetest flower did sucke his griefe But thou from venome didst extract reliefe , From pleasures limbecke man distild his paine Thou out of sorrow pleasure drawd againe , Sweete Eden was the garden where there grew Such sugred flowers , yet there our poyson blew , Sad Gethseman the arbour where was pluckt , Though bitter herbes , yet thence was hony suckt : So have I seene the busie Bee to feed , Extracting honey from the sowrest weed , Whilst Spiders wandring through a pleasant bowre Sucke deadly poyson from the sweetest flower , Thus , thus sweete Christ , thy sicknesse was our health , Thy death , our life , thy poverty our wealth , Thy griefe our mirth , our freedome was thy thrall , Thus thou by being conquerd conquerest all . CANT. 8.7 . Much water cannot quench love , neither can the floods drowne it . O How my heart is ravisht ! thoughts aspire To thinke on thee my Christ : my zeales on fire , What shall I doe my love ? me thinkes mine eyes Behold thee still , yet still I Tantalize ; Ten thousand lets stand arm'd and all agree , Conspiring how to part my love and me . Presumption like Olympus scales the skye , A mountaine for to part my Love and I. Despaire presents a gulfe , a greedy grave Much like the jawes of the internall Cave : But what of this ? though hils are nere so high Whose sunne-confronting tops upbraide the skye I le trample o're , and make them know t is meete Their proudest heads should stoope and kisse my feete : I le stride o're cares deeper then Neptunes well , Whose threatning jawes doe yawne as wide as hell : Although the sea boyles in her angry tides And watry mountaines knocke at Heavens sides , Though every puffe of Neptunes angry breath Should raise a wave and every wave a death , I le scorne his threates should stop my course , or quell My pace , though every death presents a hell : Yea I le adventure through those swelling stormes Whose billowes seemes to quench great Phoebes hornes , Mountaines shall be as molehilles , every wave Tost in the fretfull region , shall outbrave No more then streames that shew their wanton pranckes , Gliding along by Thames his petty banckes : But grant that seas should swell , and tossing tides With stormes should crush my waving vessels sides : Suppose for footemen mountaines are too steepe , Each hill too high , and every cave too deepe : Suppose all earth conspire to stop : care I ? My faith will lend me wings and then I le flye : O how I le laugh to see that mounting clay ! O how I le smile at that that stopt my way ! O how I laugh to see the Ocean straine Her banckes for to oppose and all in vaine ! And can you blame me ? when I 'me once above I le care for none , for none but thou my Love . Thou art my path : I shall not goe awry : My sight shall never faile : thou art my eye : Thou art my clothing : I shan't naked be : I am no bondman : thou hast made me free ; I am not pin'd with sickenesse : thou art health : I am no whit impoverisht , thou art wealth . Mans naturall infirmity . WHat meanes my God ? why dost present to me Such glorious objects ? can a blind man see ? Why dost thou call ? why dost thou becken so ? Wouldst have me come ? Lord can a Cripple go ? Or why dost thou expect that I should raise Thy glory with my voice ? the dumbe can't praise . Vnscale my duskye eyes , then I le expresse Thy glorious objects strong attractivenesse : Dip thou my limbes in thy Bethesdaes lake , I le scorne my earthly crutches , I le forsake My selfe : touch thou my tongue and then I le sing An Allelujah to my glorious King . Raise me from this my grave , then I shall be Alive , and I le bestow my life on thee Till thou Eliah-like dost overspread My limbs , I 'me blind , I 'me lame , I 'me dumbe , I 'me dead : The Melancholicke Soules comfort . O That I had a sweete melodious voice ! O that I could obtaine the chiefest choice Of sweetest musicke ! pre-three David lend Thy well-resounding harpe , that I may send Some praises to my God : I know not how To pay by songs my heart-resolved vow : How shall I sing good God ? thou dost afford Ten thousand mercies , trebled songs O Lord Cannot requite thee ! O that I could pay With lifetime songs the mercies of one day ! I oft beginne to sing , and then before My songs halfe finisht , God gives sense for more . Alas poore soule art puzzeld ? canst not bring Thy God some honour though thou strive to sing ? The Cause is this , thou art become his debter Hee le make thee play on musicke that is better . I Cannot play , my sobs doe stop my course , My grones doe make my musicke sound the worse . What nought but grones ? ah shall th' Almighties eares Be fild with sighes all vsherd in with teares ? I this is musicke : such a tune prolongs Gods love , and makes him listen to thy songs : T is this that makes his ravisht soule draw nigher , T is this outstrips the Thracian with his Lyre , T is this inchants thy God , t is this alone That drags thy spouse from heaven to heare thy tone : No better Musicke then thy sobs and cries , If not a Davids harpe , get Peters eyes . The Soule in love with Christ . WHat though my Love doth neate appeare ? And makes Aurora blush to see her ? Though nature paints her cheekes with red And makes proud Venus hide her head ? What though her crimson lips so mute Doe alwayes wooe a new salute , What though her wan●on eyes doe shine Like glistring starres and dazell mine ? T is Christ alone , Shall be my owne , T is him I will embrace , T is he shall be A Spouse to me , All beauty 's in his face . What though the earth for me prepares A present from her golden Quarres , And braggeth of her earely gaines , Exhausted from her silver vaines ? What though shee shew her painted brates And bids me smell her Violates ? And deckes her selfe in spring attire , To make my ravisht soule admire ? Yet all this shant My Soule inchant I le smile to see her pride I know where lies A better prize For Christ hath broch'd his side . What though the world doth me invite And daily play the Parasite ? Or with her gilded tales intice Me , to a seeming Paradise ? And paints her face and all day long Sits breathing out a Syrens song ? And shewes her pompe , and then in fine Tells me , that shee and hers are mine ? Yet none of this , Shall be my blisse , I le scorne the painted whore I will deride Her and her pride For Christ is this and more . What though insinuating pleasure , Preferres me to her chiefest treasure And every day , and every night Doth feede me with a new delight And slumbers me with lullaby Dandling me on her whorish thigh ? What though with her sublime pretences Shee strives t' imprison all my senses ? Yet shee shant be A trap to me Her freedome is but thrall , Her greatest coy Will but annoy , Till Christ doth sweeten all . Or what though profit with her Charmes Grasping the world within her armes Vnlades her selfe ? and bids me see What paines shee takes , and all for me ; And then invites me to her bower Filling my coffers every houre ? What though shee thus inlarge my store With every day a thousand more ? Yet let her packe And turne her backe , Her purest gold 's but drosse Her greatest paines Produce no gaines Till Christ come all is losse . Or what though Fortune should present Her high Olympicke regiment . And never my Ambition checke , But still be pliant to my becke ? What though she lends me wings to flie Vnto the top of Dignity , And make proud Monarches with her wheele Vncrowne their heads to Crowne my heele , I le not depend On such a friend , T is Christ is all my stay : Shee can revoke The highest spoke , Her wheeles turnd every day . Let none of these in me take place : Fond Venus hath a Vulcans face : And so till heaven be pleasd to smile Poore earth sits barren all the while : The world that 's apt to winne a foole It is my burden , not my stoole : Nor pleasure shall enchant my mind , Shee s smooth before , but stings behind : I will disdaine Their greatest gaine , And fortun 's but a feather , T is none of these Can give me ease , But Christ's the same for ever . Lord why hidest thou thy face from me . WHat drowsie weather 's this ? the angry skies Doe threaten stormes , and heav'n it selfe denies Her lovely visage , ah these darkned dayes Doe make my vitals drowsie , and decayes My soules delight : good God can I controule Or drive these pensive humours from my soule ? Ah no I can't my lively spirits keepe , Such drowsie weather 's fit for nought but sleepe . O thou eternall light that hast the sway In Ioves broad wals , thou scepter of the day , Thou heav'ns bright torch , thou glistring worlds bright eye , Why dost thou hide and so obscurely lye ? Come wrap thy selfe in thy compleate attire , Shew forth thy glory , make my soule admire Thy splendor , come and doe no longer stay But with thy glorious beames bestrow my way , Extirpe these foggy mists from out mine eyes , That I may plainly see where heaven lyes . Then I le awake , sweete Christ , doe thou display Thy glittering beames , send out a Summers day , I 'le rub my slumbring eyes , O then I 'le roame A life-time journey from my native home : The soule will sleepe and can't hold up her eyes Vntill the sunne of righteousnesse arise . Christs Resurrection . COme Rise my heart , thy Master 's risen , Why slug'st thou in thy grave ? Dost thou not know he broke the prison ? Thou art no more a slave . He rowled of the sealed stone That once so pondrous lay , And left the watchmen all alone And bravely scapt away . When flesh , the world , and Satan too Wont suffer thee to quatch , Learne of thy Master what to doe And cozen all the watch . Let not these clogging earthly things Make thee ( poore soule ) forsake him , Goe , ask of Faith , she 'le lend thee wings , Haste , fly , and overtake him . But harke my soule , I 'le tell thee where Thy Master sits in state : Goe knocke at heavens dore , for there : He entred in of late . If Peter now had kept the key Thou mightst get in with ease , But Iustice onely beares the sway And le ts in whom shee please . Shee 's wondrous sterne and suffers not A passenger to enter , Without thy Masters ticket got Thou mayst not touch her Center . But come my soule , let me advise , What needst thou to implore The Saints for ayde ? I know where lies For thee a private doore . Dost not remember since the pride Of base perfidious men Did thrust thy Master through the side ( Wert not thou wounded then . ) When Iustice is so sterne that thou Vnto a straight art driven , ( Come hearke and I will tell thee now ) Creepe through that wound to heaven . Sanctificat . O My head , alas my bones , O my wounded joynts doe smart , Flesh ere while as hard as stones , Now it akes in every part : Lord 't is thy Art . All thy Iudgements could not scare Me , nor make my soule to fly , Now one angry looke can reare Me , and make me pensive lye In misery . Lord there where I tooke my rise , There did I begin to reele , Surfetted in Paradise , And there I got a bruised heele , Which now I feele . Surely my disease was great , Sicke , and yet I felt no paine ; Hungry , yet I could not eate : Sore , yet could I not complaine : Yet all was gaine . For , good God , thy care was such ▪ That thou gavest me much reliefe , Yea thou lendedst me a Crutch , And didst make me know my griefe : Lord thou art chiefe . Thou hast made the rocke to weepe And my stony heart to groane , Thou hast rais'd me from my sleepe , And dost smile to heare my tone ; And lov'st my mone . But what need'st thou lend a Crutch , Thou canst make me perfect whole ? Thou canst heale me with a touch , By this thou know'st a woman stole , Cure for her dole . When leave I this halting pace ? When shall I most perfect be ? When thou shalt my glistring face , In the land of glory see . Lord perfect me . A Meditation on a Mans shadow . WHen as the Sunne flings downe his richest rayes , And with his shining beames adornes my wayes , See how my shadow trackes me where I goe , I stop , that stops ; I walke , and that doth so : I runne with winged flight , and still I spye My waiting shadow runne as fast as I. But when a sable cloud doth disaray The Sunne , and robs me of my smiling day : My shadow leaves me helpelesse all alone , And when I most neede comfort I have none : Iust so it is ; let him that hath the hight Of outward pompe , expect a parasite : If thou art great , thy honours will draw nigh : These are the shadowes to prosperity : O how the worldlings make pursuite to thee , With cap in hand and with a bended knee : But if disastrous fate should come betwixt Thee and thy Sunne , thy splendor's all eclipst : Thy friends forsake thee , and thy shadow 's gone , And thou ( poore sunne-lesse thou ) art left alone , This is thy Soules estate , the worldly gaine And greatest pompe , in stormy times are vaine : They are but shadowes when distresse comes nigh , They are as nothing to a faithfull eye . Yet here 's my comfort Lord , if I can see My shadow , I must needes a substance be . O let me not with worldly shadowes clogge My selfe , grant me more wit then Esops dogge . A Meditation on Childrens rashnesse . WHen Mothers are desirous for to play The wantons with their babes , and shew the way To finde their feete : to give their brats content , They wagge their sporting fingers , and present A penny in the forehead , or some pap , To win the Children to the Mothers lap : How soone will they their little grissels stretch , And runne apace , aspiring for to fetch This petty object ? never caring though Their way be full of stumbling blockes below : Thou art that Mother Lord , thou usest charmes , And still art dandling , Christ within thine armes Presents most glorious objects to our eyes , And shewes us where thy choisest mercies lies ; Why then are we so backward ? why so slow ? Or why so loth into thy armes to goe ? Small molehils seeme as mountaines in our way , And every light affliction makes us stay : Why should we stop at petty strawes below ? Make us thy Children Lord we shant doe so . A Meditation on a good Father having a bad Sonne . QVerkus of late was minded to dispute Of this , A tree that 's good brings forth good fruite . Hence he concludes such parents that have bin Converted , bring forth children void of sinne . Peace Querkus peace , and hold thy tongue for shame Dost not perceive that thy conclusion 's lame ? May not a graine that 's free from chaffe and cleare Cast in the ground , bring forth a chaffy care . A Meditation on a Weathercocke . SEe how the trembling Weathercocke can find Noe setled place , but turnes with every wind , If blustring Zephyr blowes and gives a checke , How soon 's this cocke made pliant to his becke , If Boreas gets the day , t will change its side , And turne in spite of bragging Zephyrs pride : Thus temporizers turne at every puffe , And yet forsooth they thinke they 're good enough , If stand , they stand : if he that seemes to be The greatest turne , they turne as fast as he , I wonder at such wav'ring feathers , did I So often turne t' would make me wondrous giddy . Lord let that wind that blowes upon thy flocke , Turne me , and make me Lord thy weathercocke . A Meditation on Cockfighting . SEe how those angry creatures disagree , Whilst the spectators sit and laugh to see . Doe not two neighbours often doe the same , Whilst that the Lawyers laugh to see the game ? A Meditation on an Echo and a Picture . SEe how Apelles with his curious art , Pourtraies the picture out in every part : If he can give 't a voyce , no doubt he can Compleatly make the shape a living man : Surely his worke would to his praise redound , Could he but give the shape he made , a sound : What wants the Echo of a living creature But Shape ? and what but voice this comely feature ? Yet both can't meete together : God alone , Will have this secret Art to be his owne . A Meditation on Noahs Dove . WHen God the floods from lands did undivide ? And made the skye aspiring mountaines hide , When heaven raind seas , and fountaines were unbound , And all mankind except eight soules were drownd ; Then did Ioves Pilot Noah make an Arke And thrust this little world into a barke : Yea then he sent a Dove to range about The Floods , to answer his uncertaine doubt : O how shee wanders up and downe the Seas , Fluttring her weary wings but findes no ease ! Shee sees no food , no resting place , no parke , But soone returnes into her wished Arke . Observe how tender Noah , full of Love , Opens the window to this weary Dove . Puts forth his hands to meete her , takes her in , But by and by shee flutters out agin : Shee findes an Olive leafe , and that shee brings Betweene her bill , hov'ring her tyred wings Vpon the Arke : still Noah is the same , Le ts in his wandring Dove that 's now made tame With restlesse flight ; once more shee gets away , And now shee spies the earth ( that lately lay Sok'd in the impartiall deluge ) in her pride , Adornd with dainty hearbes on every side ; When food is plenty , this ungratefull Dove Forgets her Noah , and his former love : Minds nothing but her selfe , shee that before Did crouch unto thee Arke , returnes no more . Thou art that Noah Lord , and Christ the boate , Afflictions are the waters that doe floate : Man is that wandring Dove , that often flies Vnto his Christ for shelter , else he dyes . How apt are we good God to use our wings , And flye to thee when all these outward things With floods are drowned up , though we have bin So vile , how apt art thou to catch us in ? O how our God when we have bin astray Puts forth his armes to meete us in the way , And take us home ! we are no sooner in But by and by we flutter out agin : This time by chance like Noahs Dove we see , The upper branches of some Olive tree , I meane some petty shelter : still we flye Vnto our God for aide or else we dye . How apt are we , when outward things forsake us , To haste to God ? how apt 's our God to take us ? The third time we are gone , now floods are husht The Sun-confronting mountaines bravely washt , The Seas give place , the lowest vallies seene , Yea all the earth most sweetly deckt in greene : Now we forget our God and post away , And after make an everlasting stay ? When worldly wealth comes in , and we can rest Vpon the creature : O how we detest Our former refuge ! if we find a Parke , We ne're returne unto our wonted arke . A Meditation on a Shippe . MArke how the floting vessell shewes her pride And is extold with every lofty tide ; But when it ebbes , and all the floods retire See how the bragging barke is plungd in mire : Iust so good God , how apt are we to swim When mercies fill our banckes unto the brim ? When worldly wealth appeares , and we can see Such outward blessings flow : then who but we ? But when it ebbes , and thou dost once unlinke These mercies from us : O how soone we sinke ; Good God let not the great estate possesse Me with presumption , nor despaire the lesse : Let me not sinke when such an ebbe appeares , No , let me swim in true repentant teares : A Meditation on a Windmill . OBserve it alwaies t is the makers skill To place the windmill on the highest hill ; It stands unusefull till the potent windes Puffe up the lofty sayles and then it grinds : Iust thus it is : the hypocrite 's the mill , His actions sayles , ambition is the hill , The wind that drives him is a blast of fame , If blowne with this he runnes , if not hee 's tame : He stirres not till a puffe of praise doth fill His sailes : but then , O how he turnes the mill ! Lord drive me with thy Spirit , then I le be Thy windmill , and will grind a grist for thee . A Meditation on Organs . HArke how the Organist most sweetely plaies His Psalmes upon the tone-divided Kayes : Each touch a sound , but if the hand don't come And strike the kayes , how soon 's the musicke dumbe ? A mod'rate stroke doth well , but if too hard The Organ 's broke , and all the raptures mard . I am that Organ Lord , and thou alone Canst play , each prayer is a pleasant tone , Affliction is the hand that strikes the kayes : ( O Lord from me the sweetest musicke raise : ) If thou don't strike at all how can I speake Thy worthy prayses , if too hard I breake : Strike mildly Lord , strike soft , and then I le sing , And charoll out the glory of my King . A Meditation on an Apes love . WHen once the foolish Ape hath fild her nest With little brats , there 's one among the rest , Shee most affects : to shelter this from harmes , Shee alwayes hugges it in her wanton armes . Vntill at length shee squeezeth out the breath , Of this her fondling , Loves the cause of death : The Worlds this wanton Ape , that still delights In hugging some peculiar favourites , Of those that are thus dandled by this Ape , There doth not one among a thousand scape . On contempt of the World . A Loft O Soule ; soare up , doe not turmoyle Thy selfe by grabbling on a dunghill soyle : Tosse up thy wings , and make thy soaring plumes Outreach the loathsome stench and noysome fumes That spring from sordid earth : come , come , and see Thy birth , and learne to know thy pedigree : What ? wast thou made of Clay ? or dost thou owe Homage to earth ? say , is thy blisse below ? Dost know thy beauty ? dost thou not excell ? Can the Creation yeeld a parallel ? The world can't give a glasse to represent Thy shape , and shall a durty element Bewitch thee ? thinke , is not thy birth most high ? Blowne from the mouth of all the trinity , The breath of all-creating Iove , the best Of all his workes , yea thee of all the rest He chose to be his Picture : where can I But in thy selfe see Immortality 'Mong all his earthly creatures ? Thou art chiefe Of all his workes : and shall the world turne theefe And steale away thy love ? wert not for thee The heav'n aspiring mountaine should not bee , The heavens should have no glistring starre , no light , No Sunne to rule the day , no Moone the night : The Globe had bin ( 'twas not the makers will To make it for it selfe ) a Chaos still : Thou art Ioves priestly Aaron to present The creatures service , while they give assent By serving thee , why then 's the world thy rest ? 'T is but thy servants servant at the best : It gives attendance to refined mire , That Iove hath wrapt thee in as thy attire ; For what 's the body but a lumpe of clay Carv'd neatly out , in which the soule beares sway ? T is servant to the soule : what limbe can stirre , Nay darst to quatch , if once shee make demurre ? See how the captiv'd members trembling stand Wondrous submissive to her dire command ! O how the legs doe runne with eager flight To overtake the object of delight ! See how the armes doe graspe as if they 'd rent To hold the thing that gives the soule content . Why what 's the body when the soule 's away ? Nought but a stincking carkasse made of clay . What 's heav'n without a God ? or what 's the skye If once bright Phoebus close his radiant eye ? The world was for our bodies , they for none But for our soules , our soules for God alone : What madnesse then for men of such a birth To nuzell all their dayes on dunghill earth , Still hunting after with an eager sent An object which can never give content ; For what contentment in the world can lye , That 's onely constant in inconstancy ? It ebbes and flowes each minuie : thou maist brag This day of thousands , and to morrow b●g : The greatest wealth is subject for to reele , The globe is plac'd on Fortunes tottering wheele : As when the gladding sunne begins to show And scatter all his golden beames below , A churlish cloud soone meetes him in the way , And sads the beauty of the smiling day : Or as a stately ship a while behaves Her selfe most bravely on the slumbring waves , And like a Swanne sailes nimbly in her pride The helpefull windes concording with the tide To mend her pace : but by and by , the wind The fretfull Seas , the heav'ns and all combin'd Against this bragging barke , O how they fling Her corkey sides to heaven , and then they bring Her backe : shee that ere while did sayle so brave Cutting the floods , now 's tost with every wave : Iust so , the waving world gives joy and sorrow , This day a Croesus , and a Iob to morrow : How often have I seene the miser blesse Himselfe in wealth , and count it for no lesse Then his adored God : straight comes a frowne Flying from unhappy fate , and whirleth downe Him , and his heapes of gold , and all that prize Is lost , which he but now did Idolize . But grant the world ( as never 't will ) to be A thing most sure most full of constancy , What is thy wealth unlesse thy God doth blesse Thy store , and turne it to a happinesse ? What though thy Table be compleatly spread With farre-fetcht dainties , and the purest bread That fruitfull earth can yeeld ? all this may bee , If thou no stomacke hast , what 's all to thee ? What though thy habitation should excell In beauty , and were Edens parallel ? Thou being pesterd with some dire disease , How can thy stately dwelling give thee ease ? Thy joyes will turne thy griefe , thy freedome thrall , Vnlesse thy God above doth sweeten all : When thou ( poore soule ) liest ready to depart , And hear'st thy Conscience snarling at thine heart , Though heapes of gold should in thy coffers lye , And all thy worthlesse friends stand whining by , 'T is none , 't is none of these can give thee health , But thou must languish in the midst of wealth . Then cease thou mad man and pursue no more The world , and know shee 's but a painted whore , Thou catchest shadowes , labourst in thy dreames , And thirst's amongst th' imaginary streames . A Meditation on a meane . LOrd in excesse I see there often lies Great dangers , and in wants great miseries : Send me a meane , doe thou my wayes preserve , For I may surfet Lord , as well as starve . On Sathans tempting Eve . ARt thou turn'd Fencer Sathan ? prethee say ? Surely thou art not active at thy play . Challenge a Woman ? fie thou art to blame , Suppose thou getst the day , thou getst no fame . But prethee speake , hast any cause to prate ? Thou bruis'd her heele , what though ? shee broke thy pate . On a Spunge . THe Spunge it selfe drinkes water till it swell it , But never empties till some strength expell it : Lord , of our selves we 're apt to soake in sinne , But thou art faine to squeeze it out agin . A Meditation on a chime of Bells . HArke ; what harmonious Musicke fils mine eare ? What pleasant raptures ? yet me thinkes I heare Each Bell that 's rung , to beare a various sound , Had all one note , how quickely t would confound The tune ; a discord in the bels arise , And yet they disagreeing , sympathize : T is not the greatest makes the sweetest noyse , No , but the skilfull Ringer still imployes The small as well as great , t is every bell Together rung , that makes them sound so well ; Thus t is in Common-weale : if every man Kept time , and place proportiond to him , than How sweetly would our musicke sound ? t would be The emblem of an Heavenly harmony , Where each man would be great , the land enjoyes No musicke , but a base prepostrous noyse , Each Bell sounds well : what though the tenor be The big'st ? the treble seemes as sweete to me : Le ts not aspire too high , experience tels The choisest chimes makes use of petty bels : But howsoever Lord , least I disgrace Thy sweet-voic'd chime , make me keepe time , and place . A Meditation on the burning a torch at noone day . WHen Sol doth in his flaming throne remaine , My Blazing torch doth spend it selfe in vaine , But when the sunne goes downe , and once t is night , O then how welcome is my torches Light , Sols radient beames at noone doe so surmount They make my tapers light of small accompt ; So Lord when thou dost great abundance send We cannot then so well esteeme a friend , We slight their helpes : they alwaies seeme most bright When dire affliction sends a dismall night . A Meditation on the sound of a crackt Bell. HArke how the Hoarsemouth'd Bell extends a tone Into mine eares ; delightfull unto none , The Mettal's good , t is some unwelcome skar , Some fatall cracke that makes the musicke jarre , But what of this ? although the sound be rough T will call me to the temple well enough : Such are those ill-lived Teachers who confound The sweetnesse of their soule converting sound By flawes seene in their unbeseeming lives , By which their heavenly calling lesser thrives : Yet Lord , I know they 're able for to bring My Soule to heaven , though with so hoarse a ring . But since thou dost such jarring tunes disdaine , Melt thou this mettall , cast these bels againe . A Meditation on a silly Sheepe . WHen all the Winds shew forth their boystrous pride , And every cloud unloads his spungy side , When Boreus blowes , and all the Heavens weepe , And with their stormes disturbe the grazing sheepe : See how the harmelesse creature , much dismaide , Doth crouch unto the bramble bush for aide : 'T is true , the bramble hides her from the winde , But yet it makes her leave her fleece behinde . Who can but smile at such that knowes not how To take the frownings of an angry brow ; Whose base revengefull spirits strive to crush Their foes , though fleece themselves at law'ers bush . Guide me good God , let me revenge no more , When once the cure growes worse then the sore . A Meditation on the Flowers of the Sunne . MArke how the flowers at night doe hang their heads As if they 'd drop their leaves into their beds , But when the morning sunne doth once arise They represent their glory to mine eyes , Then they unvaile their tops , and doe attire Themselves in beauty , as the Sunne goes higher . Thus Lord thy Saints on earth , when thou do'st hide , They cover all the glory of their pride , Their drooping soules doe wither , all their mirth . Is gone , they finde no pleasure in the earth : But when the Sunne of righteousnesse appeares , Then they display their beauty , and their feares Are all extinct : O Lord doe thou make me Thy Saint , that I may fall and rise with thee . A Meditation on a Loadstone , and Iet . WHen once the Loadstone shewes it selfe , then straight The Iron carelesse of its wonted waight , Vnto its wished object doth aspire , As if it did enjoy the sense , Desire , And thus the blacke-fac'd Iet is apt to draw The dust , and to inchant the wanton straw , This Iet and Loadstone well me thinkes imparts An embleme of our fond-attractiv'd hearts , The Spirit is that Loadstone that doth plucke Our Iron hearts , that once so fast were stucke Plung'd in the depth of sinne , and sets them sure , In spight of devillish mallice to indure . The World 's the Iet that often doth controule Vaine frothy man , and steale away his soule With her inchanting trickes ; thus Iet can bring Light strawes , submissive to so vaine a thing : Be thou my Loadstone Lord , then thou shalt see My Iron heart will quickely cleave to thee . A Meditation on false lookin-glasses . MAdam looke off ; why peep'st thou ? O forbeare , T will either make thee proud or else despaire ! Th'one glasse doth flatter thee above desart , The other makes thee blacker then thou art , Tell me sweete Lady , now thou hast both there , Dost not most love the glasse that makes thee faire ? T is our condition , we can seldome see A man that tels us truely what we be ; Our friends doe often flatter , and present Too fine a shape , and all to give content : Our rough-mouth'd foes do strive to lay a skar On us , and make us worser then we are , But yet of both , our lofty nature's such Indeed , we love our flattering friends too much : Give me a perfect Glasse , Lord cleare my sight , That I may see my selfe , and thee aright . A Meditation on hunting the Hare . OBserve how nature tutors senslesse Beasts , How quickly will they poste into their nests For feare of harme ; O how the trembling Hare Will shunne the dogge , and ev'ry bird the snare , See how the crafty Fox doth take his rounds , And clamber mountaines to avoid the hounds , If Nature shewes this ; to such creatures too , O what doth Reason and Religion doe ? How is it then , that Man so little feares The plots of Sathan and those dev'lish snares ? How apt are we good God to trample in , Nay t' urge occasions for to act our sinne ? Vnlesse we by thy spirit are possest , We are more stupid then the senslesse beast . A Meditation on the pride of Womens apparrell . SEe how some borrow'd off cast vaine attire , Can puffe up pamper'd clay , and dirty mire : Tell me whence had'st thy cloath's that makes thee fine , Wast not the silly Sheeps before t was thine ? Doth not the Silke worme and the Oxes hide Serve to maintaine thee in thy cheefest pride ? Do'st not thou often with those feathers vaile Thy face , with which the Ostridge hides her taile ? What art thou proud of then ? me thinks 't is fit Thou should'st be humble for the wearing it : Tell me proud Madam ; thou that art so nise , How were thy parents clad in Paradise ? At first they wore the armour of defence And were compleatly wrapt in innocence : Had not they sin'd , they ne're had beene dismaid Nor needed not the Fig-trees leavy ayde ! What ever state O Lord thou place me in Let me not glory in th' effect of sinne . A Meditation on a Wax Candle lighted . SEe how my burning Taper gives his light , And guids my wayes in the obscurest night , It wasts it selfe for me , and when t is spent The snuffe doth leave behind a wholsome sent : Thus doe thy Pastors Lord who shine most bright , They spend themselves to give thy people light , And when by thee their posting time 's confind , They dye and leave a lovely smell behind . A Meditation on an Elephant . THe Elephant doth alwayes chuse to drinke In durty ponds , and makes his paw to sinke And raise the mud , that so he may escape , Without the shadow of his ugly shape : Thus t is with guilty soules , who dare not peepe Into themselves , but make their conscience sleepe ; Cleanse me O Lord , and then I shall surpasse In beauty , and won't feare the looking glasse . A Meditation on a Bird in a Cage . SEe how my little prisoner hops about Her wyrie Cage , and sweetly ditties out Her various tunes : and since shee cannot flee Abroad , shee looks for meate from none but me : But if I ope my Cage , her lofty wings Supports her to the Forrest , where shee sings Some rustick notes , and when my bird can see Some meat abroad , shee seeks for none to me . T is thus , ( good God ) whilst thou on us dost bring Thy great afflictions , O how well we sing Thy prayse , whilst we thus imprisned be , Our faiths more active and our hop's on thee : But if thou let us loose , we quickly flye Abroad , and lose our wonted harmony . Our faiths more uselesse , if elsewhere we see Some foode , we seldome come for meate to thee , If thou wilt feede , and teach me Lord to praise , Then let me be thy prisoner all my daies . A Meditation on the fire . KEepe but an equall distance , then the fire Will give thee warmth unto thine hearts desire , But if thy daring spirit once presumes To cronch too nigh , it warmes not , but consumes , T is thus in things divine : Search thou Gods will Reveal'd , and then t will warme , but never kill : But pry into his secrets , then the ire Of God will burne thee like consuming sire : O Lord so warme me with thy sacred breath , That I may neither burne nor freeze to death . A meditation on boyes swimming with bladders . SEe what extreame delight some boyes have tooke Playing the wantons in some gliding brooke Vpon their bladders tumbling up and downe Though ne're so deepe , in spight of Neptunes frowne : They seldome learne to swimme : doe but unlincke Them from their bladders , then they quickely sincke , This Worlds a tossing Sea , fild to the brim With waves , where ev'ry man doth sincke or swim , These Bladderd Lads are such that still rely Vpon the creature , which gone , by and by Their drooping spirits faile : the faithfull man Is he that swims aright , and alwaies can Support himselfe , and with his art outbraves The fretfull Sea , though fild with angry waves : Lord give me faith , that I may still depend On thee , and sw●●● , what ever stormes thou send . On Cain and Abels offerings . ARt angry Cain ? what doe thy thoughts repine ? Is Abels offring better tooke then thine ? Didst not thou bring thy God a lovely prize And crowne his Altar with a sacrifice , Art not thou elder ? did not thy offring too Come from thy God ? what more could Abell doe ? I le tell thee Cain how Abel got the start , He with his offring , offered up his heart . On an Apprentices Boxe . THe Prentise after all his yearely painēs , Filleth his small mouth'd box with Christmas gaines , Yet though he fill his box unto the brim Vnlesse he breake it up , what 's all to him ? A miser's such a Boxe , that 's nothing worth , Till death doth breake it up , then all comes forth : Convert good God , or strike with some disease , Breake up such small mouth'd boxes , Lord as these . On Eves Apple . EVE for thy fruite thou gav'st too deare a price , What ? for an Apple give a Paradise ? If now a dayes of fruite such gaines were made A Costermonger were a devillish trade . On a faire house having ill passage to it . A House to which the builders did impart The full perfection of their curious art , Most bravely furnisht , in whose roomes did lye , Foote clothes of Velvet , and of tapestry ; I wondred at ( as who could not but doe it ) To see so rough so hard a passage to it : So Lord I know thy heaven 's a glorious place , Wherein the beauty of thy glistring face Inlightens all : thou in the wals dost fixe , The Iasper and the purest sardonyx , Thy gates are pearles , and every dore beset With Saphires , Emeralds , and the Chrysolet : Each Subject weares a crowne , the which he brings And flings it downe to thee , the King of Kings . But why 's the way so thorny ? t is great pitty The passage is no wider to thy Citty , Poore Daniel through his den and Shadrake's driven With his associates through the fire to Heaven , But yet we can't complaine , we may recall The time to minde when there was none at all , T' was Christ that made this way , and shall we be Who are his Servants , farre more nice then he ? No , I le adventure too , nay , I le get in , I le tracke my Captaine thorow thicke and thin . FINIS . Notes, typically marginal, from the original text Notes for div A46242e-640 The Chaos .