THE MINOR POEMS 
 
 OF 
 
 JOSEPH BEAUMONT, D.D. 
 
• • » • • • • 
 
C&%#L<r7&s 
 
THE MINOR POEMS 
 
 OF 
 
 JOSEPH BEAUMONT, D.D. 
 
 1616-1699 
 
 EDITED FROM THE AUTOGRAPH MANUSCRIPT 
 WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES 
 
 BY 
 
 ELOISE ROBINSON 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 1 > » 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 AND NEW 
 
 YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON 
 
 MIFFLIN 
 1914 
 
 COMPANY 
 

This edition is issued under the auspices of the department of 
 English Literature, Wellesley College. Gratitude is due to Miss 
 Caroline Hazard, Miss Eunice Cole Smith, Professor George 
 Herbert Palmer, and especially to Miss Helen J. Sanborn, for 
 making the publication possible. 
 
 KATHARINE LEE BATES, 
 
 General Editor. 
 
 3&7UIK- 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 INTRODUCTION— 
 
 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. Manuscript . . . . . • xiii 
 
 II. Life .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 xvi 
 
 III. Poetry 
 
 
 
 
 
 xxviii 
 
 SUSPIRIUM .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 Reasonable Melancholy 
 
 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 Death ..... 
 
 
 
 
 
 8 
 
 Loves Mysterie 
 
 
 
 
 
 11 
 
 Civill Warr .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 12 
 
 Tabula Secunda in Naufragio 
 
 
 
 
 
 14 
 
 Jesus inter Ubera Maria 
 
 
 
 
 
 16 
 
 Davids Elegie upon Jonathan 
 
 
 
 
 
 18 
 
 Cantic. Chap. 2 . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 19 
 
 Thou shalt call His Name Jesus 
 
 
 
 
 
 20 
 
 Love ..... 
 
 
 
 
 
 22 
 
 Love .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 26 
 
 Ad S. Angelum Custodem . 
 
 
 
 
 
 27 
 
 The Gnat 
 
 
 
 
 
 3i 
 
 The Sluggard .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 33 
 
 Bedtime .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 35 
 
 Dull Devotion 
 
 
 
 
 
 36 
 
 The Waters of H. Baptisme 
 
 
 
 
 
 38 
 
 VlRGINITIE 
 
 
 
 
 
 40 
 
 Affliction 
 
 
 
 
 
 43 
 
 The True Love-Knott 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 45 
 
 Fasting .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 47 
 
 The Little Ones Greatnes . 
 
 
 
 
 
 49 
 
 The Voyage 
 
 
 
 
 
 5i 
 
x Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 S. Mary Magdalen's Ointment ..... 
 
 250 
 
 Lemniscus ad Columnam S. Simeonis Stylitae appensus 
 
 253 
 
 S. Gregorie Nazianzen ...... 
 
 260 
 
 S. Joseph ..... 
 
 
 275 
 
 Natalitium : Martj 13, 1645 . 
 
 
 280 
 
 Anniversarium Baptismi 
 
 
 285 
 
 A Friend ..... 
 
 
 288 
 
 Temporall Success .... 
 
 
 292 
 
 e H y Aya7n] ov £r)T€i t<x eavrijs 
 
 
 296 
 
 Humane Revenge .... 
 
 
 298 
 
 SUSPIRIUM AD AMOREM 
 
 
 30I 
 
 The Sheepherd .... 
 
 
 303 
 
 Hope ...... 
 
 
 306 
 
 Idleness ..... 
 
 
 308 
 
 The Complaint .... 
 
 
 3IO 
 
 The Wound ..... 
 
 
 312 
 
 The Cheat ..... 
 
 
 313 
 
 The Combat ..... 
 
 
 315 
 
 The Pretence ..... 
 
 
 316 
 
 The Pilgrim ..... 
 
 
 318 
 
 Bioddvaros ...... 
 
 
 321 
 
 The Crie ...... 
 
 
 322 
 
 Whiteness, or Chastitie .... 
 
 
 324 
 
 A Morning Hymn ..... 
 
 
 325 
 
 An Evening Hymn ..... 
 
 
 326 
 
 Hymnus ad Christum, proxime coofpandi in S 
 
 . Presbytera- 
 
 
 tus Ordinem ..... 
 
 
 327 
 
 Paulo post Ordination em 
 
 
 329 
 
 Natalitium . . . . 
 
 
 331 
 
 Anniversarium Baptismi .... 
 
 
 334 
 
 Submission ...... 
 
 
 337 
 
 A Preparatory Hymne to the Week of Meditacions upon, 
 
 
 & Devout Exercise in the Historie of Christ ; composed 
 
 
 for my Friend ....... 
 
 340 
 
 A Conclusorie Hymne to the same Week ; & for my friend 
 
 343 
 
 Content ........ 
 
 346 
 
 A Secret Sigh ....... 
 
 35o 
 
 The Relapse ...... 
 
 . 
 
 352 
 

 Contents 
 
 
 
 
 xi 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Jealousy .... ... 354 
 
 A Dialogue 
 
 
 
 
 
 356 
 
 A Dialogue 
 
 
 
 
 
 358 
 
 Once & Ever . 
 
 
 
 
 
 361 
 
 Epiphanie Carol 
 
 
 
 
 
 362 
 
 TevedXiaKOv 
 
 
 
 
 
 364 
 
 Annivers : Baptismi . 
 
 
 
 
 
 369 
 
 Easter Dialoge 
 
 
 
 
 
 372 
 
 The Surrender 
 
 
 
 
 
 374 
 
 Upon my Fathers Sudden & 
 
 Dangerous £ 
 
 SICKNES 
 
 s 
 
 
 376 
 
 TevedXiaKov 
 
 
 
 
 
 378 
 
 Anniversarium Baptismi 
 
 
 
 
 
 383 
 
 YevtdXiaKov 
 
 
 
 
 
 385 
 
 Anniversarium Baptismi 
 
 
 
 
 
 389 
 
 YtvtdXiaKov 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 392 
 
 Annivers : Baptismi . 
 
 
 
 
 
 396 
 
 The Journe 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 398 
 
 The Winter-Spring . 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 399 
 
 The Gentle Check . 
 
 
 
 
 
 401 
 
 The Sentinel . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 403 
 
 The Farm 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 405 
 
 News 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 407 
 
 The Duell 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 409 
 
 The World 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 411 
 
 The Servant 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 413 
 
 Game 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 415 
 
 Ascension 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 418 
 
 Friends . 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 420 
 
 The Bankrupt 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 422 
 
 Detraction 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 424 
 
 Virtue . 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 426 
 
 Thrift . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 428 
 
 Avarice . 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 430 
 
 Honor . 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 432 
 
 Physik . 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 434 
 
 Selflove 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 436 
 
 Pentecost 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 • 438 
 
 Witt 
 
 . 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 440 
 
xii Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Entertainment ....... 442 
 
 Riches ......... 444 
 
 The Alarm ........ 446 
 
 S. Barnabie ........ 448 
 
 The Gardin ........ 450 
 
 Palmestrie ........ 452 
 
 NOTES 453 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 I. MANUSCRIPT 
 
 The unique manuscript of Dr. Joseph Beaumont's minor poems 
 is the property of Professor George Herbert Palmer, of Harvard 
 University. Professor Palmer bought the book in September 
 191 1, from Mr. Bertram Dobell, the London bookseller and 
 publisher, who purchased it at one of the sales of the Sir Thomas 
 Phillipps collection. Beyond that point it seems impossible to 
 trace the manuscript. A thick quarto volume, whose leaves, 
 coloured red on the edges, measure 7 J x 5 -J inches, it is 
 covered with calfskin. On the back is printed in gilt, Poems, 
 1643, making it probable that this is not the original binding, 
 but one supplied when it came into the Phillipps collection, or 
 earlier, as the author was then evidently unknown. The close- 
 ness of the binding, also, precludes the likelihood that the pages 
 were written after the book was in its present form. The number 
 of leaves is 173, of which four at the beginning and six at the 
 end are blank. The verso of the last leaf and the lower half of 
 the recto are also unwritten. The manuscript is especially well 
 preserved ; in only two pages is the margin slit, and nowhere is 
 it much discoloured. The paper itself is stiff, with a hard writing 
 surface, and non-absorbent. 
 
 Two different hands appear in the manuscript, that of 
 Beaumont in the body, and a later hand in correction, in all 
 probability that of the editor of the selective 1749 edition, J. G., 
 as it occurs only in poems marked for publication there. Pigot 1 
 says these initials stand for John Gee, M.A., Master of Peter- 
 house. In Professor Palmer's copy of the 1749 edition the 
 initials have been so filled out, and the title-page inscribed as 
 
 1 Pigot, Hugh, Hadleigh, The Town, the Church, and the Great Men, p. x ^ 
 
 xiii b 
 
xiv Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 follows: "John Gee, M.A., Master of Peterhouse and rector of 
 Kelshall in Hertfordshire." Beaumont's is an English hand with 
 Italian intermixture, particularly as regards capitals, and quite 
 legible except in a few of the corrections. At page 235 there 
 comes an abrupt change in the writing, consistently maintained 
 to the end. In the opening stanza of the first poem in which it 
 occurs, Beaumont accounts for the variation thus quaintly : 
 Tire'd with my PSYCHE, (for ye Song 
 Though wondrous hudled, yet was long. 1 
 
 The difference lies mainly in the formation of some of the letters, 
 notably / and / and N, M, F, P. Again, the lines are closer 
 together, averaging fifty to a page, while those in the first part of 
 the book average thirty. The ink is a dark, rich brown, almost 
 black — except in the case of one poem, where it is a light red- 
 brown — and retains a good colour even when thin ; that in the 
 earlier pages is lighter and has a greyer tone ; the last half is in 
 places written with a finer pen. In most cases the use of then 
 for than is discontinued, and because is written bycause ; heart, 
 hart; if, yf In general, it is more carelessly done and more 
 difficult to read than the earlier portion. 
 
 Throughout, the spelling is uneven, variants of the same word 
 occurring on a single page. The principal peculiarities are the 
 doubling of a final consonant, especially r, I and t, or of a medial 
 c, I or /; the omission of the final s in the terminations ness, 
 less ; the substitution of ie for y at the end of a word j the addi- 
 tion of e to many words, almost invariably to do, go, lo, self, and 
 those in ///, n, s, I; the forming of the plural in es instead of s ; 
 the use of_v for i and of k for c, or of both together; in as a 
 prefix for en, ie for ei, and vice versa. The apostrophe is usually 
 omitted in the possessive case, and frequently where elision takes 
 place; later, however, the presence of both the e and the 
 apostrophe is not rare, i.e. cure'd. Beaumont sometimes uses 
 the manuscript ~ for the doubling of m, and the A for an h ; the 
 long s is not infrequent, but as its use seems to be a matter of 
 whim, it has not been kept in this text. Beaumont has a device 
 of writing in very large letters, not capitals, words he wishes to 
 make especially prominent. For lack of printing facilities, such 
 words have been incorporated in the text in capitals. Capitaliza- 
 tion is frequent, but irregular, mostly in nouns. 
 
 1 See p. 280. 
 
Introduction xv 
 
 The second hand, that of J. G., is later. The ink is a decided 
 brown in colour, lighter than the ink of the later pages of the 
 manuscript, and richer in tone than that used earlier. This 
 hand is seen in marginal corrections and alterations of the 
 original text. In a number of places, notably in the P placed 
 above poems selected for publication, a pencil has been used. 
 
 A number of the poems are marked For a Base and two trebles, 
 or with similar directions for a musical setting. Attention may- 
 be called here to the initials placed above a few poems in the 
 volume. Before the hymn from Ascension, and before The 
 Sheep herd , we find : 
 
 Sett to j parts 
 for voices & 
 violls. by R. C. 
 
 before Whiteness, or Chastitie, is : 
 
 Set to 4 pts. 
 by. T. T. 
 
 While it is probable that these refer merely to music composed 
 for the pieces by R. C. and T. T., still it is interesting to 
 remember that R. C. and T. T. are the initials of two con- 
 temporary poets, one of whom Beaumont certainly knew, and 
 with the other of whom he may well have been acquainted — 
 Richard Crashaw and Thomas Traherne. 
 
 The manuscript contains 177 poems ; of these thirty were 
 published in the 1749 edition with large omissions, here 
 mentioned in the textual notes. In addition, the 1749 volume 
 contained eleven poems from a second manuscript, written in 
 Beaumont's hand between June and September, 1652. 1 The 
 verses selected by J. G. for publication are fairly representative, 
 although many of the finer pieces are not included. Besides the 
 English poems, he printed seventeen in Latin, to which are 
 appended thirty-two pages of Latin prose, consisting of a disserta- 
 tion on miracles and extracts from critical notes on Paul's 
 Epistles! 1 The poems of the 1749 edition, English and Latin, 
 Grosart has added to the second volume of his reprint of 
 Beaumont's Psyche. 
 
 1 This, Gee tells us, was entitled Cathemerina ; the poems were intended as 
 exercises preparatory to the duties of the day. The fate of this manuscript is 
 not known. 2 See Introduction, p. xviii. 
 
xvi Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 II. LIFE 
 
 Joseph Beaumont was born in the town of Hadleigh, in 
 Suffolk, on the 13th of March, 1616. This we learn from the 
 evidence of several of his own poems written in commemoration 
 of that event ; x from his own poems, 2 too, as well as from the 
 parish register, 3 we know he was baptized on the 21st of the 
 same month. His biographers agree that' he was descended 
 from the Grace-dieu and other Leicestershire Beaumonts, though 
 they are unable to trace the links between that branch of the 
 family and the poet. 4 The father of Joseph Beaumont was John 
 Beaumont, a clothier, whom Gee describes as employing "the 
 moderate fortune allotted to him as a younger brother, in the 
 Woollen Manufacture," and further adds : 
 
 He was several times elected into the chief Magistracy of that 
 Town, which character he supported with a proper and becoming 
 dignity ; and having lived in good credit and reputation upon an 
 easy fortune, though greatly impaired by his adherence to the Royal 
 Cause, he died in the 69th year of his Age, May the 12th, 1653. 
 From some MSS. now in the editor's hands, he appears to have 
 been a sensible, judicious, and religious man, and competently 
 learned for the station he filled in the world. 5 
 
 The mother of the poet was Sarah Clarke of East Berghdt. 6 
 
 Even in his earliest years Beaumont showed an inclination to 
 letters, so that his father determined to send him to the Hadleigh 
 Grammar School. 7 The Master at that time was William 
 Hawkins, who, having taken holy orders, was "continually 
 sighing for duties more nearly clerical," and who later gave up 
 his office to become curate to the rector of Hadleigh. 8 He was 
 something of a poet ; one of his productions, Apollo Shroving, 
 
 1 See pp. 82, 280, 331, 364, 378, 385, 392. 
 
 1 See pp. 86, 285, 334, 369, 383, 389, 396. 3 Pigot, p. 158. 
 
 4 Gee, John, "An Account of the Life and Writings of the Author," in Original 
 Poems in Latin and English, by Joseph Beaumont, D. D. Cambridge, 1749, 
 p. 1. Pigot, p. 157. Grosart, Alexander, ed. , The Complete Poems of Dr. Joseph 
 Beaumont, vol. i., Introd. p. 1. In the register of Burials of Hadleigh, in 1586 
 occurs the name of Julian Beaumont, Clothier, "and it is added in another, 
 though ancient handwriting, ' father of Edward and John of Hadleigh and son 
 of Robert of Bilderston, who came out of Leicestershire.' " 
 
 8 Gee, pp. l-ii. 
 
 6 East Anglian Notes and Queries, April, i860, pp. 73-4. 
 
 7 Gee, p. ii. 8 Pigot, p. 176. 
 
Introduction xvii 
 
 was written for the boys of the Grammar School, and acted by 
 them on Shrove Tuesday, the 6th of February, 1626. Beaumont 
 took part in the character of Page to Captain Complement ; he 
 also spoke the prologue and the epilogue. 1 In 1634 Hawkins 
 published a volume of verses in Latin entitled Corolla Varia . . . 
 Ecloguae tres Virgilianae declinatae. . . . Nisus verberans et 
 vapulans, decantatus per Musas vt'rgiferas, Juridicas? To this 
 curious and clever volume Beaumont contributed some com- 
 mendatory Latin verses. 3 
 
 Thus, under the instruction of Master Hawkins and the " eye 
 of his watchful parent," 4 Beaumont spent his boyhood, reading 
 the " most valuable Authors of Antiquity with taste and digesting 
 them with judgment." 4 Gee tells us he was so fond of Terence, 
 and so " desirous of imitating the elegant turn and sprightliness 
 of that Authors style," that to the end of his life he carried 
 about in his pocket a small edition of the poet. 4 
 
 In November, 1631, a boy of fifteen, Beaumont was sent to 
 Peterhouse, at Cambridge. 5 If we may accept the assertions of 
 Gee, always eulogistic, he soon became extraordinarily proficient 
 in every branch of University learning. 
 
 Thus respected, beloved and carressed, our young student spent 
 his four first years in the University, where he never lost sight of 
 the ends for which he was placed there, the acquirement of know- 
 ledge, and the improvement of virtue : he strictly observed the 
 Statutes of the University, and those of his College, he constantly 
 attended at the Chapel hours of Devotion, with meek and unaffected 
 Piety ; and his exercises of every kind were performed with so much 
 accuracy and judgment, that they were then heard with the greatest 
 pleasure, and remembered many years after with the highest 
 applause. 6 
 
 Beaumont himself has given us an interesting glimpse of these 
 school and college years in a poem written for his birthday, 7 
 
 1 Grosart, vol. i. p. lxxxii. 2 Pigot, p. 178. 
 
 3 For an amusing account of this volume, and a transcript of the verses, see 
 Grosart, vol. ii. p. 235. 4 Gee, p. iii. 
 
 5 The admission Book of Peterhouse contains the following entry : 
 
 Nov. 26. Josephus Beaumont Snffolc 
 
 1 63 1. admissus Pensionarius sub custodia 
 M ri . Home. 
 Grosart, p. xii. See also Poems, p. 83. 
 
 6 Gee, p. v. 7 Page 82. 
 
xviii Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 March 16, 1643. He was admitted Bachelor of Arts in 1634; 
 in November, 1636, as a reward for superior merit, he received 
 the first fellowship vacant after he was qualified to hold the 
 position by his B.A., "with the consent and approbation of the 
 whole society. " 1 Two years later he proceeded M.A. in company 
 with Richard Crashaw, to whom he pays a tribute in his Psyche! 1 
 
 And by this heart-attracting Pattern Thoti 
 
 My only worthy Self thy Songs didst frame : 
 
 Witness those polish'd Temple Steps which now 
 
 Stand as the ladder to thy mounting fame ; 
 
 And, spight of all thy Travels, make't appear 
 Th'art more in England than when Thou wert here. 
 
 More unto others, but not so to me 
 
 Privy of old to all thy secret Worth ; 
 
 What half-lost I endure for want of Thee, 
 
 The World will read in this mishapen Birth. 
 Fair had my Psyche been, had she at first 
 By thy judicious hand been drest and nurst. 
 
 The quiet life at Cambridge and the election to the fellowship 
 gave Beaumont the opportunity to pursue a plan of study which 
 he had marked out, that of making himself familiar with the 
 scriptures in Hebrew, and thence examining the state of Christi- 
 anity from the beginning down to his own time. According to 
 Gee 3 he was well fitted to take up such a task, since he had 
 "exhausted the fountains of Greek and Roman learning," was 
 thoroughly familiar with oratory, poetry in all its forms, and 
 philosophy. Beaumont's second editor, Grosart, however, takes 
 just exception to the high praise which Gee bestows upon the 
 scholarly attainments of the poet, pointing out that his Latin was 
 not of the best in verse or prose, and that the extracts from the 
 dissertations, annotations, and explanations of Scripture published 
 in the 1749 edition are commonplace in content and awkward in 
 expression. As to the critical quality of his thought, even Gee 
 is forced to admit that in the De Legendis Sanctorum Historiis 
 Dissertatio he " lays himself open to the charge of more credulity 
 than will be admitted into the system of modern opiniators." 4 
 Grosart goes so far as to call him an intellectual valetudinarian, 
 while acknowledging that the quantity of his work was enormous. 
 
 1 Gee, p. v. 2 Canto iv. st. 107-8. 
 
 3 Gee, pp. v-ix. 4 Gee, p. ix. 
 
Introduction xix 
 
 It is curious to find Beaumont himself voicing the same 
 opinion. 1 
 
 My itching mind proudly desir'd to piie 
 
 Into what ever Learnings Title wore. 
 
 With unfledgd wings I often towred high, 
 
 And snatch'd at things above my pitch, before 
 
 I had sure hold of what beneath did lie. 
 
 Yet on I ventur'd still, & caught at more ; 
 
 I caught y e Wind of Words, w ch by a Blast 
 Of following Notions soon away were past. 
 
 If Beaumont's labours leave something to be desired in the 
 quality of his scholarship, the same cannot be said in regard to 
 the amount. Besides the study of Hebrew 2 and a critical 
 commentary upon the Bible, 2 he made a digest of the lives of 
 the Saints and Martyrs, one for each day — a circumstance to 
 which we no doubt owe many of his poems, and these not the 
 most fortunate. 2 He wrote a dissertation in defence of miracles 
 wrought since the days of the apostles, and made " large and 
 useful " extracts from the early church Fathers. He prepared a 
 treatise descriptive of the calamities of the Roman empire under 
 the sons of Theodosius ; 3 in this he drew a parallel to the state 
 of his own country, just then on the verge of civil war. The 
 direction of Beaumont's sympathies may be gathered from the 
 arguments which go to show the fatal end of " factious conten- 
 tions" and the ultimate success of " Piety and Catholik religion." 
 At this time he had been appointed by the Master of Peterhouse 
 "guardian and director of the manners and learning of the 
 students of that society," an office which he filled with so much 
 discretion that " he led those under him to the practise of every 
 virtue, not so much by friendly and moving admonitions, in 
 which he excelled most men, as by his persuasive and insinuating 
 example, in which he most surely excelled all." 4 According to 
 Gee, it was one of the happiest circumstances of Beaumont's life 
 that not one of the young men of the " best families " who were 
 under his instruction failed to espouse the royal cause. In 164 1, 
 when the outbreak of the rebellion brought trouble to more than 
 
 1 Page 84. 2 See Gee, pp. vi-viii, xiv. 
 
 3 Both Gee (p. xiv) and Pigot (p. 159) claim that this work was published in 
 1641, containing 401 pages quarto ; Grosart, on the other hand, denies its 
 publication (pp. xv-xvi). The book is not mentioned by Wood, Bentham, nor 
 Lowndes. 4 Gee, p. iii. 
 
xx Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 one scholar, Beaumont had recourse to religious studies as 
 " being the best entertainment and surest consolation for a 
 dejected mind." * In this employment, says Gee, he passed the 
 summer of 1643 — the last he was to spend in the University 
 until the Restoration — " writing daily meditations upon the attri- 
 butes of God." 2 
 
 Yet in all probability his scholastic pursuits were not left 
 wholly undisturbed. We read of how the University had good 
 reason to fear the Roundhead army. 3 
 
 Some (of the soldiers) that durst discharge a Musket made it 
 their practise to terrifie us, and disturbe our Studies by shooting in 
 at our windows. . . . 
 
 Upon these reasons (which no judicious man will esteem other- 
 wise than weighty), we endeavoured to convey away some part of 
 our Plate about the beginning of August, 1642. . . . But within a 
 few days after . . . One Master Cromwell, Burgesse for the Towne 
 of Cambridge^ and then newly turned a Man of Warre, was sent 
 downe by his Masters ... to gather what strength he could to stop 
 all passages that no Plate might be sent. But his Designes being 
 frustrated, ... he hath ever since bent himself against us. In 
 pursuit whereof, before that month was expired downe he comes 
 again in a terrible manner with what Forces he could draw together, 
 and surrounds divers Colledges, while we were at our devotion in 
 our several Chappells, taking away Prisonres, several Doctors of 
 Divinity, Heads of Colledges. . . . 
 
 And that the whole Body of the University might fare no better 
 than the Heads, not long after the carrying off of the first three . . . 
 instead of carrying us all off to London Gaoles (thanks to our 
 multitude, not to their mercy), they found a device to convey a prison 
 to us, and under colour of Fortification confin'd us onely in a larger 
 inclosure, not suffering any Scholars to pass out of Towne. . . . 
 
 How often have our Colledges been beset and broken open and 
 guards thrust into them sometimes at midnight, while we were asleep 
 in our beds ? How often has our Librarie and our Treasurie been 
 ransackt and rifled. . . . How often hath the small pittance of 
 
 1 Gee, p. xiv. 
 
 2 Gee, p. xv. Pigot says the book was published. Grosart (note, p. xvi) 
 denies this, but as before fails to cite his authority. Whether printed book or 
 MS., it contained, according to both Gee and Grosart, 205 pages, quarto. 
 
 3 Querela Cantabrigiensis : / Or / A Remonstrance j By way of Apologie I for the 
 banished Members / of the j late flourishing University / ofj Cambridge / By some of 
 the said Sufferers. / Oxford 1646. / 
 
Introduction xxi 
 
 Commons, which our Founders and Benefactors allotted for our 
 sustenance been taken away off our tables by the wanton Soldiers ? 
 . . . For two years they have set themselves upon little else then 
 to seize and take away our goods and furniture belonging in our 
 Chambers, prizing and selling our books at a tenth part of their 
 value. . . . Their malice has extended in quartering multitudes of 
 common soldiers in those glorious and ancient structures ... by 
 them made mere bawdy-houses and spittles for sick and debauched 
 soldiers, being rilled with Queans, Drabs, Fiddlers, & Revels night 
 and day. 
 
 But matters were to be yet worse. Gee l says : 
 
 A fatal turn was given to the King's affairs, by the Scots army 
 coming into England in the year 1644, and declaring for the 
 parliament at Westminster, by which they gained a manifest superi- 
 ority, they rightly judged that to secure, at least, one of the seats of 
 learning to their interest, would add weight and credit to their party, 
 and that this could be effected by no other method than the applica- 
 tion of their superior force ; it was therefore one of the first uses 
 they made of their new-gotten power, to send orders to the Earl of 
 Manchester, to whom they had given the command of the associated 
 Counties, to garble and model the University of Cambridge, where 
 Mr. Beaumont's avowed affection to the king's cause exposed him 
 among the first, to the keenest edge of their resentment. 
 
 Following Gee, Grosart places the time of Beaumont's 
 expulsion from Cambridge at 1644, and further quotes a rescript 
 from the register of Peterhouse. 2 
 
 Whereas in pursuite of an ordinance of Parliament for regulating 
 and reforming of the University of Cambridge, I have ejected Mr. 
 Beaumont, Mr. Penniman, Mr. Crashaw, Mr. Holder, Mr. Tyringham, 
 late fellowes of Peterhouse. And whereas Mr. Charles Hotham, 
 Robert Quarles, Howard Becher, Walter Ellis, Edward Sammes, 
 have been examined and approved by the assembly of Divines now 
 sitting at Westminster, according to the said ordinance as fitt to 
 be Fellowes. These are therefore to require you, and every of you 
 to receive the said Charles Hotham, Robert Quarles, Howard 
 Becher, Walter Ellis, Master of Arts ; and Edward Sammes Bach r , 
 as fellowes of your Colledge in room of the said Mr. Beaumont, 
 Mr. Penniman,' Mr. Crashaw, Mr. Holder, Mr. Tyringham, formerly 
 
 1 Gee, pp. xvii-xviii. 2 Grosart, p. xvi. 
 
xxii Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 ejected, and to give them place according to their seniority in the 
 Universitie, in reference to all those that are or shall hereafter be 
 putt in by me according to the Ordinance of Parliament aforesaid. 
 Giuen under my hand and seale the eleaventh day of June anno 
 1644- 
 
 Manchester. 
 
 To the Master, President and Fellowes 
 
 Of Peterhouse in Cambridge. 
 
 Here we may notice that the fellows are mentioned as 
 "formerly ejected," which merely places the date before June, 
 1644. Bentham 1 and Dyce 2 give the date of ejection as 
 April 8, 1644, but without stating their authority. Moreover, 
 several poems in the manuscript point to the ejection as taking 
 place as early as before January 1, 1644. An especially strong 
 indication of this is found in the following, written between 
 March 21, 1643, and January 1, 1643 (1644). 8 
 
 What, does thy Study lure thee, 4 
 Within it to immure thee, 
 And stow up thy Provision 
 Of learned Ammunition ? 
 Alas vaine Project, Plunder 
 Has broke that Plot in sunder : ' 
 Cambridge, thy genuine Mother, 
 Is force'd to be no other 
 But step-dame, & reject thee 
 Though once she did elect Thee. 
 Tis well, God doth not fashion 
 By Man's, his Reprobation, 
 Tis well, thy new & Noble 
 Society doth double 
 Thy Comfort : gallant Spirits 
 (Men of abused Merits) 
 With Thee are Reprobated. 
 
 If we may trust Gee's statement, that these poems were written 
 after the expulsion from Cambridge, when Beaumont had retired 
 to Hadleigh, we may place the ejection even earlier — before 
 
 1 Bentham, James, The History and Antiquities of the Conventual Church 
 of Ely to 177 1. Norwich, 1812. p. 262. 
 
 2 History of the University and Colleges of Cambridge. London, 18 14. Vol. 
 ii. p. 22. 
 
 3 The poems of the manuscript are evidently written in chronological order, 
 beginning some time before March, 1643, an d ceasing in June, 1652. 
 
 4 Page 128. 
 
Introduction xxiii 
 
 March, 1643. The poems that most clearly bear out this theory 
 are Tabula Secunda in Naufragio} House 6° Home, 2 Patience? 
 The Check.*- The Pilgrim? too, contains significant stanzas, as 
 this: 
 
 What though my Books & I be parted ? 
 I know all Freinds at last 
 The Parting Cup must taste. 
 And now to me the World's converted 
 Into one Library where I may read 
 The mighty Leavs of Providence wide open spred. 
 
 Thus we find Beaumont in Hadleigh early in 1643, surrounded 
 by other 
 
 gallant Spirits 
 (Men of abused Merits), 
 
 still occupied in religious and literary pursuits. Before June, 
 1652, he had written the poems here printed; a second book of 
 lyrics entitled Cathemerina, and designed as religious preparatory 
 exercises for the duties of the day ; a volume of Latin verses ; and 
 Psyche, a poem in twenty-four cantos, setting forth in allegory the 
 "intercourse between Christ and the Soul." But "poetical 
 excursions were not Mr. Beaumont's studies, but his amuse- 
 ments ; not the serious busines of his life, but reliefs from the 
 ennui and irksomeness of being, which in that long divorce from 
 Books, could not but oppress his active and vigorous mind." 6 
 His real occupation lay in the writing of a " clear account of the 
 book of Ecclesiastes, and large critical notes upon the Penta- 
 teuch." Likewise, Gee tells us, he daily performed the service 
 of the liturgy in his father's house, and preached on Sunday. 
 
 The latter fact has led Gee, and Grosart, following Gee, to 
 suppose that Beaumont had taken deacon's orders before leaving 
 the University. That this was not the case we may infer from a 
 poem entitled Hymnus ad Christum, proxime cooptandi in S. 
 Presbyteratus Ordinem, immediately followed by verses Paulo 
 post Ordinationem, bearing the date February 27, 1647, four 
 years after the expulsion from Cambridge. 
 
 If Beaumont's poems are any index to his feelings, it is not 
 surprising that he was forced to give place at Cambridge to one 
 more in sympathy with the Puritan cause. He rails against 
 
 1 Page 14. 2 Page 60. 3 Page 73. 
 
 4 Page 75. 5 Page 318. 6 Gee, p. xxiv. 
 
xxiv Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 "blackest Parliaments" and the "insolent Vulgar"; the "Pres- 
 byterian God," 
 
 demurely drest 
 In solemn Weeds, 
 
 and the " apostate scum of Vassals " who abandon their King ; 
 the Roundheads, and their master, the Devil. He heaps scorn 
 upon those "intruding drones," the Puritan successors in the 
 Cambridge fellowships. He sees Britain made the "isle of 
 Monsters," and of rebels who disdain their monarch ; he pictures 
 the Commons trampling down will and reason and murdering 
 their 
 
 royal Lord 
 Whose guilt was nothing but his gentle reign. 
 
 The wonder is, if he made such opinions known, that he escaped 
 as well as he did. 
 
 In fact, Beaumont did not suffer so heavily as some of his 
 contemporaries by the turn affairs had taken. He was fortun- 
 ately in the patronage of Bishop Wren of Ely, who had been 
 Master of Peterhouse * during Beaumont's first years there. Wren 
 was one of the most ardent as well as the most intellectual of the 
 Laudians, and a faithful and powerful friend. In 1642 a Bill 
 was sent up to Commons against him, 2 charging him, in twenty- 
 five articles, with being popishly inclined, a suppressor of preach- 
 ing, and an extortioner. Some of the gravest accusations were 
 that he preached "in a gown, not a cloke," and read prayers "in 
 a surplice," and set aside Sunday afternoons for exercise. He 
 was committed to the Tower, September 1, 1642, where he 
 remained a prisoner for nearly eighteen years. 3 But during this 
 time he regularly collated to all preferments in his diocese, and 
 Beaumont reaped no small share of the appointments. Between 
 1643 and 1664 he was given the rectories of Kelshall in Hert- 
 fordshire, 4 Elm cum Emneth in the Isle of Ely, Gransden Parva 
 
 1 Graduati Cantabrigiensis sive Catalogus, ab anno r6^<p-Oct. 12, 1823. 
 Collegii Divi Petri Praefecti, 1626, Matthaeus Wren. Episc. Hereford, 1634. 
 Bentham gives the date July 25, 1625. 
 
 a For the articles see Nalson, Collections, vol. ii. p. 397 ; also Prynne, William, 
 Canterburies Doom, pp. 373-7, and Thomas Widdringtori 's Speech / on Tuesday / 
 The 20th of July, 1641 / at a Conference betweene J Both Houses, j at the transmis- 
 sion of the impeachment I against Matthew Wren, Doctor in Divinity / late Bishop 
 of Norwich, and now / Bishop of Ely. / London, E. G. for R. Best / 1 641. / 
 
 3 Bentham, pp. 200, 201. 
 
 4 Bentham, pp. 262, 266 ; and Gee, passim. 
 
Introduction xxv 
 
 in Cambridgeshire, of Connington and Teversham in the same 
 county, and of Barley in Hertfordshire. Likewise he held the 
 seventh — later the eighth — canonry and Prebend in the Cathe- 
 dral Church of Ely, 1 and was domestic chaplain to Bishop Wren. 
 
 During this time Beaumont had become acquainted with a 
 Miss Brownrigg, daughter of an eminent merchant of Ipswich in 
 Suffolk, and step-daughter of Bishop Wren. This lady was 
 heiress to a considerable estate; she had been trained by the 
 bishop, her guardian, in all "polite accomplishments as well as 
 religious duty." Gee tells us that "Mr. Beaumont had never 
 flattered himself with the most distant hope of such a wife, with 
 so fair an estate," but one reading certain poems written about 
 this time is inclined to think differently. 2 At all events, the 
 Bishop was well content to have his chaplain for a son-in-law, 
 and Beaumont and Elizabeth Brownrigg were married in 1650; 
 Gee 3 says the wedding ceremony was performed in the chapel at 
 Ely House by Dr. Wren himself, but as the Bishop was at this 
 time in the Tower, this would seem to be a mistake. Beaumont 
 soon retired with his wife to Tatingston, the estate he had acquired 
 with her, where they "enjoyed the pleasures of a social life." 4 
 
 Thus Beaumont spent the ten years that elapsed before the 
 Restoration " in such application to the duties of his profession 
 as the then condition of the times would allow of, and in the 
 constant practise of every virtue becomming a good man and a 
 Christian." 5 At the Restoration Beaumont was appointed one 
 of the chaplains to Charles II. ; it appears that he took up his 
 residence at court; Gee would have it that "he was thought 
 worthy of his Majestie's particular notice, and frequently admitted 
 to private conversation with him." 6 However, Beaumont never 
 received any more material evidence of the royal favour than a 
 mandamus to the University to create him Doctor of Divinity in 
 1660. 
 
 Early in 1661 the poet removed to Ely at the special request 
 
 1 Pigot says he was elected to the sixth stall in 1647, hut this is a mistake. 
 
 2 See pp. 337, 350, 367, 374, 378, 385. 3 Gee, p. xxx. 
 
 4 Grosart is wrong in supposing that all of Beaumont's minor poems belong to 
 the time of his residence at Tatingston Place. Grosart infers this from Gee's 
 statement that the Cathemerina were written May 17-Sept. 3, 1652. The only 
 poems written after his marriage are those from page 392 to the end, twenty-eight 
 in all. 
 
 5 Gee, p. xxxi. 6 Ibid. 
 
xxvi Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 of Bishop Wren. The foggy air of the fens proved fatal to Eliza- 
 beth Beaumont's delicate constitution; she died May 31, 1662, 1 
 and was buried behind the altar at Ely, under a " decent monu- 
 ment " thus inscribed : 
 
 Quod mori potuit 
 
 Lectissimae, Desideratissirnaeque 
 
 Conjugis 
 
 Elizabethae Bellomontanae 
 
 Sub Hoc Marmore Condidit 
 
 Moestissimus Maritus 
 
 J.B. 
 
 Hujus Ecclesiae Canonicus 
 
 Maii 31, An. Dom. 
 
 1662. 
 
 Grosart has quoted in his memorial Introduction 2 the beautiful 
 elegy for Elizabeth Beaumont which appeared in the 1702 edition 
 of Psyche? A few stanzas may serve here to suggest the tone of 
 the whole : 
 
 Sweet Sou/, how goodly was the Temple which 
 Heav'n pleased to make thy earthly Habitation ! 
 Built all of graceful Delicacy, rich 
 In Symmetry ; And of a dangerous fashion 
 
 For youthful Eyes, had not the Saint within. 
 
 Govern'd the Charmes of her inamoring Shrine. 
 
 How happily compendious didst Thou make 
 
 My study when I was the Lines to draw 
 
 Of genuine Beauty ! never put to take 
 
 Long journies was my fancy ; still I saw 
 
 At home my Copy, and I knew 'twould be 
 But Beauty's wrong further to seek then Thee. 
 
 Delight was no such thing to her ; if I 
 Relish'd it not : the Palate of her Pleasure 
 Carefully watch'd what mine could taste, and by 
 That standard her content resolv'd to measure. 
 By this rare art of sweetness did she prove 
 That though she joy'd, yet all her Joy was Love. 
 
 So was her Grief : for wrong'd herself she held 
 If I were sad alone ; her share, alas 
 And more then so, in all my Sorrow's field 
 She duly reap'd : and here alone she was 
 
 1 Gee, p. xxxiv. 2 Pages xxiii-xxiv. 
 
 3 Canto xviii. st. 1-56. 
 
Introduction xxvii 
 
 Unjust to me. Ah dear injustice, which 
 Mak'st me complain That I was loved too much ! 
 
 O how she welcomed her courteous Pain, 
 
 And languished with most serene Content ! 
 
 No Paroxysms could make her most complain, 
 
 Nor suffer'd she her Patience to be spent 
 
 Before her Life ; contriving thus to yield 
 To her disease, and yet not loose the field. 
 
 She dy r d ; but to that Life's possession flew 
 
 In hopes of which alone before she lived. 
 
 Alas, I only perish'd, who in shew 
 
 Was left alive ; and she who dy'd, survived. 
 None, none this wofull Riddle feels but I, 
 Hers was the Death, but mine the Tragedy. 
 
 The death of this dearly beloved wife left Beaumont, then a 
 man of forty-five, with the charge of four 1 little children, only 
 one of whom lived to maturity. Shortly before his bereavement, 
 the Mastership of Jesus College had been obtained for him by 
 Dr. Wren. 2 Thither Beaumont now went. Finding the chapel 
 "dilapidated" he set about to repair it at his own expense. 3 
 
 The death of Dr. Hale, Master of Peterhouse, in the year 
 1663, gave the faithful Bishop Wren a new opportunity of 
 showing his esteem for Beaumont. Not without some juggling 
 on the part of the Bishop, 4 Beaumont was appointed Master on 
 April 24, 5 still holding the various livings that had accrued to 
 him. The following year he entered into a controversy with 
 Dr. Henry More, upon some doctrines advanced in that distin- 
 guished divine's Mystery of Godliness, which seemed to Beaumont 
 "not only subversive of our excellent constitution both in Church 
 and State, but also productive of many evils in the Christian 
 Religion." 6 The controversy, according to Gee, was handled by 
 him with "so much modesty, learning, wit and judgment, that 
 
 1 Gee says six, but see Psyche, xviii. 15-18. 
 
 2 Graduati Cantabrigiensis. Beaumont, Josep. Pet. S.T.P. per Literas 
 Regias, 1661 ; Coll. Jes. Mag., 1662; Coll. Pet. Mag., 1663; Theol. Prof. 
 Reg., 1674. 
 
 3 Pigot prints a MS. belonging to Mr. Read, of Ipswich, showing that "Dr. 
 Balders received of Dr. Beaumont the summ of tenn pounds as a free gift for 
 making ye Organs and repeiring ye Chappell of ye same College. Oct. 29, 1664. " 
 
 4 See Grosart, pp. xxvi-xxxi. 
 
 5 See note 2 above. 6 Gee, p. xxxix. 
 
xxviii Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 he received the thanks of the University, and a testimony of the 
 good opinion, which that Body had of the performance, was 
 added to the usual Imprimatur." x It was probably at this time 
 that Beaumont drew for the altar of Peterhouse chapel pictures, 
 long since perished, in chalk and charcoal. Carter, the Cam- 
 bridgeshire historian, thought the Wise Man's Offering on the 
 north side particularly fine. 2 
 
 Gee 3 says it was in 1670 that Beaumont was appointed 
 Regius Professor of Divinity. The Cambridge records above 
 quoted show that the office was not given to him until 1674. 
 This chair he filled for twenty-five years, and "applied himself 
 with the utmost punctuality and diligence " to his duties. 4 He 
 read public lectures twice a week, explaining the difficult passages 
 of Paul's Epistles {Romans and Colossians). At his own request 
 these were never published, by which Gee declares that " true 
 religion is deprived of great jewels." 5 We read that he took 
 needy students into his own home, allowing them the use of his 
 library, and entertained many of the noted men who came to 
 Cambridge. 
 
 Dr. Beaumont continued to discharge the duties of his office 
 until his eighty-fourth year ; he preached before the University on 
 the 5th of November, 1699. When the services were over he 
 was attacked with chills and fever, and died on the 23rd of 
 the same month. He was buried in the college chapel, under 
 a "black marble in the floor"; 6 a mural monument, also, was 
 erected to his memory. 
 
 III. POETRY 
 
 There are comparatively few, aside from literary scholars, to 
 whom the verses of this minor seventeenth-century poet will 
 appeal. He belonged to the little group of men, endowed with 
 a real love of poetry, who departed from the idealism and 
 romance of Spenser, and from the melodious and idyllic songs of 
 the court lyrists, to give voice to the worship and need of God in 
 
 1 For the less favourable view, see Grosart, p. xxxii. 
 
 2 Willmott's Sacred Poets, ist series, p. 339. Pigot, p. 165. 
 
 3 Page xl. 4 Ibid. 
 
 5 Gee, p. xli. 
 
 6 John Nichols, West Goscote Hundred, vol. iii. pp. 734-5. 
 
Introduction xxix 
 
 the human heart. Of this school was Donne, who had at 
 once an intense enjoyment of the world that now is, and an 
 intense intuition of the world unseen. To this school belonged 
 Crashaw, with his flame and ardour of spiritual life, firing all that 
 he touched with mystic passion ; and Herbert, the ascetic, who 
 talked as man never talked before, face to face with God ; and 
 Vaughan, occasionally out-Herberting Herbert in curious conceits, 
 but with a love of Nature for her own sake, a poet to whom the 
 world was but a veil of the eternal, of the divine presence felt in 
 even the smallest flower or bird. Here Traherne takes his place, 
 he who had the highest, most ecstatic vision of them all, to whom 
 life was apocalypse. 
 
 To this fellowship Beaumont belonged, none the less surely in 
 that he was the least of its singers. It would be hard to find 
 one more truly the child of his age, one whose character was 
 more typically that of the seventeenth-century poet and divine. 
 We have seen how the circumstances of his life in the university, 
 in court, in the church, and his royalist sympathies were such as 
 would bring him into contact with the religious poetry and poets 
 of his day, and cultivate the habit of mind which was character- 
 istic of his contemporaries. The tastes of these poets were 
 scholarly ; they enjoyed hours in the library, music, quiet observa- 
 tion of Nature. They preached an apparently tame morality, but 
 one seldom achieved save by those to whom it comes by nature. 
 Poetry was to them a pastime, the occupation for whole days of 
 meditation and reflection — work that was shaped rather from 
 intellectual mood than emotion. Moreover, they consciously 
 turned aside from the writing of sonnets to a mistress's eyebrow to 
 consecrate their poetic gift to holy things. About the time he 
 was seventeen Herbert wrote his well-known dedication of his 
 talent to the Church. Vaughan, in the author's preface to the 1655 
 edition of Si/ex Scintillans, expressed the same determination : 
 
 That the kingdom hath abounded with those ingenious persons, 
 which in the late notion are termed Wits, is too well known. Many 
 of them having cast away all their fair portion of time in no better 
 employments than a deliberate search, or excogitation of idle words, 
 and a most vain, insatiable desire to be reputed poets. . . . 
 
 The suppression of this pleasing and prevailing evil lies wholly in 
 their bosoms who are the gifted persons by a wise exchange of vain 
 and vicious subjects, for divine themes and celestial praise. . . . 
 
 c 
 
xxx Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 To effect this in some measure, I have begged leave to com- 
 municate this my poor talent to the Church, under the protection 
 and conduct of her glorious Head, Who, if he will vouchsafe to own 
 it and go along with it, can make it as useful now in the public, as 
 it hath been to me in private. 
 
 We find Beaumont writing : 1 
 
 O Mighty Love, 
 
 Thou Universall Life & Soule 
 
 Whose Powers doe move 
 
 And reigne alone from Pole to Pole, 
 
 Give Me thy Worthlesse Subject leave to sing 
 
 My due Allegiance to ye Worlds Sweet King. 
 
 Let other Muses 
 Goe court y e Wanton Mysterie 
 
 Of lewd abuses 
 Into a young spruce Deitie : 
 Mine does no homage owe, but unto Thee, 
 Who, whilst ye other's blind, do'st all things see. 
 
 What most surely, then, marks Beaumont as belonging to the 
 school of Donne, is the religious temper of his poetry. He 
 sings of the divine as a lover of his mistress ; in the words of 
 Herbert, he makes religion "wear Venus' livery." Inheriting 
 the religious bent of the poets of this school, he inevitably 
 inherits also the tincture of quaintness, the infelicity of conceits, 
 that characterized them. Certain stock phrases and common 
 tropes he echoes as regularly as troubadour or trouvere ever 
 echoed the mediaeval conventionalities. Too often he models 
 after his contemporaries in writing hymns on church festivals or 
 incidents of Scripture, hymns to which, in his case, can usually be 
 applied but one epithet — banal. Herbert, perhaps, was the only 
 one of these poets who escaped becoming at times trivial or 
 ludicrous. Beaumont, on the other hand, fell most frequently 
 into the pit. It is not that he was incapable of seeing the beauty 
 around him ; in these poems there are many instances of genuine 
 and simply expressed feeling for Nature and for the little happen- 
 ings of life ; neither can we doubt the sincerity of his religious 
 experience ; yet in common with the other poets he made these 
 the occasion for subtle mind -play, the starting-point for a 
 
 1 Loves Monarchie, p. 94. 
 
Introduction xxxi 
 
 multitude of conceits and verbal ingenuities where artifice is 
 undistinguished from reality. 
 
 In all this Beaumont belongs to the school of Donne. If we 
 attempt to go further, this question meets us on the threshold : 
 What is the exact relation in which Beaumont stands to his con- 
 temporaries ; what is the debt he owes to them ? 
 
 As in Psyche Beaumont refers to Crashaw, 1 it is interesting to 
 find in the same poem the following tribute to Herbert. 2 After 
 praising Pindar and Horace he writes : 
 
 (Yet neither of their Empires was so vast 
 
 But they left Herbert, too, full room to reign ; 
 
 Who lyric's pure and pretious metal cast 
 
 In holier moulds, and nobly durst maintain 
 
 Devotion in verse, whilst by the sphears 
 
 He tunes his Lute, and plays to heaven'ly eares. ) 
 
 It is to the poetry of these two men that we find most 
 
 resemblances in Beaumont's work. But that there is a further 
 
 debt is evident at the outset from a comparison of the mere 
 
 titles of the lyrics. With Traherne, whom possibly he knew 
 
 through Bishop Wren of Hereford, he has in common the titles 
 
 of News, The World, A Dialogue. From Donne's The Flea he 
 
 took the idea, if not the exact title, of his curious poem The 
 
 Gnat. Titles identical with Donne's are The Will, Self-Love, 
 
 Jealousy, Annunciation, Ascension, Good Friday, A Hymn to 
 
 Christ, Death. Both Crashaw and Beaumont have poems 
 
 upon The Waters of our Lord's Baptisme, Easter Day, Hope. 
 
 Beaumont and Vaughan use Death, Content, The Relapse, The 
 
 Check, Faith, Affliction, Easter Day, Trinitie Sunday, The World, 
 
 Ascension, S. Mary Magdalen. With Herbert he has in common 
 
 twenty-one titles — Good Friday, H. Baptisme, Affliction, Love, 
 
 Whitsunday, Trinitie Sunday, Christmas, Dialogue, Avarice, 
 
 Conscience, Content, Death, Easter, Faith, Home, Hope, Life, 
 
 S. Mary Magdalen, Submission, Time, The World. 
 
 A study of the form of Beaumont's verse also tends to the 
 conclusion that he was familiar with the work of his con- 
 temporaries. It is not surprising to find in the mid-seventeenth 
 century a lack of anapaestic and dactylic feet, but we might expect 
 a larger number of trochees. In over three hundred closely 
 
 1 Introduction, p. xviii. 2 Canto iv. 
 
xxxii Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 written pages of manuscript there are not more than eleven 
 poems in this meter. 1 Herbert has eleven, 2 Crashaw eight. 3 
 The u grave Iambic's grace " 4 suited the purpose of these poets. 
 Everywhere Beaumont's rhythm is extremely regular; he vies 
 with Herbert in constancy and exactitude. In neither of these 
 two poets would we find the unevenness that is noticeable in 
 Crashaw's verse, the substitution of an anapaestic for an iambic 
 foot, or an intermixture of iambic and trochaic verses. In all 
 Beaumont's poems I count only two irregular lines, and these 
 vary by accident merely in number of feet. In two instances 
 Beaumont has used verses of six feet ; otherwise his longest line 
 has ten syllables, his shortest two. Herbert uses no alexandrine 
 and his shortest verse has two syllables. 5 Beaumont is fond of 
 short lines — fully two -thirds of the poems contain trimeters, 
 dimeters, or monometers ; in this he is like Crashaw. 
 
 These verses of from one to five feet Beaumont combines in 
 a multitude of ways. Herbert has a hundred and twelve 
 different combinations, some of which Beaumont uses, as well as 
 all of those in Crashaw's longer poems, and invents new ones of 
 his own. Although he likes to exercise his ingenuity in a variety 
 of stanza forms, he falls short of Herbert in that he does not 
 catch for each lyric situation the lyric setting that befits it ; his 
 invention is rich but unresponsive to the demands of mood. 
 When his poems are written in the curious figurative shapes that 
 pleased the fancy of the seventeenth-century poets, 6 it is not 
 because that form suited the thought — unless we make the 
 possible exception of Goodfryday and Easter — it is merely for 
 the artifice itself. More than this we could hardly expect, for 
 Beaumont was not primarily a poet, but a scholar and a divine ; 
 he made verses because it gave him pleasure, not because genius 
 compelled. Beaumont does not appreciate the interweaving of 
 Herbert's rhyme, though he sometimes copies Herbert's simpler 
 
 1 House & Home ; Purification of ye B. Virgin ( i ) ; the hymn from Trinitie 
 Sunday; Anniversarium Baptismi (p. 285); The S keep her d ; The Complaint; 
 The Cheat; Whiteness, or Chastitie ; A Morning Hymn; An Evening Hymn ; 
 A Love bargaine. In addition there are occasional stanzas from other poems. 
 
 2 Palmer, George Herbert, The Life and Works of George Herbert, vol. i. 
 p. 126. 
 
 8 By count. 4 See p. 261. 
 
 6 Professor Palmer, vol. i. p. 128, says three, but see Gratefulness and 
 Longing. 
 
 6 Such as wings, temples, columns, altars, etc. 
 
Introduction xxxiii 
 
 devices ; nor does he use the widely separated rhymes that often 
 give the peculiar shut-in effect of Herbert's verse, nor the 
 recurrent rhyme that accompanies the repetition of thought. 
 Once he does what Crashaw is fond of doing, — writes a stanza 
 of six verses with one rhyme j other stanza forms and rhymes are 
 common to these two friends. Beaumont's rhymes, like those of 
 his contemporaries, are sometimes imperfect; he puts together 
 such words as friend and behind, fashion and creation, share and 
 are, mysterie and high, that and got, now and slow ; sequent 
 rhymes that should be contrasted often jar in their similarity ; 
 i.e., goes, slow, grows, now; forbear, appear, share, fear. 
 Beaumont has, too, his favourite rhymes : pleasure and treasure — 
 occurring eleven times in Herbert 1 — are used by Beaumont as 
 many times on the first thirty-seven pages of the manuscript ; 
 storie and glorie — ten times in Herbert 2 — appear as often on the 
 first thirty-six. Other common rhymes are descry and eye, light 
 and bright, streams and beams, hearts and darts, things and wings ; 
 all these are used again and again by Crashaw. 
 
 There are a dozen devices of style in which Beaumont is near 
 of kin to all the poets of the school of Donne, but nearest to 
 Crashaw. The same sort of compound word — all-cheering, all- 
 obedient, well-burning, too-willing, never-failing, virgin-birth, self- 
 tormenting — is to be found in the poems of both. There are 
 the same classical allusions to Jove and Aurora, Neptune and 
 Scylla, Scythia and Lybia and Parnassus, with a host of others ; 
 the same puns and conceits ; the same constant repetition and 
 antithesis. Plainly akin to Crashaw are such effects as these 
 lines upon the Muses : 
 
 For more of them ne'r dwelt upon 
 Learned Parnassus double head 
 Then harbour in thy single one ; 3 
 
 or in this picture of Mary Magdalen anointing Christ's head : 
 
 The Altar where 
 This Offerer 
 Doth dedicate her Nard, Gods Temples are. 4 
 
 But Beaumont owes his fellow-poets much more than spiritual 
 quickening. For specific suggestion of word and phrase and 
 
 1 Palmer, vol. i. p. 133. 2 Ibid. 
 
 3 Page 260. 4 Page 251. 
 
xxxiv Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 thought he is indebted to almost all of his contemporaries and 
 predecessors. In the poems of Raleigh, Wotton, Donne, Herbert, 
 Crashaw, Milton, Southwell, there are literally scores of parallels 
 to passages in his work. Milton's 
 
 As the gay motes that people the sunbeams l 
 is certainly echoed in 
 
 As Atoms in y e highnoone Ray. 2 
 
 The opening verses of Reasonable Melancholy hold a second 
 reminiscence of // Penseroso. Milton has 
 Hence, vain deluding Joyes, 
 
 Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys. 
 Beaumont writes : 
 
 Tell me no more of Sweets & Joyes ; 
 
 Nor flatter poor unworthy Toyes. 3 
 
 To the first verses of E Allegro there are two parallels even more 
 convincing. 
 
 Hence, loathed Melancholy \ 
 
 Of Cerberus and blackest midnight bom 
 In Stygian cave forlorn, 
 
 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy. 
 
 In Melancholie 4 Beaumont imitates : 
 
 Out hideous Monster ; in thy Name 
 
 Blacknesse & furie dwell : 
 
 Home to thy Native Hell, 
 Whose foule Complexion is y e same, 
 
 The same with thine : both Hell 6° Thee 
 Proud furious DISCONTENT 
 At once begat, &* sent 
 DARKNESSE your Monstrous Nurse to bee. 
 5 
 
 In Death 
 
 What Furies hand rak'd up ye monstrous Deep 
 Of shame and horrour, thence to fetch an heap 
 
 Of shapelesse Shapes, which join'd in one, 
 
 Make up thy Constitution ? 
 
 Was Night thy Mother, or was Hell ? 
 
 1 // Penseroso, 1. 9. 2 Love, p. 24. 3 Page 4. 
 
 4 Page 68. 6 Page 8. 
 
Introduction xxxv 
 
 Turning to Vaughan, we find a distinct likeness between that 
 poet's Quickness and Beaumont's Life, although Beaumont has 
 expanded Vaughan's poem to three times its length. There is 
 resemblance in thought and spirit between the following extracts 
 from these poems. From Vaughan : 
 
 False life ! a foil and no more, when 
 
 Wilt thou be gone ? 
 Thou foul deception of all men, 
 That would not have the true come on. 
 
 From Beaumont : l 
 
 Alas poor Life, No more will I 
 
 Miscall that foule Hypocrisie, 
 
 By which Thou stealst y e dainty Face 
 
 Of Sweetnes, and 
 
 Dost men command 
 To court & idolize thy borrowed grace. 
 
 The same is true of the two poems called Death. Likewise the 
 hymn from Beaumont's Trinitie Sunday has the form, rhyme 
 words, and the main thought of Vaughan's poem of the same 
 name. It seems quite possible that Beaumont may have taken 
 the idea and the title of The true Love-knott from this verse in 
 Vaughan's The Knot : 
 
 Thou art the true Love's-knot. 
 
 There is, too, more than an accidental resemblance between these 
 lines of Vaughan : 
 
 Time now 
 Is old and slow, 
 
 and these of Beaumont : 2 
 
 Alas, though time be now 
 Grown old, he's not so slow. 
 
 The same likeness appears between these lines from Isaac's 
 Ma?-riage : 
 
 Thus soar'd thy soul, who, though young, didst inherit 
 Together with his blood thy father's spirit, 
 
 and these from 6". John Baptist : 3 
 
 His Friends desir'd He might inherit 
 Both his great Fathers Name & Spirit. 
 
 1 Page 76. 2 Page 6. 3 Page 217. 
 
xxxvi Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Vaughan writes : 
 
 A silent tear can pierce thy throne 
 
 When loud joys want a wing ; 
 And sweeter airs stream from a groan 
 
 Than any arted string. 
 
 Bad as this is, it was not too bad to be imitated by Beaumont as 
 follows : 1 
 
 One Tear 
 Flows with more Honey far 
 Then all Hybkan Hives ; one pious sigh 
 Breathes sweeter aire 
 Then all y e faire 
 Arabia, & can sooner reach the skie. 
 
 Although there are numberless instances where Beaumont has 
 appropriated Vaughan's thought and phrasing, perhaps one more 
 will suffice here. In Regeneration we find : 
 
 And let me die before my death ! 
 
 Through the exigences of his verse Beaumont makes this, in 
 Love : 2 
 
 Help Mee to die, 
 
 Lest dangerous Death 
 
 Suck up my breath. 
 
 From Herbert, Beaumont took two verses almost bodily : 
 Love is a present for a mighty king, 
 
 from The Church Porch, appears in the Losse 3 as 
 Might be a present for a Mighty King. 
 
 The refrain from The Sacrifice, 
 
 Was ever grief like mine ? 
 
 is copied exactly in Loves Adventure. In The Little Ones Great- 
 nes Beaumont writes : 4 
 
 My palace door was ever narrow : 
 
 No Mountains may 
 
 Crowd in that way, 
 Nor at a Needles Eye get thorow. 
 
 Heavens little Gate is onely fit 
 
 Deare Babes, for you ; 
 
 1 Page 7. a Page 25. 3 Page 65. 4 Pages 49-50. 
 
Introduction xxxvii 
 
 which is a reminiscence of Herbert's lines in H. Baptisme : 
 
 Since, Lord, to thee 
 A narrow way and little gate 
 Is all the passage, on my infancie 
 
 Thou didst lay hold, and antidate 
 My faith in me. 
 
 Again, in Praise, Herbert has 
 
 . . . poor bees that work all day 
 Sting my delay 
 Who have a work as well as they 
 
 And much, much more ; 
 
 which appears thus in The Sluggard : l 
 
 And does y e Day rise more for Birds than Mee 
 That they should earlyer bee 
 At work then I, 
 Who have to flie 
 Higher then they, & bring 
 A Morning Sacrifice 
 
 Of greater price. 
 
 The following couplet is from Suspirium : 2 
 
 But straight some worldly Dust flyes up, 
 And my too-willing eyes doth stop. 
 
 Herbert writes in Ungratefulness : 
 
 ... til death blow 
 The dust into our eyes, 
 and in Frailtie : 
 
 That which was dust before, doth quickly rise 
 And prick mine eyes. 
 
 Likewise, the first stanza of Bedtime echoes the first stanza of 
 Herbert's Vertue; and 
 
 think when the bells do chime, 
 'Tis angels music, 
 
 from The Church Porch, is echoed in Dull Devotion thus : 
 And as an Angels voice, y e Bell. 3 
 With Crashaw, Beaumont has even more in common. There 
 is Beaumont's 4 
 
 Rise up my Love, my Fairest One 
 
 Make no delay ; 
 Now Winters utmost Blast hath blown 
 Himselfe away. 
 
 1 Page 34. 2 Page 2. 3 Page 37. 4 Page 19. 
 
xxxviii Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 The clowdy Curtaines drawn aside 
 
 To free ye Light, 
 No drop is left, pure Heav'n to hide 
 
 From Thy full Sight. 
 
 The cheerly Earth doth as She may 
 
 Reflect Heavns Face, 
 With flowry Constellations gay 
 
 In every place. 
 
 Our Birds sit tuning their soft throats 
 
 The Angels Quire 
 To eccho back : The Turtles Notes 
 
 W th them conspire. 
 
 All Sweets invite Us to lay downe 
 
 Our dull delay 
 Rise up my Love, my Fairest One 
 
 And come away. 
 
 Compare with this the following lines from Crashaw's On the 
 Glorious Assumption of the Blessed Virgin : 
 
 She's call'd again ; hark ! how th' immortal dove 
 Sighs to his silver mate : rise up, my love, 
 Rise up, my fair, my spotless one ! 
 The winter's past, the rain is gone ; 
 The spring is come, the flowers appear, 
 No sweets, since thou are wanting here. 
 
 From this same poem of Crashaw, we have : 
 All sweetest showers 
 Of fairest flowers 
 We'll strew upon it : 
 Though our sweetness cannot make 
 It sweeter, they may take 
 Themselves new sweetnes from it. 
 
 In Jesus inter Ubera Maria l Beaumont imitates thus : 
 
 Come strow 
 Your pious showres 
 Of Easterne Flowres 
 
 True, He needs no Sweets, say They, 
 But Sweets have need of Him, to keep them sc. 
 
 The following epigrammatic verses on death are plainly akin. 
 From Crashaw's A Song : 
 
 I die even in desire of death ; 
 
 1 Page 17. 
 
Introduction xxxix 
 
 from Beaumont's Death : x 
 
 In strong desire of one, a thousand Deaths they dy'd. 
 
 From Crashaw's The Recommendation : 
 
 So from his living, and life-giving death? 
 
 My dying life may draw a new and never fleeting breath ; 
 
 from Beaumont's Loves Adventure : 2 
 
 And now by Lovers Life shee doth live, 
 Which dying He to her did give. 
 
 Three stanzas of Beaumont's Death are directly drawn from 
 Crashaw's Office of the Holy Cross and Upon the Sepulchre of our 
 Lord. Crashaw uses the following phrase in To the Noblest and 
 Best of Ladies the Countess of Denbigh : 
 
 And haste to drink the wholesome dart ; 
 That healing shaft. 
 
 No doubt it was from him Beaumont took this, in Love : 3 
 
 Soft as y e Ray 
 Of this Sweet Day 
 Are all His healing Shafts where e'r they slay. 
 
 Another conceit appears in Crashaw's On our Crucified Lord> 
 naked and bloody : 
 
 Thee with thyself they have too richly clad 
 Opening the purple wardrobe of thy side. 
 
 Beaumont imitates : 4 
 
 Arrayed in scarlet from his owne rich veines. 
 
 Crashaw, in Quern Videstis Tastores, writes : 
 
 It was thy day, sweet, and did rise 
 Not from the East, but from Thy eyes. 
 
 In Beaumont's Epiphanie Oblation 5 this appears as : 
 And our East be thine Eyes Sweet Dawne. 
 
 One of Crashaw's Divine Epigrams reads as follows : 
 
 Each blest drop on each blest limb 
 Is washed itself, in washing Him. 
 
 1 Page 10. 2 Page 112. 3 Page 23. 4 Page 130. 5 Page 135. 
 
xl Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 In The Waters of H. Baptisme 1 we find : 
 
 The Waves came crowding downe apace, 
 Each one ambitious for y* 5 grace 
 To touch that skin . . . 
 
 Thus were They washed, (& not He 
 Who came as clean as Puritie). 
 
 In addition to such parallels as these there are some verses 
 influenced more subtly, where sound and an occasional word, 
 rather than thought, are echoed. When Beaumont wrote : 
 
 What is House and what is Home, 2 
 
 he may well have been reading Crashaw's 
 
 Farewell House and farewell Home. 
 
 In the same manner Beaumont's 
 
 And makes them Mighty Love's Burnt- Sacrifice 3 
 
 is influenced by Crashaw's 
 
 His own love's and our sin's great sacrifice. 
 
 The same similarity appears in Crashaw's 
 
 . . . bring hither all ye blest 
 Arabia, for thy royal phoenix' nest, 
 
 and Beaumont's 
 
 . . . Then all ye faire 
 Arabia, & can sooner reach the skie. 
 
 It is impossible here to pursue the investigation to the end, 
 for the parallels in Beaumont's poems to phrases of Herbert, 
 Crashaw, and others are legion. 
 
 We have seen Beaumont in his relation to his contemporaries ; 
 there remains for us to consider, what is the value of his poetry in 
 itself? Beaumont has not Herbert's gift of touching the externals 
 of religion so appropriately that, as Coleridge once said, "the 
 reader cannot conceive how he could have expressed them other- 
 wise without loss or injury to his meaning." Nor did he, like 
 Herbert, feel the structure of the poem as a whole — the sense of 
 order and coherence. Of course his stanzas have a certain 
 sequence, yet many times his poems seem to have no pre- 
 
 1 Page 38. 2 Page 60. 3 Page 11. 
 
Introduction xli 
 
 determined beginning, middle, and end. In some poems stanzas 
 might be transposed or omitted without damage to the train of 
 thought. There are, of course, exceptions to this, especially 
 among the shorter lyrics, 1 but as a rule Beaumont's poetic medita- 
 tions wander wherever fancy or phrase may lead ; seldom do 
 they attain to singleness of impression. And because his poems 
 are prone to deal, not with a single mood or experience, but 
 many, they are not, like Herbert's, brief and poignant, but long 
 and rambling. They are not, as Herbert's, the inner commun- 
 ings of a passionate, often rebellious spirit, with a divine love. 
 They aim to describe some event, to explore some problem, to 
 draw a moral from some passing experience. Beaumont was not 
 a Papist but he was a High Churchman, and one who lived in a 
 spiritual world that was in all its detail Romish. Ceremony, 
 church tradition, and ritual meant so much to him that the 
 travail of his own soul seemed fused in or subordinate to the 
 experiences of the saints and martyrs. 
 
 Yet he had none of Crashaw's power to make their agonies 
 and ecstasies live. Stripped of the vivid mysticism of Crashaw, 
 and the white heat of passion, his poems on the saints lack 
 symbolism, his pictures of Christ's life on earth are without glow 
 and fervour. Beaumont is too persistently the theologian and 
 controversialist to see beyond the outward convention to the 
 Beatific Vision. Where he is at his best is in poems of his own 
 daily life, of human beauty or love that came near to him, and 
 which he interprets simply and sincerely. 
 
 It is here that now and then we come upon the touch of 
 genuine poetry. It may be in the wistful expression of some 
 human failing, some need, some experience that comes close to 
 every life : 
 
 I think a thousand thoughts a day, 
 Yet think not one : each doth betray 
 It selfe, & halfe-made flyes away. 2 
 
 Now it is a quiet gleam of imagination : 
 
 ... A surer thing is Death 
 By far then Sleep : That nightly drowsy Mist, 
 Which climbs into thy Braine to give Thee Rest, 
 May by y e way obstruct thy feeble Breath. 3 
 
 1 The Net, The Check, The Sluggard, Bedtime, The Servant, Game, etc. 
 2 Suspirium. 3 Bedtime. 
 
xlii Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Or this : 
 
 Zeale hath lost its Eyes, 
 Yet runs as fast 
 As when y e Northern Blast 
 Makes its most headlong hast 
 And knows as little to what end it flies. 1 
 
 Again, the touch of beauty may be evident in some quaint and 
 charming personal feeling, as this, from Entertainment : 
 
 Be sure, for what's but by the by 
 
 Thou mak'st not most adoe. 
 In thine own Sweetnes I the banquet place : 
 As for thy Meat, I shall not count it sauce. 2 
 
 In the Pilgrim he naively questions : 
 
 for what, what am 
 I but a Stranger heer 
 As all my Fathers were ? 
 Nor would I stay to learn & frame 
 My Toung or Manners to this Countries guise 
 Which ne'r will suit with what's in fashion in the Skies. 
 
 Perhaps it is apparent in a scholar's gentle love of Nature : 
 
 The Gardins quit with me : as yesterday 
 I walked in that, today that walks in me ; 
 
 Through all my memorie 
 It sweetly wanders, & has found a way 
 To make me honestly possess 
 What still anothers is. 
 
 Or again we feel it in the graciousness and simple piety of a 
 poem like A Morning Hymn, or Once & Ever, or these stanzas 
 from Dull Devotion : 
 
 When unto Man I with requests doe goe, 
 
 My mind doth with my Tongue bear part, 
 I serve Him only w th lip -homage, who 
 Created both my Tongue and Heart. 
 
 Fain would I pray my Prayers, & not be 
 
 Abroad, when heer I Thee intreat. 
 Tame my wild Soule, & tie it close to Thee 
 
 In whom my Hope & Trust is set. 
 
 So shall this place be like its Name to Me, 
 
 And as an Angels Voice, ye Bell. 
 Heer shall I practise my Felicitie 
 
 And so in Heavn aforehand dwell. 
 
 1 Civil Warr. 2 Entertainment* 
 
Introduction xliii 
 
 There are not many who will care for pleasure's sake to read 
 all the poems of Beaumont. Yet in our hurried times, these 
 verses, wrought through long hours of leisure by a workman who 
 loved his task, hold the charm of a beautiful epoch and an 
 irrecoverable one. Furthermore, there is value in coming to 
 know one whom even a small meed of fame has kept for us past 
 the years, especially if he be, as Beaumont is, a faithful reflection 
 of the influences and environment which made men like Herbert 
 and Vaughan and Traherne, and the greatest, Milton. 
 
Suspirium 
 
 i 
 
 LIFE of my soule, bright Lord of Love, 
 When shall I from my selfe remove 
 To Thee, & to thy Things above ! 
 
 This weary world can nothing show 
 To court an Heart, & make it grow 
 In love with any thing below : 
 
 So speaks a generous Soule. But I 
 Faint as I am, & weak doe lie 
 Striving, alas, to Think, & Crie. 
 
 I think a thousand thoughts a day, 
 Yet think not one : each doth betray 
 It selfe, & halfe-made flyes away. 
 
 I think of Heav'n, I think of Hell, 
 Of what both heer & there doth dwell : 
 Yet what I think I cannot tell. 
 
 Through all ye World my Mind does run, 
 And when her foolish Course is done, 
 She onely is where she begun. 
 
 Such Hudling and Perplexity 
 
 In my tumultuous Heart there bee, 
 
 That seing all, I nothing see. 
 
Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Sometimes my venturous Thoughts aspire 
 Upon the wings of brave Desire, 
 The High Creator to admire. 
 
 But straight some worldly Dust flyes up, 
 And my too-willing eyes doth stop, 
 Before they reach that Glorious Top. 
 
 Great Prince of Peace, give Thou some rest 
 To these Commotions of my breast 
 So shall my Thoughts and I be blest. 
 
 Me thinks I feele my pregnant eyes 
 Oft times with full-tide sorrow rise : 
 But straight ye living fountaine dies. 
 
 So the vaine miste fills all ye skie 
 W th hopes of Rain, yet by & by 
 It leaves it far more hot & dry. 
 
 Had any eyes more cause to weep, 
 Some plea there were for mine to keep 
 Themselves and all their Tears asleep. 
 
 But if more Mire is lodgd in Mee 
 Then in ye bottom of ye Sea, 
 Why flow not I, as well as Shee ? 
 
 Sometimes I feele ye Storme arise 
 In swelling sighs ; yet out it flies, 
 And drives no Clouds into mine eyes. 
 
 All other Blasts can coole ye skie, 
 
 With Copious Humidity : 
 
 Alas, no winds but mine are drie. 
 
 Marble that cold obdurate stone 
 Abounds with Teares, whilst I have none, 
 Though of ye same Complexion. 
 
Suspirium 
 
 •Clowds, though as light as I, & vaine, 
 When gaping Earth doth crave for raine, 
 Some welcome drops at least doe strain. 
 
 But only I a parched Land, 
 
 And thirsty as ye Lybian Sand, 
 
 Of my owne Springs have no Command. 
 
 Broach Thou dear Lord my Springs for me, 
 That all their streames may run to Thee, 
 And in thy Bottle treasur'd bee. 
 
 For Thee I thirst more then for Them, 
 But if Thou steer'st me through this stream 
 "To Thee ye easier shall I swimm. 
 
Reasonable Melancholy 
 
 TELL me no more of Sweets & Joyes ; | 
 Miscall not Things : 
 Nor flatter poor unworthy Toyes 
 As they were Kings. 
 Tis not a pretty Name 
 That can transforme ye frame 
 Of Bitternesse, and cheat a sober Tast : 
 Tis not a smile 
 That can beguile 
 Good eyes, & on false Joyes true colours cast. 
 
 I saw some jolly Ladds rejoice 
 The Town was theirs j 
 Secure & ringing was their noise, 
 No thought of fears. 
 At first ye Healths went round 
 And then their Braines ; till drownd 
 In what they had devour'd, they sunk. Sweet Joy 
 Said I, w ch thus 
 Steales Us from Us, 
 And leaves us nought but Beasts, or worse then they. 
 
 Others I spyed at an huge Feast : 
 
 The wholl Creation 
 Was serv'd up ready dished & dress'd 
 And in ye fashion. 
 They fell too : & some eat 
 A fever w A their Meat ; 
 
 4 
 
Reasonable Melancholy 
 
 Some great, & some small surfeits. And are those 
 
 The Sweets, said I, 
 
 Of Luxurie ? 
 Such Dainties might a Jew afford his foes. 
 
 Clad with ye Night, & black as Shee 
 
 Th' Adulterer goes, 
 To steale those Joyes, w ch monstrous Hee 
 Doth rather choose, 
 Then all Heav'ns Sweets. But why 
 Fears He ye Mornings ey ? 
 Brave Happinesse, at which ye owner is 
 Asham'd, & tries 
 How to disguise 
 It & Himselfe in conscious Covertnes ! 
 
 All grant that Nuptiall pleasures are 
 
 Both sweet & cleane : 
 But many think ye sauce is far 
 More soure and keen ; 
 All kind of cares are sed 
 To grow i th' Nuptiall Bed. 
 Or if it barren prove, that drie Disease 
 Has greater Greife, 
 And lesse Releife 
 Then all ye thorney Breed of fertilenes. 
 
 Gentiler Spirits in Music place 
 A soveraigne Pleasure ; 
 But yet ye Cords are vext to grace 
 The nimble Measure. 
 The sweetest Harmonie 
 With Sharps must temper'd be. 
 Some Tunes are heavnly ; but tis when they meet 
 A Sacred Thing 
 Whereon to sing ; 
 And then ye Dittie makes ye Musick sweet. 
 
Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 The world has store of Things, which Shee 
 
 Does Pastimes call, 
 Which though they sweet & tempting be 
 Yet have their Gall. 
 Alas, though time be now 
 Grown old, he's not so slow 
 That we should lend him wings : Doe w l we can 
 He makes no stay j 
 Mistaken Play 
 Passeth not Time away but silly Man. 
 
 When in ye brisk and yeouthfull Spring 
 
 My curious eye 
 Walked over every flowry Thing 
 Sweets to descrie ; 
 A Rose above ye rest 
 Peep'd up & pleas'd me best ; 
 W ch when I would have crop't, I felt her pricks* 
 What hopes to meet 
 W th any Sweet 
 When to a Rose such thorney anger sticks ? 
 
 But on her leaves a Bee there sate, 
 
 A buisie Bee ; 
 Whose business was to find out what 
 I could not see. 
 On her my hand I laid ; 
 But gently, as affraid 
 To hurt so sweet a Thing : Yet cholerick Shee 
 Unsheath'd her sting 
 And murmuring 
 In stead of honey, poison left in mee. 
 
 With that, as wroth as Shee, or more, 
 
 Unto her Hive 
 I flung, resolv'd of all her store 
 Her to deprive. 
 Sweet was ye Honey, and 
 At present did command 
 
Reasonable Melancholy 
 
 My likeing, but soone made me sick. And who 
 
 Said I, dares trust 
 
 Sweets if we must 
 In Honey grant such bitternesse to flow ? 
 
 Defiance, faire impostur'd Names 
 
 Of beauteous Cheats, 
 Welfavour'd Lies, & handsome frames 
 Of poisn'd Sweets. 
 Your Bait full fine doth show, 
 But ye false Hook below 
 Is bearded with vexation. Who desires 
 Sweetly to be 
 Destroyed, He 
 May bume in your deare Aromatik fires. 
 
 It must be so. Could rotten Earth 
 
 Spring with sound Joyes, 
 Faire heav'n & all its Sacred Mirth 
 Would seeme but Toyes. 
 Immortall Pleasures may 
 A soules brave thirst allay, 
 And those alone ; those that are kindled by 
 The flaming grace 
 Of Jesu's face, 
 Which gilds the beauteous Sweets, y l smile on high. 
 
 Come hither Greife, one draught of Thee 
 
 Will last more sweet 
 Then all false Joyes Hypocrisie 
 Which heer doth greet 
 Deluded Soules : One Tear 
 Flows with more Honey far 
 Then all Hyblean Hives ; one pious sigh 
 Breaths sweeter aire 
 Then all y e faire 
 Arabia, & can sooner reach the skie. 
 
Death 
 
 LOOK not so fierce ; thy hands are ty'd, I know, 
 And must be, till my Master lets them goe. 
 Come let us pari a while, & see 
 What makes y e world to fly from Thee. 
 Perhaps ther's some mistake, & They 
 Should rather run to be thy Prey. 
 Frowne not in vaine ; I long to feele thy sword ; 
 But Thou & I must stay, till Heavn does give y e word. 
 
 What Furies hand rak'd up y e monstrous Deep 
 Of shame and horrour, thence to fetch an heap 
 
 Of shapelesse Shapes, which join'd in one, 
 
 Make up thy Constitution ? 
 
 Was Night thy Mother, or was Hell ? 
 
 Both which in thy black Looks doe dwell. 
 Or sin more horrid then both They ? Sure none 
 But such an hideous Shee could beare so foule a Sonne. 
 
 No sooner borne but strait Thou learnd'st thy Trade, 
 And 'twas Destruction : All y e World was made 
 Thine easy Prize ; nor didst Thou spare 
 To take thy gluttonous fill. But where 
 Is all bestow'd ? Thy craving Look 
 Keeps sad & thinn, as Famins Book. 
 All flesh becomes thy food, yet naked bee 
 Thine ougly Bones : Ther's nought but hunger grows in Thee. 
 
 8 
 
Death 9 
 
 Great was thine Empire, & thy Conquest great : 
 The proudest Kings bow'd at thy prouder feet. 
 
 With bold Corruption Thou did'st tread 
 
 On Glories stoutest, fairest Head. 
 
 Thou bad'st thy shamelesse Wormes goe feed 
 
 In Princes bosomes, & with speed 
 Gnaw out y e marks of men, that none might know 
 What difference Humane Dust from common Earth could show. 
 
 Thus did thy domineering Dread surprize 
 The trembling Earth, w ch scarcely could suffice 
 
 To find Thee roome, wherin to lay 
 
 The numerous Nations Thou didst slay. 
 
 This made Thee bold & venturous grow : 
 
 Doe you not remember how 
 One day you clamberd up a mighty Crosse ? 
 Not all y e Graves you cause, can bury y l Dayes losse. 
 
 Another kind of Adam on that Tree 
 
 Thou found'st, whom thy black Mother, though She be 
 
 Stronger then Thou, & subtler too, 
 
 Durst never hope to overthrow. 
 
 Did He not foile Thee in y e fight, 
 
 And of thy sting disarme Thee quite ? 
 Indeed Hee seem'd to yeild ; but 'twas to lay 
 A three-dayes Ambushment, y e surer Thee to slay. 
 
 Submitted not his seeming conquer'd hands, 
 And gently wore thy captivating Bands ? 
 
 Into thy Prison went Hee not 
 
 Whose mighty door w th Seales was shut ? 
 
 Then deemed'st Thou thy Selfe secure, 
 
 And of thy hardy Conquest sure : 
 When from his Ambush thy supposed Slave 
 Starts up, & leaves to Thee thine owne more usefull Grave ? 
 
 And now all y l was Death in Thee is Dead ; 
 This was thy Sting, & this lies buried 
 
 In that strong Grave ; and there must lie 
 
 Till all the rest of Thee doth die. 
 
to Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Look not so grim & fierce ; we know 
 
 Y' are not our Lord, but Servant now. 
 
 Or rather y' are our Freind ; doe what you can, 
 
 You must be courteous now, ev'n in destroying man. 
 
 All you can doe is but to set us free 
 From what is worse then Death, Lifes Miserie. 
 Have not brave Troops of Martyrs dar'd 
 You to y e fight ? & when you fear'd 
 They long'd & woo'd, & prayd to bee 
 Sharers in this Captivitie. 
 And if their strange Request were still deny'd 
 In strong desire of one, a thousand Deaths they dy'd. 
 
 Sweet Death, so let me call Thee now, thy hand 
 Alone can bring our shipwrack'd Soules to land. 
 
 Thou with this stormy life compar'd 
 
 More calme, more sweet, more lovely art. 
 
 The Graves Thou ope'st are but y e Gates 
 
 Of blest, & everlasting Fates ; 
 Through w ch our Dying life doth pass to be 
 Borne in a surer Birth of Immortalitie. 
 
Loves Mysterie 
 
 (For a Base & 2 Trebles.) 
 
 THE bright inamour'd Yeouth above 
 I askd, What kind of thing is Love ? 
 I askd y e Saints ; They could not tell, 
 Though in their bosomes it doth dwell. 
 I asked y e lower Angels ; They 
 Liv'd in its Flames, but could not say. 
 I asked y e Seraphs : These at last confes'd 
 We cannot tell how God should be expres'd. 
 
 Can you not tell, whose amorous Eyes 
 
 Flame in Love's Sweetest Ecstacies ? 
 
 Can you not tell whose pure thoughts move 
 
 On Wings all feathered with Love} 
 
 Can you not tell who breathe & live 
 
 No life but what Great Love doth give ? 
 
 Grant Love a God: Sweet Seraphs who should know 
 
 The nature of this Dietie, but you ? 
 
 And who, bold Mortall, more then Wee 
 Should know, that Love's a. Mysterie ? 
 Hid under his owne flaming Wing 
 Lies Love a secret open thing. 
 And there lie Wee, all hid in Light, 
 Which gives Us, & denies Us Sight. 
 We see what dazells & inflames our Eyes, 
 And makes them Mighty Love's Burnt-Sacrifice. 
 11 
 
Civill Warr 
 
 UNTOWARD passions, peace : I'm wearied quite : 
 I will allow 
 Only my Anger now, 
 To lash herselfe, & you : 
 Rise Anger, rise and arme ; 'tis time to fight. 
 
 Is it not time, now faint ignoble feare 
 By Cowardize 
 
 Numbers her Victories ; 
 
 And ever as She flyes 
 Leaves conquer'd Mee Captive to helplesse Care ? 
 
 Is it not time, now Love, that Towring Thing, 
 Forgets to fly 
 
 At Objects brave & high, 
 
 And heer content to lie 
 In filthy puddles wets his Noble Wing ? 
 
 Is it not time, now fond Greife wasts my Teares 
 (And all in vaine) 
 Not on my soules foule staine, 
 Which both their Springs might draine 
 
 But on some idle disappointed Cares ? 
 
 Is it not time, when Zeale hath lost its Eyes, 
 Yet runs as fast 
 As when y e Northern Blast 
 Makes its most headlong hast 
 
 And knows as little to what end it flies ? 
 
Civill Warr 13 
 
 Is it not time, when Thou thy Selfe art spent, 
 But not on Mee 
 
 Nor on thy Selfe, though wee 
 
 Are onely fit to bee 
 The marks at which thine Arrows should be bent ? 
 
 'Tis time to fight. But oh ! I am betray'd ! 
 These Rebells are 
 Allready got so far 
 Into my Heart, no care 
 
 Of mine will help : Sweet fesu lend me aid. 
 
Tabula Secunda in Naufragio 
 
 POORE Heart, what is this poorer world to Thee ? 
 Thou hast a God : Thy Selfe Thou hast : 
 Can He & Thou 
 Not make enough 
 To slight bad times w ch cannot last 
 One minute longer then He lets them be. 
 
 No wheel of Fate but rowles in his Great Hand 
 And from His Touch its motion takes. 
 No Kingdome jars 
 With ruefull wars 
 And into helplesse peeces breakes 
 But when His Justice doth Divide y e Land. 
 
 If then it Justice & His Justice be, 
 
 Why doe thy silly feares gainsay? 
 His constant Will 
 Is Holy still, 
 And must be done : what fooles are They 
 Who would not have y e best Necessitie ? 
 
 Fond Passions, peace : O may that Sacred Pleasure 
 Be done, though your Undoing stand 
 Full in its way : 
 A Soule dares say, 
 I am no looser by y* hand ; 
 Heavns Will, & not mine owne, is my best Treasure. 
 
 14 
 
Tabula Secunda in Naufragio 15 
 
 Heart, keep Thou That, though thine owne Will be lost, 
 Least Thou thy selfe becomest so. 
 Then though Hell rage 
 On poor Earths stage, 
 All things shall at thy pleasure goe. 
 Unlesse Omnipotencie can be crost. 
 
Jesus inter libera Maria 
 
 Cantcl. 6. 
 (To a Base and 2 Trebles.) 
 
 I 
 
 N y e coolnesse of y e day 
 
 The old Worlds Even, God all undrest went 
 downe 
 
 Without His Roab, without His Crowne, 
 Into His private garden, there to lay 
 On spicey Bed 
 His Sweeter Head. 
 
 There He found two Beds of Spice, 
 A double Mount of Lillies, in whose Top 
 
 Two milkie Fountaines bubled up. 
 He soon resolv'd : & well I like, He cries, 
 My table spread 
 Upon my Bed. 
 
 Scarcely had He 'gun to feed, 
 When troops of Cherubs hover'd round about ; 
 And on their golden Wings they brought 
 All Edens flowers. But We cry'd out ; No need 
 Of flowers heere ; 
 Sweet Spirits, forbeare. 
 16 
 
Jesus inter Ubera Maria 17 
 
 True, He needs no Sweets, say They, 
 But Sweets have need of Him, to keep them so. 
 
 Now Paradise springs new with you, 
 Old Edens Beautie's all inclin'd this way ; 
 And We are come 
 To bring them home. 
 
 Paradise springs new with you, 
 Where 'twixt those Beds of Lillies you may see 
 
 Of Life y e Everlasting Tree. 
 Sweet is your reason, then said Wee, come strow 
 Your pious showres 
 Of Easterne Flowres. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Winds awake, & with soft Gale 
 Awake y e Odours of our Garden too ; 
 By w ch your selv's perfumed goe 
 Through every Quarter of your World, that All 
 Your sound may heare, 
 And breathe your Aire. 
 
Davids Elegie upon Jonathan 
 
 2 Sam. i. Chap. 26 x. 
 
 WHAT Name of Comfort can returne 
 My Heart to mee ! 
 Deare Freind in Thee 
 My life is dead, my Joy doth mourne. 
 
 O Jonathan, my Reverend Mother, 
 
 (Though fertile Shee,) 
 Ne'r blessed Mee 
 
 With halfe so sweet & deare a Brother. 
 
 Delicious, Freind, wert Thou to Mee ; 
 Engaddies Bed 
 Did never spread 
 
 Perfumes so rich & sweet as Thee. 
 
 Thy love to Mee, my Jonathan, 
 
 (Heart spare to break 
 Before I speak) 
 
 Thy love knew no Comparison. 
 
 Weak Woman's Love, esteem'd w th thine, 
 Though stout before, 
 Grew faint & poore ; 
 
 Thy Love, as Thou, was Masculine. 
 18 
 
Cantic. Chap. 2. xx^ 10- 11 -12-13. 
 
 RISE up, my Love, my Fairest One 
 Make no delay ; 
 Now Winters utmost Blast hath blown 
 Himselfe away. 
 
 The Clowdy Curtaines drawn aside 
 To free y e light, 
 
 No drop is left, pure Heav'n to hide 
 From Thy full Sight. 
 
 The cheerly Earth doth as She may 
 
 Reflect Heavns Face, 
 
 With flowry Constellations gay 
 In every place. 
 
 Our Birds sit tuning their soft throats 
 The Angels Quire 
 
 To eccho back : The Turtles Notes 
 With them conspire. 
 
 The teeming Fig-tree's new borne Brood 
 Abroad appeare : 
 
 Vines & young Grapes breathe out a good 
 And wholsome Aire. 
 
 All Sweets invite Us to lay downe 
 Our dull delay 
 
 Rise up, my Love, my Fairest One 
 And come away. 
 
 19 
 
Thou shalt call His Name Jesus 
 
 S. Luc. i. 31. 
 (To a Base and 2 Trebles.) 
 
 I 
 
 Xs 
 
 S it an Incense Cloud y l breaks, 
 Or is it Balme y e Angell speaks ? 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Ne'r did Arabian Beds inrich y e Skie 
 
 W th such rich breath, nor Easterne feild 
 So pure & balmy Odours yeild ; 
 
 Nor Paradise Perfumes ascend so high. 
 
 Xs 
 
 From his fair lips does Balsame flow, 
 Or is it Manna that they show ? 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Such soveraine Balsame n'er drop'd on y e Earth ; 
 
 The kindest Heav'n ne'r showred downe 
 
 So noble Manna on its owne 
 Deare flock, when Wonders were its usuall Birth. 
 
 Xs 
 
 What is it then, oh who can tell ? 
 Speak Thou thy selfe, sweet GabrielL 
 20 
 
Thou shalt call His Name Jesus 21 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Tis Heav'n I speake, from whence I hither came 
 
 To show how all its sweets doe lie 
 
 Couched in one rich Epitomie 
 Of w ch Great Treasure Jesus is y e Name. 
 
L 
 
 ove 
 
 SAY what is Love 
 That little Word & mighty Thing ; 
 Which blinder poets as they sing, 
 Conspire to prove 
 Blind as ye Night, 
 And yet as bright 
 As is the Mornings Face 
 W th all her roseall Grace 
 Or Phoebu's eyes 
 When first they rise 
 And powre their flaming gold through all y e skies. 
 
 They give him Wings, 
 Such as their foolish quills can make, 
 But stain them w th their inke : They talk 
 Of warlike things, 
 Of shafts & Bow 
 But say not now 
 Their childish Dietie 
 Should use them, or can see 
 To shoot, & yet 
 They fondly set 
 Pure Sprightfull soules his Mark to practise at. 
 
 His Mark indeed 
 Are onely Soules, & happy they 
 In being so : His weapons may 
 
 Cause them to bleed ; 
 
 22 
 
Love 2 3 
 
 But first his Dart 
 
 Pierc'd his owne Heart 
 And broach'd his dearest veine J 
 
 To make them wholl againe. 
 
 His wound is ope 
 
 All theirs to stop ; 
 Nor does He ever meane to close it up. 
 
 Soules are His Mark, 
 And well He sees to hit them too. 
 Nor is His never-failing Bow 
 Bent in y e Dark. 
 All one bright Eye 
 
 Is Love, & by 4/ 
 
 The Day y l from it breaks 
 His noble aime He takes. 
 Soft as y e Ray 
 Of this Sweet Day 
 Are all His healing Shafts where e'r they slay. 
 
 Who calls Fire blind ? 
 What slaunder dares accuse y e spark, 
 And blushes not to call it dark ? 
 What Eye can find 
 Shades in y e flame ? 
 Who prints y e Name 
 Of Night upon y e Beame, S 
 
 W ch from high-Noon doth streame ? 
 The Spark, y e Beame, 
 The Fire, y e Flame, 
 Of glorious Love are but a severall Name. 
 
 And oh how far 
 They faile of what they faine would say ! 
 Love is a nobler kind of Ray ; 
 
 No trembling star 
 
 No labouring Fire / 
 
 W ch doth aspire ^ 
 
 Into a wavoring Flame ; 
 
24 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 No vaine ambitious Beame 
 Which swells upon 
 The garish Sunne 
 Has light enough to make Love's shade alone. 
 
 Goe but w th Mee 
 To yonder Hill, where Valiant Love 
 The utmost of His power did prove ; 
 And you shall see 
 His strength, & how 
 He us'd his Bow. 
 Tis worth your sight ; Great Kings 
 Have wishd to see those things. 
 And wish they may, 
 But Love will stay 
 His owne time, He's a Greater Prince then they. 
 
 And yet He came 
 Hither at last. Mark that crosse Tree 
 No other Bow but that brought Hee : 
 And on y e same 
 Stretch'd with full strength 
 Himselfe at length 
 And shot at Death & Hell. 
 But since those Monsters fell, 
 He aims His Darts 
 At none but Hearts 
 He heales by wounds, by killing Life imparts. 
 
 In His faire Eyes 
 Millions of little Loves doe play, 
 As Atoms in y e highnoone Ray. 
 Who can comprise 
 Those radiant Pleasures 
 And smiling Treasures 
 That all in His Sweet Face 
 Find their delicious place ! 
 
 Which when Heaven spy'd 
 Though vilify'd 
 On Earth, her owne dull Sun She strove to hide. 
 
Love 25 
 
 Sweet Warrior, 
 Whose soft Artillery does invite 
 All enemies unto y e fight ; 
 
 Though their cheife feare 
 It be, least they 
 Should win y e Day. 
 What gaines a soule, when Shee 
 Yeilds not to Life, & Thee ? 
 When Shee doth choose 
 Herselfe to loose 
 Rather then Thou shouldst win Her from her woes ! 
 
 How dead am I 
 Sweet Master of Heavns Archerie, 
 Because I am not slaine by Thee ! 
 Help Mee to die, 
 Lest dangerous Death 
 Suck up my breath 
 Before I live : My Heart 
 Will need a speciall Dart : 
 Yet make no stay, 
 Look but this way, 
 Thy potent Eyes my Soule will quickly slay. 
 
Exod. 3. 
 
 OBSERVE that Bush, it was as dry as Thee 
 Or Mee. 
 A Simple Shrub it was, & every Blast 
 
 That past 
 Made it her sport ; No Bird y l flew y t way 
 
 Would stay 
 Upon so poor a perch ; It onely was, 
 
 Alas, 
 Meet food for flames : And flames made their repast 
 
 At last 
 Upon its boughs ; but yet no flames of prey 
 
 Were they, 
 No ravenous fire, but innocent & bright 
 
 As Light, 
 When in a Crrystall Mirrour her Sweet Ray 
 
 Doth play. 
 Such are y e Flames of Heavnly Love, whose heat 
 
 Though great, 
 Yet in a Mortall Bosome they can dwell 
 
 As well 
 As in y e Seraphs Breasts, & harme it not. 
 
 In that 
 And these poor Shrubs of Ours 'tis but y e same 
 
 Sweet Flame. 
 Who but y e Great Creatour flamed there ? 
 
 And heere 
 Who burnes but Hee ? who but y e God above 
 
 Is Love} 
 26 
 
Ad S. Angelum Custodem 
 
 WHO e'r Thou art, oh f I knew thy Name, 
 My winged Guardian, as Thou knowest mine ; 
 Faire in my verses would I write y e same, 
 And what my Name doth want, supply by thine. 
 
 Who e'r Thou art, for certaine simple I 
 Unworthy am to be thy Ward & Care : 
 Why should Immortall Spirits hither fly 
 And spend their time on Dust & Ashes heer ? 
 
 Is it not faire y e Stars dart Us their Light, 
 To look about Us, & ourselves defend; 
 But higher Flames, & far more rich & bright 
 Leaving their Orbs, Themselves to Us must lend ? 
 
 Does Heavn come downe aforehand to be sure 
 To catch Us up at length, & send us hither 
 Some of its Natives, whose care may inure 
 Us to its fashions e'r We climb up thither ? 
 
 Or come these sweet protectors Us to cover 
 As We doe journey in this dangerous Way ; 
 Whose courteous Wings over our Heads doe hover 
 Lest this lifes Tempests blow our Dust away ? 
 
 Sure for these Reasons, & for more then these, 
 Which LOVE well wots of : He y 1 marks their Eyes, 
 Their Face, their Wings, their yeouthfull vigour ; sees 
 That LOVE their Master is, who them imployes. 
 
 27 
 
28 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 O my Deare Freind, Dearest but Him whose love 
 Befreinded Me with Thee, what shall I say ! 
 W ch way so e'r my labouring thoughts doe move, 
 Profound amazement standeth in their way. 
 
 What shall I say ! Hadst Thou no work at home, 
 Where Nothing dwells, but pure as thine owne eyes ; 
 That Thou shouldst leave them, & thy Selfe, to come 
 And wait on Me, & my Deformities? 
 
 Is not all Heavn, & what makes Heavn to be 
 The Name of sweetnesse, is not JESU'S Face 
 More worth y e looking on ? Deserves not He 
 The Service, which on me Thou dost displace ? 
 
 Or is y e Quire above so meane a Thing, 
 
 And Hallelujah grown so dull a Song, 
 
 That in mine eare Thou choosest now to sing 
 
 And to my Heart-strings tune thy charming toung ? 
 
 Oh how dost Thou Sweet Spirit, indure in Mee 
 What I doe blush at ? And this is, alas, 
 My Selfe, ev'n all my Selfe : nought can I see 
 But one confused & polluted Masse. 
 
 Canst Thou attend on Him, whose hatefull Will 
 Kicks his and thy Creators Laws ? Canst Thou 
 Him with Thy Silver Feathers shelter still 
 Whose Life prefers those in a Bed below ? 
 
 Were it thy charge at Edens Gate to stand, 
 And with a two-edged Flame stop Me from thence ; 
 Well would that Sword become thy Heavnly hand ; 
 So faire a place deserves thy sweet Defence. 
 
 But armed w th stouter Flames of patient Love 
 Thou strivst at that sweet Gate to thrust me in ; 
 That I a Bird of Paradise might prove, 
 No more a Swarthy Rav'n, tannd black with sin. 
 
Ad S. Angelum Custodem 29 
 
 Ne'r did ripe Dangers my poore Breath assaile, 
 But Thou wert ready still to play my part : 
 Allways for Me did Thy Sweet Wings prevaile 
 And fannd fresh Comfort on my panting Heart. 
 
 Thou wouldst not have me snatcht by Sudden Death, 
 But be allow'd full time to mortifie, 
 That I might stop, e'r Shee did mine, Sins Breath, 
 Till I can live Thou wouldst not have Me dye. 
 
 When I doe sleep, whither by Day or Night 
 (For I'm but halfe-awake when I am up :) 
 And thousand unseen Spirits against Me fight, 
 Thy stout Protection all their force doth stop. 
 
 Forbeare, saist Thou, foule Cowards, to oppose 
 A little Thing of Dust ; or know that I 
 Am set to keep these Mud walls from their foes ; 
 Have you forgot y e feild We fought on high ? 
 
 Then breathst Thou vigour through my trembling Breast, 
 And clap'st thy wings upon my fearfull back ; 
 That so incourag'd I might doe my best 
 Where nothing, but mine owne Will I can lack. 
 
 The more y e Shame : How oft have I betrayd 
 My Selfe & Thee ! & flung away y e sheild 
 None could have wrested from Mee, till I laid 
 It downe my Selfe, & was content to yeild. 
 
 Couldst Thou be angry, Surely Thou wouldst be 
 My greatest foe, as being offended most, 
 Excepting Him, who Guards both Thee & Mee, 
 Him onely have my Crimes more fowly crost. 
 
 For His dear sake be Thou like Him, & spare 
 Those Provocations, w ch I offer Thee : 
 Or draw thy Wrath, & strike a wholsome feare 
 On all these Sins w ch vex both Thee & Mee. 
 
30 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 So may thy awfull Presence teach my Heart 
 Heer to acquaint w th thy pure Company ; 
 And in our Makers Prayses bear her part, 
 If He so pleases in your Quire on high. 
 
 So when y e Trump sounds in my hollow Grave, 
 To wake this Dust to an Immortall Day, 
 Thy hands Sweet Help, & conduct may I have 
 To lift me up, & lead me in y e way. 
 
The Gnat 
 
 ONE Night all tyred w th y e weary Day, 
 And w th my tedious selfe, I went to lay 
 My fruitlesse Cares 
 And needlesse feares 
 Asleep. 
 The Curtaines of y e Bed, & of mine Eyes 
 Being drawne, I hop'd no trouble would surprise 
 
 That Rest w ch now 
 Gan on my Brow 
 To creep. 
 
 When loe a little flie, lesse then its Name 
 (It was a Gnat) with angry Murmur came. 
 
 About Shee flew, 
 And lowder grew 
 Whilst I 
 Faine would have scorn'd y e silly Thing, & slept 
 Out all its Noise ; I resolute silence kept, 
 
 And laboured so 
 To overthrow 
 The Flie. 
 
 But still w th sharp Alarms vexatious Shee 
 Or challenged, or rather mocked Mee. 
 
 Angry at last 
 About I cast 
 My Hand. 
 
 3i 
 
32 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 'Twas well Night would not let me blush, nor see 
 With whom I fought j And yet though feeble Shee 
 
 Nor Her nor my 
 Owne Wrath could I 
 Command. 
 
 Away She flies, & Her owne Triumph sings ; 
 
 I being left to fight with idler Things, 
 
 A feebler pair 
 My Selfe and Aire. 
 How true 
 
 A worme is Man, whom flies their sport can make ! 
 
 Poor worme ; true Rest in no Bed can he take, 
 
 But one of Earth, 
 Whence He came forth 
 And grew. 
 
 For there None but his silent Sisters be, 
 Wormes of as true & genuine Earth as He, 
 
 Which from y e same 
 Corruption came : 
 And there 
 Though on his Eyes they feed, though on his Heart 
 They neither vex nor wake Him ; every part 
 
 Rests in sound sleep, 
 And out doth keep 
 All feare. 
 
The Sluggard 
 
 THE World awoke, & op'd his flaming Eye, 
 Which darted through y e skie 
 The broad daylight ; 
 And at y e sight 
 The virgin Morne, though Shee 
 Were up & drest before, 
 Yet blushed all o're 
 In Heavnly Modestie, 
 As if s'had slept too long, & were 
 Asham'd y e Sun should look on her 
 Being but newly risen, and arrayd 
 In a gray Mantel like some homely Maid. 
 
 Yet all this while in spight of this Sweet Light, 
 Mine Eyes huggd Sleep & Night. 
 I snorting lay, 
 As if y e Day 
 Some foure houres off had been : 
 I who had much to doe, 
 
 Further to goe, 
 And* more to loose or winne, 
 Then had y e Morning, yet let Her 
 Be up & gone, e'r I did stirr. 
 Perhaps She blush'd to see how drowsy I 
 Slep'd out all Shame, whilst Shee had flown so high. 
 
 At length y e Sunne growne high enough to look 
 In at y e window took 
 His view & spy'd 
 Out my Bedside. 
 
 33 D 
 
34 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 The Curtaines were of my 
 Lazie Conspiracie. 
 
 But Carefull He 
 Sent a quick Ray to pry 
 Into y e Tent of Sloth, & mark 
 Why in y e Morne it should be dark. 
 This found me out, & glaring on mine eyes 
 Stood wondring at Me, why I did not rise. 
 
 The sleepy Mists thus chased from my Brow, 
 I woke, I knew not how : 
 I cannot say 
 Whither like y e Day 
 I blushed in my Rise 
 Or no ; though surely I 
 
 Had more cause why ; 
 For as I rubbd mine Eyes 
 A sudden Consort filld mine eare ; 
 Plaine were y e Notes, but sweet & clear, 
 The honest Birds up long, long before Mee 
 Were at their Mattens on a Neighbour Tree. 
 
 And does y e Day rise more for Birds then Mee 
 
 That they should earlyer bee 
 
 At work then I, 
 
 Who have to flie 
 
 Higher then they, & bring 
 
 A Morning-Sacrifice 
 
 Of Greater price 
 Unto my God & King ! 
 Up tardy Heart for Shame ; but downe 
 Lower againe upon thine owne 
 Imploring Knees ; that is y e surest way 
 To Rise indeed, fairer then did this Day. 
 
Bedt 
 
 ime 
 
 AND now y e Day w ch in y e Morne was thine, 
 Poor Heart, is gone, & can returne no more 
 Bury'd in this dark Ev'n it goes before, 
 And tells Me y l y e next Night may be mine. 
 
 Nay why not this ? A surer thing is Death 
 By far then Sleep : That nightly drowsy Mist, 
 Which climbs into thy Braine to give Thee Rest, 
 May by y e way obstruct thy feeble Breath. 
 
 The Day is gone ; & well, if onely gone, 
 Is it not lost ? Cast up thy score, & know. 
 Ar't so much neerer Heavn, as Thou art to 
 Thy Death ; or did thy Life without Thee run ? 
 
 Alas it ran, & for me would not stay, 
 Who waited on my fruitlesse Vanities. 
 I might have travl d far since I did rise, 
 In praying & in studying hard to-day. 
 
 <Great Lord of Life & Time, reprieve Me still, 
 Whom My owne Sentence hath condemn'd ; That I 
 May learne to live my Life before I die, 
 And teach my owne, to follow Thy Sweet Will. 
 
 35 
 
Dull Devotion 
 
 ME thought Heavn calld Me, when I heard y e Bell ; 
 And I was ready to obey : 
 The plain and surest path I knew full well, 
 It was our Common Chappell way. 
 
 God has his probatorie Heavn below, 
 
 An easy & familiar Sphear : 
 An Heavn, whose Gate is broad, y l All might flow 
 
 In, & for that above prepare. 
 
 Arrived there, although y e outward face 
 
 Of what appear'd was plain & milde, 
 Dreadfull I found y e Mildenesse of y e place 
 
 Being w th God & Angels filld. 
 
 Falln on my knees, I had no lesse then leave 
 
 To supplicate My God & King. 
 Alas, a thousand wants my Soule did greive, 
 
 I had to ask Him many a Thing. 
 
 Up went my hands & Eyes : so should my Heart, 
 
 And so a little while it did : 
 But as my craving Tongue performed her part, 
 
 I knew not how, my Mind was fled. 
 
 I was Departed, & interred lay 
 
 W th in my selfe as in a Grave : 
 This rotten heap of my owne Dust & Clay 
 
 To Me a Tomb, & Carkase gave. 
 36 
 
Dull Devotion 37 
 
 Or like at least some Image of y e Dead 
 Set there to make his Memorie live. 
 
 Starke-cold was My Devotion, & tis said 
 A Church this onely Life can give. 
 
 And is not this a strange Idolatry 
 
 To worship God w th Images, 
 And Puppit-Service ; as if Mighty Hee 
 
 Were some such heedlesse Thing as These ? 
 
 Shall Men mock God, & think to move his Love, 
 
 And not his furie, when we pray ? 
 What hopes those Words should e'r be heard above, 
 
 Which our selves hear not as we say ? 
 
 When unto Man I with requests doe goe, 
 
 My mind doth w th my Tongue beare part. 
 
 I serve him onely w th lip-homage, who 
 Created both my Tongue & Heart. 
 
 Forgive Me, Lord ; my Prayers w * 1 are not mine, 
 That Froth w ch on my lips doth bubble ; 
 
 That Aire w ch I misuse, that Name of Thine, 
 W ch I so oft in vain redouble. 
 
 Faine would I pray my Prayers, & not be 
 
 Abroad, when heer I Thee intreat. 
 Tame my wild Soule, & tie it close to Thee 
 
 In whom my Hope & Trust is set. 
 
 So shall this place be like its Name to Me, 
 
 And as an Angels Voice, y e Bell. 
 Heer shall I practise My Felicitie, 
 
 And so in Heavn aforehand dwell. 
 
The Waters of H. Baptisme 
 
 THE Worlds Great Lord as once He stood 
 Upon y e brim of Jordans flood 
 Observ'd a greater stream of Men 
 Come flowing in. 
 
 Their businesse was, Baptiz'd to be, 
 And purify'd : But then said Hee, 
 It much concernes you to be sure 
 Jordan be pure. 
 
 With that Himselfe step'd in like One, 
 Who seemed but to trye alone, 
 Whither y e Streames they sought so to 
 Were clean, or no. 
 
 No sooner did old Jordan kisse 
 Those sweet & beauteous feet of His, 
 But smiling Circles on his face 
 
 Took up their place. 
 
 And this he thought sufficient Pay 
 For all His Paines, when He made way, 
 And, whilst y e Ark took up his road, 
 Travelld abroad. 
 
 The Waves came crowding downe apace, 
 Each one ambitious for y e grace 
 To touch that skin, a Purer Thing 
 
 Then their owne Spring. 
 38 
 
The Waters of H. Baptisme 39 
 
 Thus were They washed, (& not He 
 Who came as clean as Puritie) 
 And washt in these be every Stream 
 Of kin to them. 
 
 Their pure & most delicious shore, 
 Where Doves of our poor Clime before 
 Their pleasure took, could now invite 
 Heavn to delight. 
 
 The everlasting Turtle, though 
 Pure intellectuall Stream es doe flow 
 Upon y e Firmaments vast Plain, 
 Could not abstain, 
 
 But downe He came, & by y e side 
 Of this sweet Current He espyde 
 A worthy Perch, as faire a Thing 
 As His white Wing. 
 
 Heer He his first acquaintance took ; 
 Then flew to ever Spring & Brook, 
 Fixing on all Baptismall Streames 
 His best esteem. 
 
 Thus by this Spirits Company 
 These Streames are taught to purifie 
 Spirituall Things, & cleanse a Soule 
 Though ne'r so foule. 
 
 Nor new Stains, nor y l ancient spot 
 Which all y e World of Men doth blot 
 Doe stick so deep & close, but they 
 Wash them away. 
 
 And wash out also that great Score 
 The Deluge ought y e World before 
 Those Waters drown'd all Sinfull Men, 
 These onely Sin. 
 
Virginitie 
 
 JEWELL of Jewells, richer far 
 Then all those pretious Beauties are, 
 Which to our West 
 Stream from y e East : 
 The Way 
 Of Day, 
 The Morne though deck'd w th Heavnly Modestie 
 Blusheth not halfe so gracefully as Shee. 
 
 For She it was who did let in 
 A Brighter, & a Nobler Sun, 
 
 Then e'r did rise 
 To Mortall eyes : 
 A Sun 
 Whom none 
 Of all y e Heavns could hold j Gods Son was Hee 
 And thine, Immaculate Virginitie. 
 
 Would any curious Critick know 
 A thing more white, & chast then snow ? 
 First wash his Eye, 
 Then let Him prie, 
 For Shee 
 Will be 
 Clowded w th in her veile : Though much more bright 
 Then Day, She meekly shrowds her selfe in Night. 
 
 40 
 
Virginitie 4 1 
 
 Lillies are cleanly, white & sweet, 
 And yet they have but dirty feet ; 
 
 Their Roots from Earth 
 Never look forth, 
 But grow 
 Below. 
 Onely this spotlesse Flowre, w ch plants her Root 
 Deep in y e Heavns, did never fowle her foot. 
 
 For there She grew & flourished 
 Before old Time began to bud : 
 
 Yea & brought forth 
 A Stem more worth 
 Then all 
 The Ball 
 Of Heavn & Earth : The VIRGIN SIRE alone 
 Eternally begat his VIRGIN SONNE. 
 
 The yeouthfull beauteous Spirits above 
 With this fair Flowre fell All in love. 
 No marrying there 
 As Wee have here ; 
 But They 
 All say, 
 Let dirty wormes below goe wed ; whilst Wee 
 Copieour VIRGIN MASTERS Puritie. 
 
 Yet by your leave Sweet Spirits, now 
 These wormes have crept far after You. 
 Great Gabriell 
 Remembers well 
 What He 
 Did see 
 At Nazareth, a Virgin Spotlesse Thing, 
 Purer then was His Archangelick Wing. 
 
 Wherfore when He had thither flew 
 Behind his back his Wings he drew, 
 And strait way all 
 His Plumes let fall j 
 
42 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 He spyde 
 
 The Bride 
 Of Heavns Great Dove : (How pure & chast was Shee, 
 Which was the Virgin Spouse of Chastitie ?) 
 
 With Reverend Voice & bended knee 
 Haile, full of Grace, to Her said Hee, 
 This complement 
 From Heavn was sent : 
 No Name 
 Became 
 This Soule but That ; whose awfull Presence made 
 Gabriel of Her, as She of Him afraid. 
 
 Hee never saw his Brethrns face 
 Blush w th a more celestiall grace : 
 And had He spyde 
 About Her side 
 
 Such Things 
 As Wings, 
 He would have been familiar, & have said 
 Good morrow Brother, to this Sacred Maid. 
 
 All hail Great Queen of Chastity 
 That Name is due from Us to Thee, 
 Whose Pattern all 
 Our World doth call 
 To come ; 
 And some 
 Faire Voluntiers have ventur'd on to fight 
 Under Thy Colours, which are Lilly-white. 
 
 They have resolv'd to fight w th Thee 
 The Battells of VIRGINITIE ; 
 And to resigne 
 Their Corps like Thine 
 Sinceer 
 And clear 
 Unto their Maker, from whose Hand We see 
 All Creatures come in VIRGIN PURITIE. 
 
Affliction 
 
 WOULD you make your Sweets more Sweet ? 
 Then you must both presse & beat, 
 Till that distresse 
 Make them confesse 
 Their uttmost Secrets in a deep-drawne breath ; 
 Which drives a Clowd of Odours from beneath. 
 
 Would you make your idle Vine 
 Buisie grow, & big with Wine ? 
 Kind Crueltie 
 The Salve must be. 
 Call for your hook, & lop y e wanton boughs 
 By which Shee grows indeed, but fruitlesse grows. 
 
 Has y e long neglected Dust 
 Sheath'd thy glittering Sword in Rust ? 
 You must not spare 
 Your sharpest care : 
 Rubbing, & scouring, & such churlish wayes 
 Must faded Metalls to their splendor raise. 
 
 Yf you say, Whats that to Mee ? 
 I'm no Odours, Sword, nor Tree : 
 
 Then tell me plain, 
 Do'st appertain 
 To Thee to be in thy Great Masters sight 
 (Though on those harsh termes) Fertile, Sweet, & Bright ? 
 
 43 
 
44 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 If so, in these Copies read 
 What salve best will suit thy need. 
 What e'r it be 
 Heer's none we see 
 But hard & sharp. Wholsome Affliction 
 Heavn does prescribe for Us, & that alone. 
 
The True Love-Knott 
 
 I am my Beloveds, & my Beloved is mine. Cant. 6, 3, 
 Turne away thine eyes, etc., v. 5. 
 
 B 
 
 UT why 
 
 On thy Beloved feeds thine Eye ? 
 Can it not feed on Sweets at home, 
 But must to Her for dainties come ? 
 
 Mine Eye 
 Carry'd in Sweet Captivitie 
 Is not mine owne : Her conquering Face 
 Seiz'd on it as She by did passe. 
 
 Yet Shee 
 Complaines as much of Love & Thee, 
 And sayes She finds Her captiv'd Eyes 
 Made thy perpetuall Sacrifice : 
 
 O LOVE 
 
 Mysterious Champion, w ch will prove 
 Victor on both y e sides, & knows 
 How to reap Palmes from Overthrows ! 
 
 These two, 
 Which in an endlesse Combate throw 
 Their fiery Darts from eithers Eyes, 
 At once both win & loose y e prize. 
 45 
 
46 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Both yeild, 
 And boast that they have lost y e feild ; 
 For by that losse they doe obteine 
 Themselves, & that double againe. 
 
 Thus Shee 
 Layes lawfull claime to Him, & Hee 
 To Her ; thus neither is their owne, 
 And yet each others Master growne. 
 
 Thus Hee 
 And Shee are clearly lost, to bee 
 Found in each other where they meet 
 Themselves, & what they count more sweet. 
 
 And thus 
 Two Rayes of Light all-beauteous 
 When e'r they meet & court, doe run 
 Into one Sweet Confusion. 
 
 No right 
 Has this or that into the light 
 It brought, but each has title to 
 All that his Brother Ray can show. 
 
 Then this 
 The Spouses Song & Triumph is : 
 Not Thou, but I and Thou, are Thine, 
 Not I, but Thou and I are Mine. 
 
Fasting 
 
 WHAT though Her face be pale ? This onely showes 
 How She's of kin to lA\\z-Chastitie : 
 And still that venerable palenesse flows 
 With Sprightfull vigor from her sober Eye. 
 
 She cares for no more Blood then will suffice 
 To clothe her Modestie in blushing guise. 
 
 What though Her looks leannesse & faintnesse speak ? 
 
 Tis policy to keep Her strength within. 
 
 Let y e plump Gallants mighty Outworks make, 
 
 And fortifie their double lined Skin. 
 
 She better bears y e Seige, what ever foes 
 Whither from Earth or Hell themselves oppose. 
 
 Lesse are Her Walls, & therfore lesser need 
 
 Of Amunition to maintaine y e fight : 
 
 But greater far, and subtler is Her heed, 
 
 Who stands upon Her Watch both day & night 
 
 Whilst those fat Bulwarks first exposed lye 
 To ease & sleep, then to their Enemy. 
 
 Shee is no bigger then Her Selfe ; She knows 
 
 What ballast fits Her, & layes in no more 
 
 Then keeps Her sure & steady as Shee Goes : 
 
 Her other Stowage Shee reserves for store 
 
 Of Virtues fraught, w ch though y e glorious East 
 It selfe were hither ship'd, would prove y e best. 
 
 47 
 
48 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 I'm not at leisure yet, bold Belly, stay 
 Sayes She, I must goe feed my hungry Heart : 
 This most needs meat, for this, if well fed, may 
 For ever live, whilst Thou but Mortall art. 
 Yet when y e Sunne is set, & I can see 
 My Heavn no more, He take some care of Thee. 
 
 Thus Shee Her dangerous Body doth secure, 
 Keeping it tame & humble ; thus Her mind 
 Like to its native Heavn, is allway pure 
 From Clowds & Tempests, w ch y e boistrous Wind 
 
 Of puft up Flesh doth raise : No rampant passion 
 Ruffles Her thoughts, & puts them out of fashion. 
 
 Shee allwayes is Her Selfe, active & free, 
 Absolute Mistress of Her owne calme Breast : 
 Whilst every part, & every facultie 
 Knows its owne Dutie, & does like it best, 
 No sparkle of Rebellion can peep 
 Where all their proper Orbs & Stations keep. 
 
 Then blame Her not, if freely Shee refuse 
 What learned Luxurie has studied out ; 
 And scorne y e fulnesse Shee might justly use, 
 Those Dainties ever dear, & double bought ; 
 For though unto y e Purse they costly are 
 Alas, they spend y e Heart much more by far. 
 
 Shee knows a Garden where true Dainties grow, 
 Sweets ever Sweet, ev'n after they are downe : 
 There would Shee feast, but 'tis not here below 
 In our dull World that those Delights are sowne. 
 Blame not Her Abstinence, She is most wise 
 Keeps Her Stomach fresh for Paradise. 
 
The Little Ones Greatnes 
 
 Suffer little Children to come unto Mee, & forbid them not, 
 for of such is y e Kingdome of God. 
 
 LET y e Brave Proud, & Mighty Men 
 Passe on in state 
 Unto some Gate 
 Ample enough to let them in. 
 
 My palace door was ever narrow : 
 No Mountains may 
 Crowd in that way, 
 
 Nor at a Needles Eye get thorow. 
 
 Heavn needeth no such helps as They : 
 
 My Royall Seat 
 
 Is high & great 
 Enough w th out poore heaps of Clay. 
 
 Without Hydropick Names of Pride, 
 
 Without y e gay 
 
 Deceits y 1 play 
 About fond Kings on every side. 
 
 Let all y e bunched Camells goe 
 
 With this rich load 
 To y e Broad Road. 
 
 Heavn needs no Treasure from below : 
 
 49 E 
 
50 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 But rather little tender things, 
 
 On whom to poure 
 Its own vast store, 
 
 And make of Wormes, celestiall Kings. 
 
 Heavns little Gate is onely fit 
 
 Deare Babes, for you, 
 And I, you know, 
 
 Am but a Lamb, though King of it. 
 
 Come then, meek Brethren, hither come 
 These armes you see 
 At present, bee 
 
 The Gate by which you must goe home. 
 
 There will I meet with you againe, 
 And mounted on 
 My gentle Throne 
 
 Soft King of Lambs for ever reigne. 
 
The Voyage 
 
 COULD I but be 
 Perpetuallie 
 The man I was y e other Day : 
 
 No Name of fear 
 How fierce so e'r 
 Mee from my Selfe could fright away. 
 
 No haven, say I, 
 
 To Privacy : 
 When once my labouring Heart gat thither, 
 
 My calmed Breast 
 
 Floated in Rest, 
 And feard no furie of fowle weather : 
 
 There did I see 
 All things agree 
 
 In y* Sweet Centre of Gods Will ; 
 Where had I cast 
 My Anchor, fast 
 
 And sure had been my Vessell still. 
 
 But foolish I 
 
 Went by & by 
 To hoise my tattered Saile againe, 
 
 Unrigg'd, unman'd, 
 
 I put from land 
 Into y e Worlds tempestuous Maine. 
 
 5i 
 
52 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 The flattering Sea 
 Kept truce w th Mee 
 
 A while, & least my Spirits should faile, 
 Gently behind 
 Came every Wind 
 
 And puff'd me up more then my Saile. 
 
 Smooth e was my way, 
 And I most gay 
 
 Went on, top and top-gallant fine : 
 
 I swum in pleasure 
 At ease and leisure, 
 
 And never thought the Sea was brine. 
 
 Thus did I ride 
 O'r Time & Tide 
 
 Till far ingaged in the Maine, 
 That libertie 
 Inclosed Mee 
 
 Fast Pris'ner in y e boundlesse Plaine. 
 
 When loe a Clowd 
 Began to crowd 
 
 Day out of Heavn, & my poor sight : 
 I look'd, but I 
 Could not descry 
 
 Ought, but a strange Meridian Night. 
 
 Before I would not, 
 And now I could not 
 
 Behold that Heavn, which hid its face 
 From Me, as I 
 Before did my 
 
 From it, & its all-sweetning grace. 
 
 The treacherous Wind 
 Was soon combind 
 
 With y e false waves to mock poor Me, 
 Tossing Me high, 
 Ev'n to y e skie, 
 
 Which well it knew I could not see. 
 
The Voyage 53 
 
 Then down I fell 
 
 As low as Hell ; 
 Alas both bottom lesse were found, 
 
 The Sea & my 
 
 Vast Miserie, 
 Where I a thousand times was drown'd. 
 
 Still mutinous Passions 
 
 In sundry fashions 
 Toss'd me about from Wave to Wave ; 
 
 Still anxious Cares 
 
 And helpless feares 
 Perplex'd Alarms & Onsets gave. 
 
 Till at y e last 
 
 Their furie cast 
 Me on a Rock & split me quite : 
 
 A thousand Men 
 
 And yet not one 
 Was I, a most distracted Wight. 
 
 No help alas 
 
 For me there was 
 From those vexatious Vanities 
 
 Which fild y e World ; 
 
 They onely hurFd 
 Vain froath & foam into mine eyes. 
 
 Trust me no more 
 
 For I am poore 
 Cry'd heavy Gold ; Much lower I 
 
 Shall make you sink ; 
 
 You must not think 
 That money true Content will buy. 
 
 Then Pleasure cries 
 
 Turne back thine eyes, 
 Thy hankering eyes ; No help dwells heer : 
 
 Although my skin 
 
 Be fair, within 
 Live Anguish, Rotten nesse, & fear. 
 
54 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Nay all this All, 
 Which We miscall, 
 
 Shrunk to its Nothing, & spake true, 
 In Mee you must 
 Not look to trust, 
 
 Who am as poor & weak as you. 
 
 And must I die 
 False Freinds, said I 
 
 Whilst You look on ? This Vessell Heer 
 Grieves me not much 
 But oh I grutch 
 
 To loose y e Jewell it doth beare : 
 
 A richer one 
 Then ever shone 
 
 In Princes Crowne : Far more it cost 
 Then You, all You 
 Are worth ; & know 
 
 It is a Soule : Must That be lost ? 
 
 Heer did I faint 
 But my Complaint 
 
 Mov'd a good Friend, whose Love did buy 
 That Gemm for Mee : 
 Propitious Hee 
 
 Pitty'd my helplesse Miserie, 
 
 I had done thinking, 
 And now was sinking, 
 
 When loe He brings a peece of Wood : 
 Hold fast on this, 
 Said He, it is 
 
 Thine Ark against y e worlds vast Flood. 
 
 This was y e Tree 
 Of Life to Mee : 
 
 Much like an Anchor was its frame ; 
 A Tree of Rest 
 All sweet, all blest 
 
 A Crosse in Nothing but its Name. 
 
The Voyage 55 
 
 I held it fast 
 
 And easily past 
 The tamed Waves : The boistrous Winde 
 
 Now blew away 
 
 It selfe, & Day 
 Ypon y e Smoothed Ocean shinde. 
 
 An Heavnly Blast 
 
 Made gracious hast, 
 And filld my Weather-beaten Sail ; 
 
 The Spirit of Love 
 
 Me gently drove 
 Gainst whom no Ocean may prevaile. 
 
 And as y e Land 
 
 Grew neer at hand, 
 Behold, said Hee, y e trustie Shore. 
 
 Wouldst Thou be sure 
 
 To rest secure ? 
 Venture into y e Main no more : 
 
 Or sail w th Mee 
 
 In y e Sweet Sea, 
 Whose everlasting streams doe flow 
 
 Above y e Sphears, 
 
 Where never fears 
 Did rise, nor treacherous Tempests blow. 
 
 Thus did I come 
 
 All shipwrack'd home 
 Unto my Selfe : & there must dwell 
 
 Private and still, 
 
 Unlesse I will 
 Another Voyage make to Hell. 
 
Unreasonable Reason 
 
 ALL Christian Soules beware ; Hell never went 
 More politickly clad, Nor wiselyer bent 
 Her dangerous powers : Active & quick as Thought 
 Her fair well-spoken Serpents glide about, 
 And by y e fatall Unsuspected Tree 
 Of Knowledge still contrive our Miserie ; 
 That Wee more wisely might be fooles, & gain 
 By Profound Art, a far Profounder Pain 
 Reason they breath : Such reason as at first 
 Their Father spake in Paradise ; Accurst 
 And stupid Reason, w ch presumes to trie 
 Her wretched Strength against y e Majestie 
 Of Gods eternall Wisdome, God y e Son 
 Must not exceed Her Comprehension. 
 Thus is a Syllogisme Her God, & Three 
 Spruce Propositions, Her great TRINITIE. 
 
 Alas y e Silly World deluded quite 
 By grosse illiterate Faith, had lost its sight, 
 And in y e Midst of Blind Devotion 
 Had hudled up its Christ & God in one. 
 Yea Christ forgot his word, as loth to keep 
 From this so gainfull Errour Us his Sheep : 
 Till Sacred Arius fir'd w th zealous love 
 Did vindicate y e Godhead, & remove 
 Intruded Christ. This this was heavnly He 
 Whose Wisdome could Reforme y e Dietie. 
 
 But stay & view him well : what ailes y e Saint ? 
 Is it y e Aire of Nice y* makes Him faint ? 
 Suspects He y l his God cannot requite 
 His courtesie, & with his Thunder fright 
 That of y e Councills ? Hath his zeale forgot 
 It selfe ? All Hell ev'n now was not so hot 
 
 56 
 
Unreasonable Reason 57 
 
 As Hee : What qualm is this, whose power can make 
 The Mighty Champion of y e Godhead shake ? 
 Alas see how y e helplesse Serpent winds 
 To scape y e Blow : & yet no shift he finds, 
 But to disgorge his poyson, & confesse 
 His feigned zeale was Reall Wickednesse. 
 
 Fond Hypocrite ! & didst Thou think to play 
 With dreadfull Je sus ? Was't enough to say 
 Hee's y e True God, whilst thy proud heart defies 
 Thy Tongues Repentance, & as stoutly cries 
 Against that Godhead} No: Hee'l teach thee hence 
 To know & feel his true Omnipotence. 
 
 Goe then y e Worlds foule Excrement ; thy home 
 Is in y e Common Draught : there thy just doom 
 Will find Thee out. The Churches bowels Thou 
 With Viperous Teeth hast boldly torne, & now 
 Thine owne must answer them. Just Vengeance ! Thus 
 "Damn 1 & Judas dy'd, and thus dyes Arius. 
 
 Come now, who will be next, & bravely trie 
 To teare down Christ from his Eternitie ? 
 Who strives to follow these great steps, & prove 
 How far his Noble Logik is above 
 His Saviours Godhead ? Lo, I see y e Sage, 
 A reverend Mitre crownes his awfull age : 
 Forth at his Eyes looks Wisdome, zeale doth flame 
 In his Designes, Photinus is his Name. 
 And well He quit him too ; far ventur'd He 
 Against y e face of pure Divinity : 
 And doubtlesse much he might have done, but that 
 A* thunder-clap from Sardis spoiled his plot. 
 Whence overborne by y e Strong Curse, He fell, 
 Unhappy Wight aforetime sent to Hell. 
 
 Then look we lower ; as they older grow 
 The times may wiser prove, & better know 
 How to assert poor Truth, that y e big Name 
 Of Church & Councills may no longer shame 
 Sinceer Religion, nor bear up so high 
 Th' Usurping Crest of Catholik Tyrannic 
 Our, our sure is y e Age from whose blest Wombe 
 Both naked Truth, & Her Protector come. 
 
5 8 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 And oh who is it ? Who but valiant Hee 
 
 Reasons new Master, Wits Epitomie, 
 
 The Prince of Syllogismes, y e worthy Heire 
 
 Of learned Arius, fit to repaire 
 
 His failing Brood, Hee, whose more reverend Fame 
 
 Can change y e simple Antiochian Name, 
 
 And by Arts vast Profoundnes make a Man 
 
 Of foolish Christian, wise Socinian ? 
 
 Peace then, once more vain Church, peace idle Creed, 
 Peace doting Fathers, & with reverend heed 
 Hear what Resolves y e Holy Oracle makes : 
 Peace all y e World, 'tis great Socinas speaks : 
 
 And now h'as spoke, what is y e Thing h'as said ? 
 Has but blaspheemd more deeply, & betrayd 
 His timorous Predecessor : Tender He 
 Durst never belch forth such broad Impietie. 
 O how SocincCs thrift improves y e Stock 
 That Arius left ! Tis now a Mighty flock, 
 And by his prudent Husbandry alone 
 Is made ten thousand Heresies of one. 
 
 Look how y e Traytour steales y e Spirits Sword 
 And with y e word of God wounds God y e WORD. 
 Thus Belzebub of old did with Him fight 
 Masking with Scripture his Infernall Spight. 
 And what does all that Scripture make for Thee 
 Which thou propoundst but in a fallacie ? 
 Thy Major & thy Minor cannot prove 
 Any such Termes to dwell in God above. 
 How many Texts proclaime thy trayterous Tongue 
 All black with Blasphemies, exactly wrung 
 Out of y e Dregs of Darknes ! O how plain 
 Speak those Great Words, & antidate thy vain 
 Sophistik Answers, so y' Thou thenceforth 
 Wert many ages damn'd before thy Birth. 
 Scorne simple Faith ; We like it ne'r y e lesse : 
 Turks may believe as much as you professe. 
 
 Behind Him wretched Viper : Never trie 
 To tempt y e Lord thy God with Sophistrie. 
 Reason it selfe laughs at thee, & defies 
 Thy Spurious Art, with Sounder Subtlities. 
 
Unreasonable Reason 59 
 
 The Syllogismes a Catholike Hand doth frame 
 Put all thy juggling Tricks to putid Shame. 
 The utmost strength of thy profoundest sence 
 And disingenuous shifts and Impudence ; 
 Whose vain but peevish furie doth confesse, 
 How strong is Faith, & how weak wickednesse. 
 
 May now y e Curses of all Christian Tongues 
 Fall sure upon thine Head. May what belongs 
 To thy first Father Satan & his Hell, 
 In thy black Memorie for ever dwell ; 
 May all thy damned Brood where'r it creep 
 Feel their own Vipers stings, which now they keep 
 Close in their studies. May Confusions Blast 
 Dared so long, come thundring downe at last. 
 May their fowle Names prevent y e Destinie 
 Of their vile Corps, & rot before they die. 
 Be hate their Portion : May to Them our Spight 
 Be like our love to Christy both infinite, 
 Unlesse they'l not be too wise to imbrace 
 For horrid Monsters, Truths all-beauteous face. 
 Be toads more fair j be Adders hisses sweet ; 
 Be Dragons comely ; May these rather meet 
 In my poor Bosome, then my Heart should drink 
 But y e least Drop of y e Socinian sink. 
 
 All hail fair Truth, whose Senioritie 
 Stops y e vain Claime of upstart Heresie. 
 Hail Noble Faith, may thy Triumphant Throne 
 Stand sure upon th' Eternall Corner-stone. 
 Hail Holy Church, thy reverend Wisdome knows 
 The countlesse Greatnesse of thy Sacred Spouse. 
 How dear to Thee is His Divinitie ! 
 That Thou holdst sure, That sure upholdeth Thee. 
 Thou hast y e Keys, lock fast in their dark Cell 
 Socinas, & all other Gates of Hell. 
 Crush those fell Powers, which war w th God & Thee, 
 And in thy Militant State Triumphant bee. 
 Thou hast y e Keys, Dear Mother open wide 
 The golden Gates of Heavn, & safely guide 
 Thy humble Sons, whose HOPE, & wholl DESIRE 
 Is in thy Blessed Bosome to expire. 
 
House & Home 
 
 WHAT is House, & what is Home, 
 Where with Freedome Thou hast roome, 
 And Mayst to all Tyrants say, 
 This you cannot take away ? 
 
 Tis No Thing with Doors & Walls, 
 Which at every earthquake falls : 
 No fair Towers, whose Princely fashion 
 Is but Plunders invitation : 
 No stout Marble Structure, where 
 Walls Eternitie doe dare : 
 No Brasse Gates, no Bars of Steel, 
 Though Times Teeth they scorne to feel : 
 Brasse is not so bold as Pride 
 If on Powers Wings it ride ; 
 Marbles not so hard as Spight 
 Armd with lawlesse Strength to fight. 
 Right, & just Possession, be 
 Potent Names, when Laws stand free : 
 But if once that Rampart fall, 
 Stoutest Theeves inherit all : 
 To be rich & weak's a Sure 
 And sufficient forfeiture. 
 
 Seek no more abroad say I 
 House & Home, but turne thine eye 
 Inward, & observe thy Breast ; 
 There alone dwells solid Rest. 
 Thats a close immured Tower 
 Which can mock all hostile Power. 
 60 
 
House & Home 61 
 
 To thy selfe a Tenant be, 
 And inhabit safe & free. 
 
 Say not that this House is small, 
 Girt up in a narrow wall ; 
 In a cleanly sober Mind 
 Heavn it selfe full Room doth find. 
 The Infinite Creator can 
 Dwell in it, & may not Man ? 
 Contented heer make thy abode 
 With thy selfe, & with thy God 
 Heer, in this sweet Privacie 
 Maist Thou with thy selfe agree, 
 And keep House in Peace, though all 
 The Universes Fabrick fall. 
 No disaster can distresse Thee : 
 Nor no furie dispossesse Thee : 
 Let all war & plunder come, 
 Still mayst Thou dwell safe at home. 
 
 Home is every where to Thee 
 Who canst thine owne dwelling be. 
 Yea though ruthlesse Death assaile Thee, 
 Still thy Lodging will not faile Thee : 
 Still thy Soule's thine owne, & Shee 
 To an House remov'd shall be, 
 An eternall House above 
 Wall'd, & Roof'd & Pav'd w th Love. 
 There shall these Mudwalls of thine 
 Gallantly repair'd outshine 
 Mortall Starrs : No Starrs shall be 
 In that Heavn, but such as Thee. 
 
The Candle 
 
 THE Life and Death I once did mark 
 Of a wax Candle in y e Dark : 
 And by its light Me thought I read 
 
 Poor Mans short story, 
 His slender glory 
 Soon lighted, soon extinguished. 
 
 In this blind World, all black as Night, 
 Is Kindled each Mans native Light ; 
 And Kindled at a Senior Flame 
 
 Which if you shall 
 
 A Candle call, 
 You but describe a Parents Name. 
 
 When first this infant Light is borne, 
 
 How tender is its twinckling Morne ! 
 
 When every petty, paltrie Wind 
 
 Which walks y e way 
 Makes it his play 
 
 To puffe it out, & leave it blind. 
 
 As it does stronger grow, it finds 
 
 More boistrous stormes, & greater Winds, 
 
 And yet y e worst and foulest fear 
 
 Doth from within 
 
 Its mischeif gin, 
 When a slie Theefe appeareth there. 
 62 
 
The Candle 63 
 
 But yet of all y e rest, y e cheife 
 And most pernicious fatall Theefe 
 Is blazing, droyling Luxurie : 
 
 Never was Light 
 
 So rich & bright 
 But this could wast it suddenlie. 
 
 But still y e Snuffer may, (& this 
 Nothing but sharp Affliction is) 
 The wastfull Theefe expell & set 
 
 The trimmed Light 
 
 In thriving plight, 
 Right safe and quiet, clean & neat. 
 
 If downward then it does propend, 
 
 It turnes its owne Theefe, & does spend 
 
 It selfe in vaine : Steadfast & even 
 
 The Light must be, 
 
 Perpetually 
 Upright & burning towards Heaven. 
 
 If it be hurried heer and there, 
 The troubled Flame cannot forbear 
 To wast its Stock : that Life is best, 
 
 For Man, which may 
 
 It selfe in joy 
 Immured safe in private Rest. 
 
 Yet in that Rest y e Candle lives 
 By preying on it Selfe, & thrives 
 To its owne mine : Tis y e same 
 
 False Fire from whom 
 
 Its Life doth come, 
 W ch proves at length its Funerall Flame. 
 
 And then, how fine so e'r before, 
 In Faithfull tale It must restore 
 Its Principles ; & so discover 
 
 What was before ; 
 
 Nothing alas, but poor 
 And sallow Ashes furbish' d over. 
 
64 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Thus All must dye. But yet We see 
 That In their Deaths they disagree. 
 Some leave a stink, which breatheth in 
 
 Their Memorie ; 
 
 And these are they 
 Whose grosse Composure smelt of sin. 
 
 Yet Purer Candles leave behind 
 A pleasing smell, sweet as y e Wind 
 Which at y e Phenix's Funerall Flame 
 Perfum'd his Breath, 
 And blew her Death 
 Through all y e fairest Mouths of Fame. 
 
 But those clear Tapors, w ch we find 
 Of Virgin wax, leave Them behind 
 And by Unstained Puritie 
 
 Far, far excell 
 
 All parallell ; 
 These sweetlyest live, and sweetlyest die. 
 
 But These & They die not to be 
 
 Bury'd in that blind Destinie. 
 
 Heavn for y e Dying Spark prepares 
 A better Spheer 
 Above, & there 
 
 Converts y e Candles into Starrs. 
 
The Losse 
 
 o 
 
 WHO has found ! 
 For I have lost 
 A thing y* cost 
 Far more then India's worth, a Thing 
 Which if sinceer & sound, 
 Might be a present for a Mighty King. 
 
 It was, (had I 
 An Heart to break, 
 This Thought would make 
 The rupture strait ; but I have none :) 
 It was, oh heare my Crie 
 Deare Freinds, it was my Heart, my Heart is gone. 
 
 A Month agoe, 
 Or therabout 
 It slipped out 
 Whilst I went carelesse on my way. 
 But where it dropt, or how, 
 Alas regardlesse wretch, I cannot say. 
 
 Sometimes mine Eare, 
 
 Sometimes mine Eye 
 
 Lets her passe by. 
 
 Sometimes a Crowd of idle words 
 
 Drove without wit or feare 
 
 Safe Convoy to a wandring Heart affords. 
 
 65 
 
66 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Sometime my Watch 
 But loosely set 
 Doth easily let 
 Her steale away : whilst idle I 
 Melt in soft ease, & catch 
 At gewgaw Nothings as they flutter by. 
 
 A thousand wayes 
 Alas I see 
 Where nimble Shee 
 Might make escape : each sin I doe 
 An open passage layes, 
 And by that Mouth invites y e soule to goe. 
 
 O who has found ! 
 The Thing, alas, 
 Unworthy was 
 The taking up : Sweet pleasures say, 
 When you did Mee surround, 
 Bore your soft Streame my weaker Heart away ? 
 
 Say needlesse Cares 
 Did your wild Number 
 My Heart incumber, 
 And made her carelesse of Her selfe, 
 Whilst vain unmanly feares 
 Threw her away upon Lifes sordid Pelfe ? 
 
 How shall I find 
 My Heart againe, 
 Who, though most faine 
 Yet have no Heart to seek that Prize ! 
 Thus one already blind 
 Desires to seek his Sight, but wants his Eyes. 
 
 On Thee alone 
 Who art all Eye 
 My hopes rely. 
 If Thou wilt find this Heart for Mee, 
 He give it unto none 
 Henceforth (& tis a bargaine) but to Thee. 
 
The Houreglasse 
 
 ONCE as I in my Study sate & saw 
 The faithfull Houreglasse w th what speed it ran, 
 (Much faster then my dull Invention) 
 Me thought I might from thence some Emblem draw. 
 
 I and y e Sand neer kindred had, my Dust 
 Will proove it so : & for y e tender glasse 
 My brittle Constitution may passe. 
 Time measureth my life, & run it must, 
 
 But heer's y e difference : That its houre will run, 
 Whilst my poor Life hath not one minute sure. 
 The Glasse, if us'd with care, may long indure : 
 My most uncertaine Life may break alone. 
 
 When that is out strait turned up againe 
 Its Life renewed is, & runs afresh : 
 But when my Dust is out, this helplesse Flesh 
 Must in its ruine to Times end remaine. 
 
 Yet then at length my Fate shall happier be : 
 My Dust once turned up from my long Grave, 
 Runs not by sleight vain houres, but stout & brave 
 Triumphs o'r Time by sure Eternitie. 
 
 67 
 
Melancholie 
 
 OUT hideous Monster; in thy Name 
 Blacknesse & furie dwell : 
 Home to thy Native Hell, 
 Whose foule Complexion is y e same, 
 
 The same with thine : both Hell & Thee 
 
 Proud furious DISCONTENT 
 At once begat, & sent 
 
 DARKNESSE your Monstrous Nurse to bee. 
 
 She taught you both to feed & feast 
 
 Upon your Selves. Feed on, 
 And let poor Man alone ; 
 
 The worst of food becomes you best. 
 
 Your Parallel will truly hold ; 
 
 Or if some Qualitie 
 
 In you doe disagree, 
 Be that y e hot Hell, Thou y e cold. 
 
 Goe then & temper Her ; goe dwell 
 
 Secure from feare of Joy : 
 No Sweets will e'r annoy 
 
 Or interrupt y e Pangs of Hell. 
 
 Goe : that foule Monstrous leaden load 
 
 Which round about Thee twines, 
 With our Desires combines 
 
 And tuggs Thee downe to that steep Road. 
 68 
 
Melancholie 69 
 
 No ; I must not beleeve Thee : Goe ; 
 
 That palenesse of thy Look 
 
 Indeed I once mistook 
 For Pieties face, & lov'd it so. 
 
 Thy sober garb demure & chast 
 
 Seem'd a fair Preparation 
 For Heavnly Contemplation, 
 
 Which all this World away doth cast. 
 
 Needs wouldst Thou, grown severe, despise 
 The Worlds fantastik Joyes, 
 And let no fading Toyes 
 
 Or charme thine Eares, or win thine Eyes. 
 
 Alas, poore Feind it will not doe : 
 
 I know Thee now to bee 
 
 But y* more Devill : Hee 
 When worst, does in his best Clothes goe ; 
 
 And those are thy white Looks : begone 
 And take along w th Thee 
 Thy wretched Daughters Three, 
 
 Doubts Fear^ & Desperation. 
 
 An active cheerly Heart's for Mee ; 
 An Heart of lively Fire, 
 Flaming with brave Desire 
 
 Able to melt thy Lead & Thee. 
 
 An Heart of Comfort allways full, 
 
 Yet taught to beare her part 
 In sturdyest Greife ; an Heart, 
 
 Which can be sober, yet not dull. 
 
Tobacco 
 
 INCROACHING Weed ; had not thine India room 
 Ample enough for thy bold leaves, but they 
 Over y e Widest Seas must reach, & come 
 To taint another world ? Where they display 
 
 More Conquest gain'd by their own power alone, 
 Then e'r y e Noble Laurell waited on. 
 
 Welcome Thou wert at first, & thought to be 
 But tame & honest poyson, which good Art 
 Might mixe into a wholsomenes : but Wee 
 Mistook thy power, whose cheife & mightiest part 
 Doth on y e Soule not on y e Body prey 
 And can heal this, whilst that it doth destroy. 
 
 Thou growst in India but upon y e ground, 
 In England Thou in Humane Breasts art set. 
 How will our generous Feilds henceforth confound 
 Their Masters basenes ! What our Earth would not 
 Vouchsafe to foster, Men receive into 
 Their hearts, & spend their time to make it grow. 
 
 Wert Thou y e Tree of Life, no greater care 
 Could wait upon Thee : As brave Soules of old 
 Chips of y e reverend Crosse about them wore, 
 So we thy Relicks carefully doe fold 
 
 And beare them ever with Us, as if Wee 
 Safe under thy Leaves shade could onely be. 
 70 
 
Tobacco 7 1 
 
 And art Thou not a vapour full as vain 
 
 As Man himselfe ? O costly smoke, could We 
 
 But estimate thy Nothing, we might gain 
 
 A Virtue for our Prodigalitie, 
 
 And spend in Incense Altars to perfume, 
 What in thy empty stink We now consume. 
 
 That Embleme which is stamp'd so plain in Thee 
 Might well have frighted Us : A Mouth from whence 
 Stream Fire & Smoak, must needs a Copie be 
 Of Erebus *s black Jawes ; yet some pretence 
 Or others still we have y e Pipe to fill : 
 Rather then part w th thee wee'l look like Hell. 
 
 All Virtues have their Charme & Vices too, 
 But no inchantment may compare with Thee : 
 Who ever else without Devoto's goe, 
 Yet still Thy potent Pipe will followd be. 
 
 Incroaching Weed, which growst upon us thus : 
 First We took Thee, now Thou Takest Us. 
 
 About in Pounds & Ounces dost Thou goe, 
 By which we doe compute thy price & worth. 
 Was ever Nothing sold by weight till now, 
 Or smoak put in y e Scale ? But since thy birth 
 Our subtile Age a difference hath found 
 Between an Ounce of Nothing & a Pound. 
 
 But stay, I now recant. Poor herb, alas, 
 
 Tis Wee incroach & Tyrannize on Thee. 
 
 Thou from thine India ne'r desirdst to passe, 
 
 But captiv'd wert by our own Luxurie. 
 
 Who keeps Thee a condemned helplesse Prize, 
 And makes Thee dayly Her burnt Sacrifice. 
 
 I know thou cheer'st y e Spirits, help'st y e Braine, 
 Repell'st bad Aires, to Students art a Freind, 
 If us'd w th sober Reason : but our vaine 
 Humor prevails ; Our Selves & Time We spend 
 We know not why ; Such is our Affectation, 
 Our nose must smoak onely to be in fashion. 
 
72 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 A worthy fashion sure ; y e French^ they say, 
 Those Universall Fashionmongers scorne 
 This smoakie humor : And why may not They 
 Heer too be our Example ? Were We borne 
 
 To copie all but their Sobrietie ? 
 
 Not France's Followers, but her Apes are Wee. 
 
 Unhappy Wee ! What Sun of Reformation 
 Will chase these swarthy Clowds of smoak away, 
 And cleare our Aire from this black Usurpation, 
 Which robbs Us of our pure & genuine Day ! 
 
 That so this Weed may in its proper use 
 
 Be Physik, & not Diet in abuse. 
 
N 
 
 Patience 
 
 EW come from Church (a Place where I 
 Might have been fortifide 
 All Tempests to abide) 
 A Storme of News both foule & high 
 Blew in my Face, & quickly beat Me over 
 E'r a reflected thought I could recover. 
 
 I had forgot this Age of lies, 
 
 Wherin Fame's Trumpet now 
 Y l in y e wars doth blow 
 Sounds none but usefull victories, 
 My stick Defeats not gotten untill they 
 Outface Us, & our timorous Hopes betray. 
 
 Yet what if Fame for once hath given 
 To her owne Trade y e Lie, 
 And spoke a Veritie ? 
 What if my Partie now be driven 
 To flight, & must expect another Day 
 Wherin to pluck their most deserved Bay ? 
 
 Must I be Umpire, must y e Fate 
 Of Mighty Armies be 
 Waiting on my Decree ? 
 Is Heavns Command growne out of date, 
 Or does not God much better know then I, 
 Which Partie ought to reap y e Victorie ? 
 
 73 
 
74 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Sure He is Lord of Hosts, & may 
 
 Show Conquests where he please : 
 Perhaps a Thorne agrees 
 At this time better then a Bay 
 With those, whom my fond & unfriendly love 
 Though They grow prowd, would still have Victors prove. 
 
 Laurells a glorious Curse may be, 
 Hells Legions are not 
 Blessed because they put 
 Poore Men sometimes to flight. Nay Wee 
 Though Conquered, by humble Patience may 
 Snatch Triumphs from their hands, who win y e Day. 
 
 Let them Triumph : Still Truth & Right 
 Though beaten are y e best. 
 Should these not be opprest 
 Sometimes, our just suspition might 
 Be questioning, whither they be not of kin 
 To those faire Names, which mask our Enemies Sin. 
 
 Patience ', Great Lord, on us bestow ; 
 Palmes in our value far 
 Nobler then Laurells are : 
 So We may have this Prize, doe Thou 
 Bestow y e Day on whom it pleaseth Thee : 
 Patience is sure & ample Victorie. 
 
The Check 
 
 TROUBLED againe ? Why surely Thou 
 Art more rebellious now 
 Then those Thou greivest at, whilst thy 
 Unruly Will full against Gods doth flie. 
 
 And foole, what can thy greiving doe ? 
 
 Will that torment thy foe ? 
 Or what will it advantage Thee, 
 That Thou a Rebell gratis thus canst bee ? 
 
 Wer't not more noble to make Thine 
 Owne will become Divine ? 
 Say freely thus : Gods Will be done, 
 And then thou makest Thine & His all one. 
 
 So shalt Thou vex no more that they 
 
 Thine Enemies win y e Day : 
 But spend thy Greife on thine owne Sin, 
 Which gave them cause to fight, & strength to win. 
 
 75 
 
Life 
 
 A 
 
 LAS poor Life, No more will I 
 Miscall that foule Hypocrisie, 
 By which Thou stealst y e dainty Face 
 Of Sweetnes, and 
 Dost men command 
 To court and idolize thy borrowed grace. 
 
 The Monstrous Mixtures temperd by 
 Foule Fiends & Wizzards Industrie 
 Lesse guilty are of Mischeife, then 
 
 Those Looks of thine, 
 Which undermine 
 With false inchantments Us beguiled Men. 
 
 Thy Treason plainely I descry'd 
 The other day by y e Beds side 
 Of a young Friend of mine, which lay, 
 Deep under thy 
 Fierce Treachery : 
 And much I envy'd Thee so sweet a Prey. 
 
 Her Virgin Soule soft as her yeares 
 A correspondent Body weares : 
 ONo; It wore of late, till Thou 
 Didst it betray, 
 And foundst a way 
 To ravish those pure Sweets which there did grow. 
 
 76 
 
Life 
 
 She had beheld twelve flowry Springs, 
 And there a thousand blooming things 
 Smiling in genuine braverie ; 
 
 But yet no feild 
 Profest to yeild 
 A Bud or Flower so soft, & sweet as Shee. 
 
 Yet fairer then her Looks She was 
 In that internall Comelinesse 
 Which drest her Soule, & made it rise 
 Much faster, then 
 Her yeares did run 
 Like to some forward Plant of Paradise. 
 
 The Odours that She breathed, were 
 Well-worthy to perfume y e Spheer 
 Where Angels sing : Upon Her Toung 
 Did nothing sit, 
 But what might fit 
 Their noble Quire, Some Psalme, or Sacred Song. 
 
 All David was Her owne, writ deep 
 In her soft Heart, which strove to keep 
 That rich Inscription faire, each day 
 For feare of rust 
 And worldly Dust, 
 She rubbd it o're, & swept all harme away. 
 
 Then on industrious Wings of Love 
 After y e Eagles flight She strove 
 And soone Shee reach'd no little part 
 Of that highway, 
 Nor ment to stay 
 Till all his Gospell eccho'd in her Heart. 
 
 But oh her gallant wings are now 
 Cut short, & she flags wondrous low. 
 Found I not Her at highnoone day 
 
 In Bed ? whence Shee 
 Was wont to be 
 Risen before the Mornings earlyest Ray. 
 
 77 
 
j 8 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 I found Her there : If yet 'twere Shee : 
 For sure Her barbarous Miserie 
 Had forraged & made such wast 
 Of all y e Grace 
 Which deckd her face 
 That from her owne sweet selfe Shee seemed lost. 
 
 Cold Palenes took its gastly seat 
 On Her Soft Cheeks, (O how unmeet 
 For such a Guest !) & leaden Night 
 Gan to surprize 
 Those fainting Eyes 
 Which lately sparkled with a Lovely light. 
 
 Her Mouth of late y e roseall doore 
 By which her purer Soule did powre 
 Its Sweet Effusions, now begun 
 
 To testifie 
 
 Lifes Vanitie, 
 And breath'd aforehand flat Corruption. 
 
 A fiery fever to beguile 
 The office of a Funerall Pile 
 Seiz'd on Her, & had quickly done 
 Such Mischeife that 
 Naught scaped, but 
 An heap of bones wrap'd in a Milkie skin. 
 
 Oh why may all sweet Flowrs, but Shee 
 Prevent this worst of Miserie ? 
 The Lilly & y e Rose when they 
 Are stricken so, 
 Have leave to goe 
 And in their graves their yet whole beauties lay. 
 
 But this poore Flowre must live to see 
 The Death of all her Braverie 
 And have no breath left to perfume 
 Some Sacred Dittie : 
 What mighty Pittie, 
 That onely Sighs should such deare Blasts consume ! 
 
Life 79 
 
 Sad Heavy Sighs, or what is more 
 Heavy then they, tumultuous store 
 Of words as light as was y e winde 
 That blew them out, 
 As being brought 
 Forth by an hoodwink'd & abused Minde. 
 
 For from y e Fevers raging Flame 
 Such fumes & troubled Vapours came, 
 As did obstruct y e way betweene 
 
 Her Heart & Braine, 
 Reason in vaine 
 Strove to assert her selfe as Fancies Queene. 
 
 Wild Fancie now y e Reines did guide, 
 And through ten thousand by-wayes ride, 
 Where shapeles shapes, & Fantomes strayd, 
 And all y e way 
 More light then they 
 She courted Skaddows, & with Nothings playd. 
 
 And all y e while her restlesse Toung 
 Like an importunate Clapper rung, 
 Ecchoing out y e Antik sound, 
 
 Which her weak Braine 
 Could not restraine. 
 Was e'r so sad a Transformation found ! 
 
 Is this a Sceen of Life, where Shee 
 Canno wayes her owne Owner be ? 
 But sees what ever could be said 
 Lively & quick 
 E'r She fell sick, 
 Both in her robbed Soule & Body dead. 
 
 Strange Life which makes her onely be 
 Witnesse to her owne Miserie : 
 Which doth not stop, but taint her breath : 
 Which worse then killing, 
 Is yet unwilling 
 To grant her but y e Courtesie of Death. 
 
80 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Life, some other Title I 
 Must print upon thy Treacherie. 
 Life is a Name pure as y e Day 
 
 And sweet as Light, 
 But Thou like Night 
 To blackest horrors dost poore Man betray. 
 
 All Deaths, but Thou, are short, if wee 
 
 Compare their close Epitomie 
 
 To thy huge bulke : One Minute can 
 
 Their torments measure, 
 But thine take leisure 
 To make of Thee Death in expansion. 
 
 A Death, which lives to make us die 
 So oft before our Destinie ; 
 A Death, which hath its yeouth & Age, 
 And weeks & dayes 
 And thousand wayes 
 To make advantage for its lasting Rage. 
 
 Out Spurious Thing. A place I know 
 Where pure & genuine Life doth grow : 
 A Life, which lives ; A Life most true 
 To its great Name, 
 Whose noble Flame 
 Forever burnes, yet keeps forever new. 
 
 A life, which unacquainted is 
 With Paines, & Sighs, & Sicknesses ; 
 A Life, which doth no fever feele 
 Unlesse it be 
 The Ardencie 
 Of Heavnly Love ; a Sicknesse, w ch doth heale. 
 
 A Life, which w th Eternitie 
 Doth in its Noble date agree : 
 A Life, whose foot tramples y e Head 
 Of all y* wee 
 Still changing see, 
 A Life, y l lives when every Death is dead. 
 
Life 8 1 
 
 A Life that streameth from those Eyes, 
 Whose beams embellish all y e skies ; 
 The Eyes of Joy, y e Eyes of Love 
 
 Thine Eyes Dear Lord 
 
 Which doe afford 
 What ever maketh Heavn to be above. 
 
 No hopes have I to live, untill 
 
 My Soule in Thee doth take her fill, 
 
 And from these Shades of Death doth flie 
 
 To meet those Streames 
 
 Of Living Beames, 
 Whose everlasting East is in thine Eye. 
 
 DEARE JESU, when, when will it bee ! 
 How long is this short Life to Mee, 
 Which mocks Me thus ! O when shall I 
 (Peace fond Temptations 
 Of carnall Passions.) 
 Have leave to end this living Death, & die ! 
 
 Faine would I die • but first be dead ; 
 Dead to those Sins, which murdered 
 Thee on thy Crosse, & which would doe 
 The like to Me, 
 Unlesse they be 
 Well mortify'd before I hence doe goe. 
 
 O who can slay all them for Me, 
 
 But thy propitious Potencie, 
 
 Which hath no other foes, but those ! 
 
 Tis Sin, & none 
 
 But Sin alone 
 Which warrs with Man, & which doth God oppose. 
 
 O then revenge thy Selfe, y l I 
 May conquer by Communitie 
 Of Cause with Thee : some Succour give 
 
 That I may bee 
 
 Set safe & free 
 From this intestine Warre, & I shall Live. 
 
Natalitium 
 
 Martij 13, 1643. 
 
 WHAT rash & hasty Things are yeares, w ch run 
 So fast upon their ruine ! To arrive 
 At their owne Races end, is to be gone 
 Quite into Nothing, never to survive. 
 Poore I whose Life is much lesse then a Span, 
 And vainer then a Dream, am yet alive, 
 
 Whilst eight & twenty long & tedious yeares 
 Have lost themselves upon y e whirling Spheares. 
 
 I'v liv'd thus long said I ? Let me unspeak 
 That Word, more hasty & more rash by far 
 Then all those posting yeares : If I must make 
 A true confession what my Fortunes are, 
 I must leave Life to such as Live, and take 
 With dull unworthy Things my proper Share. 
 
 A Thing within tells me theres no denying ; 
 
 I have these eight & twenty yeares been Dying. 
 
 When to this lingring Death I first was borne 
 All tainted with a deep annealed staine, 
 Helplesse I lay, & utterly forlorne ; 
 Untill my better Mother did Me deigne 
 Her tender Bosome, & to drowne y e Scorne 
 With which my loathsome Birth did strive in vaine, 
 Deep drenched me in a heavnly Fount, whence I 
 Rose faire as new borne Light from Easterne Skie. 
 82 
 
Natalitium 8 3 
 
 My timely Grave oh could I then have found, 
 
 I might have filld with unspotted Dust. 
 
 But now I shall pollute whatever ground 
 
 Must hide these Corps, o're grown w th sinfull Rust. 
 
 Sure my black sea of Crimes long since hath drown'd 
 
 Whatever is in Mee, but my bare Trust 
 
 In Him, who as He bounds all seas beside, 
 Lo can He tame my Crimes high swelling Tide. 
 
 What Kind of Sceen My Childhood was, nor I 
 Can rightly judge, nor wiser Heads can say. 
 Our tender yeares are a young Mysterie, 
 The doubtfull Twi-light of a future Day : 
 The Soule seems then scarcely arriv'd so high 
 As y e Horizon : onely some weak Ray 
 
 Steps out before Her, which may serve to be 
 
 A Signe & Item of Humanitie. 
 
 But y e next Act Spectators well might see 
 How strange a part my Soule was like to play. 
 Young Crossnesse when it gets Maturitie 
 May prove Rebellion : Who grieves to obey 
 Small, petty Precepts, with lesse ease will be 
 Pliant to great Commands : Another Day 
 
 This Urchin which kicks at his Parents now, 
 Gods more restrayning Yoak away may throw. 
 
 The Rod at home drave Me to school, & that 
 At School to Study when I thither came. 
 There like a Slave I wrought, & when I gott 
 License to play, though at some toilesome game 
 As from some Gally-chaines, or Dungeons grott 
 Me thought I rescu'd was : And then y e same 
 Day, which six houres before was long & slow 
 Seem'd to get Wings, & much too fast to goe. 
 
 Th' importunate Drops at length some impresse made 
 
 Upon my stony Intellect, & I 
 
 Was put Apprentice to y e Bookish Trade 
 
 At full fifteene ith' Universitie. 
 
84 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Where captiv'd in a Gowne, under y e shade 
 
 Of thousand leaves I sate, and by 
 
 The losse of almost all y e Time since then 
 Have learned to be y e foolishest of Men. 
 
 My itching mind proudly desir'd to prie 
 Into whatever Learnings Title wore. 
 With unfledgd Wings I often towred high, 
 And snatch'd at things above my pitch, before 
 I had sure hold of what beneath did lie. 
 Yet on I ventur'd still, & caught at more ; 
 I caught y e Wind of Words, w ch by a Blast 
 Of following Notions soon away were past. 
 
 At length I learn'd, & sure my Tutor was 
 
 Th' ETERNALL WISDOME, well to rest content 
 
 With shallow knowledge of such Objects, as 
 
 Can never blesse their Knower : Complement 
 
 And Ceremonious Learning I let passe 
 
 To guild their Crest, who make Applause their bent 
 
 Ambitious onely not to be a foole 
 
 In that, w ch Saints and Angells draws to Schoole. 
 
 Mee thought I felt some heats of Noble Love, 
 And saw such glances of my Spouses face, 
 As rap'd my heart, & set it far above 
 The Blandishments of any Mortall grace. 
 But soone grown chill, degenerous did I prove 
 And lost y e credit of that loftie place. 
 
 Thus y e vaine Meteor, though exhaled farr 
 In hopes of Heavn, proves but a falling Starr. 
 
 But yet y e Starrs fall downe but once ; whilst my 
 Repeated falls in number far surpasse 
 The Starrs all muster'd in y e clearest skie, 
 And every Fall so bruiseth Me, alas, 
 That in my Heart you easily may descrie 
 Ten thousand all-black spots, whose hideous face 
 Outlooks those few weak sparks w ch did remaine, 
 And w th a fatall Night my Soule did staine. 
 
Natalitium 8 5 
 
 This makes my blinded Mind to waver still 
 
 In Matters of eternall Consequence ; 
 
 Which well I find doe far exceed y e skill 
 
 Of Sinners to discerne, whose hoodwink'd sense 
 
 Gropes but in things, whose grosser bulk can fill 
 
 An hand of earth. None but thy influence 
 
 Can guide my feet from wandring thus astray, 
 Who art thy Selfe y e Candle, & y e Way. 
 
 guide Me thou, Deare Lord, who in my Heart 
 Dost read a simple & unfain'd Desire 
 
 To follow Truth & Thee : I would not start 
 For all this World from either, nor aspire 
 To any Glory, but y e meanest part 
 In thy Sweet Love, which will exalt me higher 
 Then alt these lying baits, that us invite 
 In Dreames & painted Nothings to delight. 
 
 Let not my folly make me seem more wise 
 Then thy Unerring Spouse, in whose Sweet Breast 
 Thine owne Deare Spirit, y e Spirit of Wisdome lies, 
 As Thou dost in thy Fathers Bosome rest. 
 
 1 shall be learn'd enough, if I can prize 
 Humble obedient Knowledge as y e best. 
 
 If I can understand but how to be 
 
 A genuine Member of thy Church & Thee. 
 
 So shall I be content ; though more sad yeares 
 Still keep Me Prisoner heere ; though furious Warre 
 On every Minute heaps a thousand feares, 
 And does all Comfort, & all Hopes debarre, 
 But what in Thy all-sweetning Face appeares. 
 If Thy propitious Eye will be my Starre 
 
 No Tempest shall deterre me, for no Sea 
 Can swell so high, as is thy Heavn, & Thee. 
 
Anniversarium Baptismi 
 
 Marti j 21. 
 
 w 
 
 ELCOME sweet & happy Day : 
 O let me pay 
 In thy blest Light y e debt I owe 
 The Fount, from which my better life doth flow. 
 
 The Fount, which sprung from y e dear side 
 
 Of Him, who dyde 
 To leave a truer Life to mee 
 Then I could draw from my Nativitie. 
 
 For I was borne a Dying Thing : 
 
 The Serpents sting 
 Through all y e World y l went before 
 Reach'd my poor Heart, & poysned it all o're. 
 
 Untill y e liquid Life, which swimms 
 About y e brimms 
 Of y e Baptismall Laver did 
 Upon my Soule pure health & vigor shed. 
 
 Death soone was drownd, & y e great weight 
 
 Of Sin was strait 
 Sunk to y e bottome, onely I 
 Rose up, & liv'd a Life, which could not die. 
 
 86 
 
Anniversarium Baptismi 87 
 
 It could not die, had I not been 
 
 The treacherous Mean 
 To murder it : Adam doth slay Us 
 At first, but then none but our Selves betray Us. 
 
 Pardon for this selfe-felonie 
 
 I beg of Thee 
 Who sheddst a rubie stream to heale 
 Those second Wounds, my fainting Soule doth feele. 
 
 So by thy Water & thy Blood 
 
 That double Flood 
 Of Mercie, may my Heart swimme home 
 And to y e Ocean of thy Glorie come. 
 
 Mean time upon this Dayes fair face, 
 By thy Sweet Grace 
 This Vow I fix : NO MORE WILL I 
 WHO SERVE TRUTH 1 S POTENT MASTER TELL 
 A LIE. 
 
I 
 
 The Fashion 
 
 LIKEWISE might inamour'd be 
 Of it, y e Fashion, could I see 
 But what it is, & how 
 It comes to grow, 
 But (like y e Phantomes of a troubled Head) 
 Before tis finishd, tis quite vanished. 
 
 But if it bred & borne doth seeme 
 In a fond antik Taylors dreame, 
 
 It makes me wonder much 
 How any such 
 Unworthy spurious Brat should owned be 
 By those, who scorne so vile a Pedigree : 
 
 That Bodies of a comely Look 
 
 A METAMORPHOSIS can brook 
 
 From SHEERS & NEEDLE, and 
 Be at command 
 Of every gew gaw fancie, that they meet 
 'Mongst other Butter-flies about y e Street. 
 
 Search not for Substance, for y e Fashion 
 Is Nothing else but Variation. 
 
 And therefore Nothing. Yet 
 So strong is it 
 That ev'n this skin of Vanitie alone 
 Makes in a yeare an hundred Men of One. 
 88 
 
The Fashion 89 
 
 Nor must you aske a Reason why 
 Some Garbs professe Deformitie : 
 It is enough if they 
 Can plead & say, 
 Wee are y e newest Cut : the ugliest dresse 
 Trimm'd w th y e Name of Fashion, beauteous is. 
 
 Thus Those whom Gods owne Hand had drest 
 All In a Fashion of y e best, 
 
 Are busied every day 
 'Frying how they 
 By jaggs and cutts, & restlesse Mending can 
 Better His work, & make a comelyer Man. 
 
 And why, alas, must Pride & Wee 
 Thus Make our poor Mortalitie 
 
 More Mortall then at first 
 When it was curs'd ? 
 Was't not enough that one great Change We had 
 But We must endlesse Transmutations add ? 
 
 Could We ever think We were 
 But Fine enough, We would forbeare 
 At last, & rest in one 
 
 Rich Garb ; but none 
 Can satisfie Prides Wanton affectation ; 
 Tis one great Fashion, still to change y e Fashion. 
 
 Who for a week together is 
 But like Him selfe can hardly misse 
 The slander of a Clown : 
 We scorne to own 
 The Looks of Constancie, nor will We be 
 Gentile, but by perpetuall Vanitie. 
 
 Could our Forefathers cast their eye 
 But on their gallant Progeny, 
 
 Sure They would wonder how 
 Our Isle could show 
 So many forreine Nations, whose Array 
 Such antik far-fetch'd difference doth display. 
 
90 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Our Ancestors, from whose long Storie 
 We gild our Selves with burrowed glorie, 
 
 Should they but now come neere 
 Our Presence heere 
 The Porter would be chid for his foule Sin, 
 Letting such country rusty Hindes come in. 
 
 Wer't not as generous to agree, 
 That everie Fashions standard be 
 Erected fair & high 
 
 To each Mans Ey ? 
 And this DECORUM is, which best can tell 
 Both Sordidnesse, & wanton Pride to quell. 
 
 Were not all fine enough, if Place 
 And Birth defin'd our Habits Grace ? 
 
 For why should Men contend 
 Still to ascend 
 Above them selves in Clothes, & guilty be 
 Both of a vaine, & dear selfe-mockerie ? 
 
 At least now Antik Wit & Pride 
 So many thousand Waves have try'd ; 
 Let it Concluded be 
 What Fashion We 
 Must count y c best : Which if We may have leave, 
 That, & no other Fashion Wee'l receive. 
 
,ove 
 
 w 
 
 HEN LOVE 
 
 Had strove 
 Us to subdue, 
 
 Whose Crime 
 With Time 
 Still bolder grew ; 
 Though Yee 
 Said Hee, 
 Will still 
 Rebell, 
 Yet I 
 Reveng'd will bee, 
 Sufficientlie 
 Upon my Selfe for You, & die. 
 
 When LOVE 
 
 Was wove 
 And ty'd about 
 
 His Crosse 
 
 So close 
 That it forc'd out 
 
 A Flood 
 
 Of Blood ; 
 
 I would 
 
 I could, 
 
 Sayes He, 
 Forever bleed, 
 So They who need 
 This Blood, would fill their Cup from Mee. 
 
 9i 
 
92 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 When LOVE 
 
 Above 
 Went up to sit 
 
 Upon 
 
 His Throne, 
 He rain'd from it 
 
 Whole Streames 
 
 Of Flames 
 
 On Those 
 
 He Chose 
 To goe 
 
 To every Place 
 
 Under Heavens Face 
 And there Love's fierie businesse doe. 
 
 When LOVE 
 
 Doth move 
 His sparkling Eye 
 
 This way 
 
 We may 
 In it descry 
 
 A Light 
 
 More bright 
 
 Then Day's 
 
 Best Rayes, 
 Wherby 
 Our Hearts, although 
 Chill untill now, 
 Conceive an Holy Fervencie. 
 
 When LOVE 
 
 To prove 
 His noble Art, 
 
 His Bow 
 
 Doth draw 
 Against an Heart ; 
 
 Alwayes 
 
 He slayes 
 
 With Wound 
 
 Profound, 
 
Love 93 
 
 But still 
 The Deaths they give 
 Doe make Us live 
 A sweeter Life, then that they spill. 
 
 When LOVE 
 
 A Grove 
 Had sought, wherin 
 
 He might 
 
 Delight 
 With Soules of Men, 
 
 No Trees 
 
 Could please 
 
 His Will, 
 
 Untill 
 
 He spyd 
 Faire Paradise, 
 And heere, He cryes, 
 My lovely Spouses shall abide. 
 
Loves Monarchie 
 
 o 
 
 MIGHTY LOVE, 
 Thou Universal! Life & Soule 
 Whose Powers doe move 
 And reigne alone from Pole to Pole, 
 Give Me thy Worthlesse Subject leave to sing 
 My due Allegiance to y e Worlds Sweet King. 
 
 Let other Muses 
 Goe court y e Wanton Mysterie 
 
 Of lewd abuses 
 Into a young Spruce Deitie : 
 Mine does no homage owe, but unto Thee, 
 Who, whilst y e other's blind, do'st all Things see. 
 
 And sweetly by 
 That golden Tide of Flames which flow 
 
 Forth from thine eye, 
 The Universe do'st garnish so 
 That Sacrilege looks out at every eye 
 Which into Thine its Wondring doth deny. 
 
 Those glorious Flames, 
 In which y e Quire above doth shine 
 
 Kindle y e Beames 
 Of all their Braverie at thine : 
 Thou art That LOVE, whose heat together ties 
 The Brotherhood of Heavns fair Hierarchies. 
 94 
 
 
Loves Monarchic 95 
 
 Thou at y e first 
 Into y e Sphears that warmth didst breath 
 
 Which since hath nurst 
 And fostered all Things beneath. 
 The Heavns hug this our World, because thy Arme 
 By its Supreeme imbraces keeps them warme. 
 
 By heat from Thee 
 The Elements doe kindly move : 
 
 Ev'n Fire would be 
 A cold dead thing, but for thy love : 
 But Thou to Wedlock drawst them all, untill 
 With Procreations they y e yeare doe fill. 
 
 No Southerne Wind 
 Or Westerne Gale blows on y e Springs ; 
 
 Onely thy kind 
 And teeming Look new verdure brings : 
 The Sun, because Thou send'st Him, neerer comes, 
 And wakes cold Roots into their warmer Blooms. 
 
 Nature could not 
 In every Creatures Tribe & kind 
 
 Duely grow hot 
 With fruitfull Flames, lesse Thine be joyn'd 
 To teach them Life ; All Births from Thee alone 
 Doe grow, Who art Eternities great Sonne. 
 
 Increase, saidst Thou, 
 At first, & Multiplie : with force 
 
 That word did goe, 
 And through y e World maintaine its course ; 
 Where still it springs, & shall forever rise, 
 Till weary Time it selfe growes faint & dies. 
 
 These honest are 
 And genuine Fires : but those, whose flames 
 
 Blush to appeare, 
 Unlesse array'd in borrowed Names, 
 Flow not from Thee : LUSTS stink, & Looks doe tell 
 That when most trimme, She's but dissembled Hell. 
 
 - 
 
96 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 The Law of Nations 
 That Catholik Glue, which strongly bindes 
 U The widest Passions 
 
 Of most discordant distant Mindes, 
 Streames from thy liberall Love, which breathed then 
 This Humane Rule, when first it breathed Man. 
 
 That Countries can 
 Their single scattred Might congest 
 
 Into one Man, 
 And crowne it there ; is not y e least 
 Reflection of thy loving Monarchic, 
 In whom all Powers are Freinds, & well agree. 
 
 They who know how 
 To marry Soules, & make up one 
 
 Bosome of two 
 Work by no Charme, but thine alone ; 
 That Harmonie of Genius, which doth joine 
 All other Friends y e Eccho is of thine. 
 
 The mutuall Tide 
 Of filiall & parentall love, 
 
 Which swells so wide 
 That all y e World in it does move, 
 Is but a drop of that delicious Sea 
 Whose boundlesse Deeps ly treasur'd up in Thee. 
 
 But yet of all 
 Thy mighty Powers, none may compare 
 
 With those which fall 
 Upon soft yeilding Hearts, and Beare 
 Them Captives after Thee, to fill y e Traine 
 Of those sweet Conquests Thou on Earth dost gaine. 
 
 Oh how Compleat 
 Is thy Dominion in a Breast 
 
 Which joyes to meet 
 And kisse thy Scepter, which can cast 
 It selfe away on Thee, and scorne to live, 
 But by that Life thy blessed Eyes doe give ! 
 
Loves Monarchic 97 
 
 For from thine Eye 
 It dayly drinks those living Flames 
 
 Of Heavn, wherby 
 Deliciously it breath's, & frames 
 All its Deportments by that golden Book, 
 Whose Rules it reads in thy Majestik Look. 
 
 And heere dost Thou 
 Display thine absolute Monarchic, 
 
 And not allow 
 The conquer'd Heart its owne to bee. 
 5 Tis not its owne : And yet by being Thine 
 'Tis more its owne, then if it still were mine. 
 
 Mine, did I say? 
 The ready Rhime made me too bold : 
 
 Such Hearts as they 
 Were those, which warm'd brave Breasts of old 
 In y e fresh Spring of Pietie : But I 
 In their chill lanquid Age, all frozen lie. 
 
 P 
 
 And yet this Ice 
 May capable of thawing bee 
 If Thy pure Eyes 
 Will glance their potent beames on Me. 
 Forbid it, mighty King of Hearts ', that my 
 Poore Soule should not obey LOVES MONARCHIE. 
 
The Heart 
 
 MEE ! My enigmatik Heart 
 How far am I from understanding Thee, 
 Although thy first & cheifest part 
 Nothing but mine owne Understanding bee ! 
 
 o 
 
 Me thought Thou wert on Sunday last 
 Deeply in love w th LovJs Heartwinning King, 
 
 When Thou didst prudently forecast 
 A Wreath of Virtues for thy Marriage Ring. 
 
 And what was that Inchantment Thou 
 In this bewitching World of Lies didst see ? 
 
 How did it dimme thy Sight, & through 
 A cheating Glasse make Heavn seem dark to Thee ? 
 
 Heavn seemed black, but Earth so bright 
 That Thou with fond Desires didst court & woo it : 
 
 Forgot vrzs/esus, whose sweet light 
 Draws all y e Seraphs wondring eyes unto it. 
 
 What hast Thou gain'd Apostate Thing, 
 What Joyes in thy new Love dost Thou imbrace ? 
 
 Whose every Part's a gilded Sting, 
 A Death dissembled by an handsome face. 
 
 How shall I be reveng^ ! For I 
 Cannot digest thus to be wrong'd by Thee : 
 
 Must I indure that Thou, & Thy 
 Foule treacherie shall part my God & Mee ? 
 
 98 
 
The Heart 99 
 
 Did I consent ! How could it bee ? 
 My Lord, My Love, my Joy, my Happinesse 
 
 My Refuge Jesus is, & Hee 
 Can never changed be from what He is. 
 
 Surely 'twas onely Thou, and thy 
 Besotted Passion w * 1 did Me betray, 
 
 And as I slept awhile, did by 
 Foule theft me from my Spouse remove away. 
 
 Alas what maze is this, wherin 
 I snarled am ! Dwells there one Heart alone 
 
 In this poor Breast ; or do I 'gin 
 Not to be I, but two strange Things in one ? 
 
 I did, yet I did not consent : 
 No reason why I should ; and yet I did : 
 
 No I did not : I never ment 
 My Jesus should from Me be severed : 
 
 Mee ! I am confounded quite, 
 Enforc'd w th mine owne Heart to disagree. 
 
 Jesu } Thou knowest me aright, 
 My Heart is not so dear as Thou to Mee. 
 
 How knotty is my Miserie, 
 Who must mine owne Heart from my Bosome teare, 
 
 Or from y* Mansion drive out Thee, 
 Who hast best Title to inhabit there ? 
 
 Deare Lord of Love, I cannot live 
 With this untoward traiterous Heart of mine : 
 
 If Thou wilt Me a New one give, 
 Thou shalt partake, it shall be mine & Thine : 
 
 Or rather Thine, and onely Thine : 
 For I'm not to be trusted with an Heart ; 
 
 1 kept not that, w ch once was mine, 
 But Thou both carefull, & Almighty art. 
 
ioo Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Regard thy Worme, w ch heer lies spread 
 Upon thy Footstoole, sighing out his paine : 
 
 O tread not on his worthlesse Head, 
 But Life into y e Dust breathe once againe. 
 
Conscience 
 
 TREASON Dread Soveraigne, Treason I discover 
 And can produce y e Traitor too ; 
 My bosome works and boileth so, 
 I cannot stop my Crie from running over. 
 
 I know y e Man (if so his treacherous Sin 
 
 Blots not that faire ingenuous Name) 
 Who lately to a Parlie came 
 
 With Thee, & learn'd by yeilding, how to win. 
 
 He yeilded to thy Mercie, & therby 
 
 Happily won Himselfe ; and Thee ; 
 Thou wert His Captive, He was free, 
 
 And might have been so to Eternitie. 
 
 But from y e freedome of thy service Hee, 
 
 Proud foole, and Traytor as he was, 
 Soone after did desire to passe, 
 
 And reinslave him selfe to Vanitie. 
 
 O hasten to reduce him, lest he grow 
 
 A sturdie Rebell : now his Crime 
 Is young & greene, take him in time, 
 
 And one sweet Conquest more on him bestow. 
 
 Loe in thy presence heere He is, nor can 
 
 I him conceale ; loe heere he lies 
 Press'd downe with his Iniquities ; 
 
 O look this way : Alas, I am the Man. 
 
 IOI 
 
Will 
 
 HAD I my Will, I would — . And what 
 Would y e Wretch doe had he his will ? 
 Why then I would not have it, that 
 I might be sure to keep it still. 
 
 Alas, I have it not ; my vaine 
 Affections doe it posesse : 
 Indeed they keep it in a chaine 
 Of seeming silk & tendernesse. 
 
 But oh they pull & hale it to 
 Objects so ougly and so vile, 
 That whilst perforce I forward goe, 
 Frighted I start, & back recoile. 
 
 Sometimes I courage take & crie, 
 Foule Rebells, know you what you doe ? 
 My Will is your Liege Lord, & I 
 Unlesse I will, will never goe. 
 
 But then they gently fawne & smile, 
 And with soft charmes cast me asleep. 
 By which delitious potent guile 
 Still their Usurped power they keep. 
 
 Thus like a royall cheated slave 
 I hold y e Empire of my Will ; 
 That Others Hands my sword may have, 
 And when they please, their Soveraigne kill. 
 102 
 
Will 103 
 
 But oh had I my Will indeed, 
 How would I reigne at home in State ! 
 W th noblest Pleasures would I feed 
 All my Desires, & feed them fat. 
 
 My Subjects all I would command, 
 And instantly obeyed be j 
 My Faculties should ready stand 
 Attending on my Majestic 
 
 Anger should wage my Warrs, & fight 
 Against my Rebell Lusts, which now 
 Upon my weaknes vent their spight, 
 And chaine me downe to things below. 
 
 Then LOVE upon his gallant wing 
 My weighty Embassie should beare 
 And deale w th Heav'ns Almighty King 
 About my Suit depending there. 
 
 That Suit concernes a Match w th my 
 Deare Spouse, y e , Prince of Sweetnes, who 
 Long since has had my Heart, & I 
 Would fain this businesse on might goe. 
 
 Had I my Will, it should goe on ; 
 But then I would not have my Will : 
 Dear Lord it should be Thine alone, 
 And so my best Desires fullfill. 
 
 Had I my Will, I would resigne 
 
 It into Thine, & change with Thee, 
 
 So from mine owne, I would gaine Thine, 
 
 And then mine owne mine owne should be. 
 
The Net 
 
 DEAR Jesu, oh how carefull is Thy Love, 
 Which meets me every where ! 
 Into y e Feild no sooner did I move, 
 
 But it was ready there. 
 Ready to use, & catch me in that Net, 
 A Fowler there by chance, for Birds had set. 
 
 I heard y e Fowler, & his brac'd Decoyes 
 
 Stretch their alluring voice ; 
 
 Which when y e unsuspitious Birds did heare, 
 
 They sporting flutter'd neere ; 
 
 This was enough ; up flew y e Net & they 
 
 Fell downe as fast, y e greedy Fowlers prey. 
 
 Had they still kept aloft in their pure spheare, 
 
 And sung their Vespers there, 
 
 They might have sup'd in quiet, & have gone 
 Safely to roost anon. 
 
 But gadding wantonly too neere y e ground, 
 
 Onely y e way into their grave they found. 
 
 Take warning then my Heart : this Earth below 
 
 All thick with snares doth grow. 
 
 This Net hath caught Me, & convinc'd me so 
 
 That there's no saying No. 
 
 If Hearts but hover neere y e Dust, straitway 
 
 The Serpent, that dwells there, makes them his prey. 
 104 
 
The Net 105 
 
 Discredit not those active Wings of thine, 
 
 Whose flight should be divine. 
 
 The Region of thy busines is above, 
 
 In y e cleare Orbe of Love, 
 
 Where Thou with Birds of Paradise mayst sing 
 
 And on y e Tree of Life mayst rest thy Wing. 
 
Faith 
 
 ILLUSTRIOUS Mayd, what foule Idolatrie 
 Grows big & impudent under thy faire Name ! 
 Yea They, whose throats stretch'd w th loud Zeale, decry 
 Ev'n harmlesse Usefull Pictures, are y e same 
 Double-fac'd Men, whose bold hypocrisie 
 One Idoll makes for all, & sets up Thee. 
 
 They set Thee up, & then they hold Thee fast, 
 Lest left unto thy Selfe Thou tumble downe : 
 Faire Hands, & Armes (but not their use) Thou hast 
 For they, as Thou thy selfe, are not thine owne : 
 
 Two feet they give Thee, but not one to goe ; 
 
 Was ever Heathen God more stock then so ! 
 
 Yet in this Stock they put their desperate trust, 
 
 To yeild them Life immortall when they die. 
 
 Besotted Soules, ev'n your owne mouldring Dust 
 
 Is lesse of kin unto Mortalitie 
 
 Then this vaine God, who surely cannot give 
 Life unto you, unlesse it selfe did live. 
 
 How often has it falln, & broken layn 
 
 Before y e Ark of Truth ! oh wast no more 
 
 Your Arguments to naile it up againe, 
 
 And fit it for new falls : upon y e floore 
 All broken as it is, still let it ly : 
 Better that rot, then you its Makers dy. 
 106 
 
Faith 107 
 
 And rot it will. But genuine Faith doth lead 
 
 A brisk & active Life, a Life of Fire : 
 
 For Love Her Brother is, & that pure Breed 
 
 With restlesse action all to Heavn aspire ; 
 
 No Flames w th more unwearied fervencie 
 Heave up their labouring hands to reach y e skie. 
 
 When e'r Shee comes abroad, close by her side* 
 To keep her warme, her sparkling Brother goes ; 
 And then her bounteous Armes spread far & wide 
 Let none escape her, whither Friends or Foes. 
 
 Her Rule is, AU\ & by none else will Shee 
 
 Frame y e dimensions of her Pietie. 
 
 She alwayes busy is with hand & Heart 
 
 To help her Followers in at Heavns strait Gate : 
 
 Nor ever failes Shee to performe her part, 
 
 Unlesse they lagg & tire, & come too late. 
 
 If this Gate once be shut, Faith must not hope 
 Though She could Mountaines move, to thrust it ope. 
 
 Through all y e billows of this working Sea, 
 This Life of Waves & Tempests, She doth guide 
 Our tender crazie bark ; y 4 safely We 
 Past y e huge rocks of black Despaire may ride. 
 
 In vaine y e winds conspire lowd war to wage ; 
 
 Cast anchor, HOPE, says She, & let them rage ! 
 
 The Church & Sacrament She doth frequent, 
 But cares not greatly for y e Subtile Schoole ; 
 Humilitie's her Wisdome : She's content 
 Though saucy Syllogismes conclude her foole. 
 Logik has no such reason to despise 
 This simple Maid, could it but use its eyes : 
 
 For at Her conquering feet it might descry 
 
 Whole Legions of venturous Arguments 
 
 Disarm'd, & trampled downe : No Heresy 
 
 Did e'r rebell against Her, but repents, 
 
 And there confesses, that what ever were 
 Their Premises, Conclusions make for Her. 
 
108 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 The Scepter that She beares, though rude & plaine, 
 Yet strikes this terror through Her proudest foes ; 
 It is of Wood, w th Blood all dye'd in graine 
 A downright Crosse, not unto her, but those 
 
 That dare both Her & It. Doe you not see 
 How at its Shadows they incensed bee ? 
 
 Though Shee be strong & mighty, She doth love 
 Calme gentile Peace, & humble Patience : 
 No grudgings, jealousies, or wrongs can move 
 Her to oppose superior violence : 
 
 For when to Tyrants Shee her neck layes downe, 
 Tis onely that their Hands her Head may crowne. 
 
 Be Princes Monsters, if they will, says Shee, 
 What's that to Me ? A Lamb my Soveraigne is ; 
 Though in his Hand there dwelt all Potencie, 
 He ne'r drew Sword against y e wickednes 
 
 Of authorized Men, or claim'd from them 
 Their Power, as forfeit, by their sin, to Him. 
 
 O Sacred Maid, for ever cursed be 
 
 Heretik & scismatik violence, 
 
 Which labour to deflow'r thy Puritie. 
 
 My Heart's too vile to be thy Residence ; 
 
 But Thou art meek & kind, & wilt not scorne 
 To make a Soule grow faire, which was forlorne. 
 
H. Sacrament 
 
 T O VE, upon a deep designe 
 "^ How He might poore Wormes combine 
 With his Heavnly Selfe, & twine 
 Dust into a state Divine. 
 Did borrow frailty of a chosen Maid, 
 And with our Flesh & Blood himselfe array'd. 
 
 What He once had borrowed, Hee 
 
 Ment to keep eternally, 
 
 Yet in debt He would not be 
 
 Unto poore Humanitie. 
 But e'r He went to Heavn, contrived how 
 To beare it hence, yet leave it still below. 
 
 Moulded up in Mystick Bread 
 
 And into a Chalice shed, 
 
 Flesh &> Blood He rendered : 
 
 Ordering We should be fed 
 With this high Diet, & incorporate 
 Againe w th Him, who had assum'd our State. 
 
 Bounteous Jesu, thou hast more 
 Then discharg'd thy loving score : 
 And we, richer then before, 
 Happily find our selves most poor ; 
 
 We never can repay this love of thine ; 
 
 God ran in debt, to make Man prove Divine. 
 109 
 
no Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 If our selves our offring be, 
 Thou wantst not Humanitie : 
 Love forstalled halfe what wee 
 With most right might offer Thee. 
 We yeild, Great Lord, Thou hast subdue'd Us quite, 
 And unto Thee belongs ev'n our selfe-right 
 
 Surely then We will not spare 
 
 This Angelik Soveraigne Fare 
 
 Seing Thine we wholly are. 
 
 For if still our owne we were 
 How could we venture ? But now Thine we be, 
 Make Us as happy as it pleaseth Thee. 
 
Loves Adventure 
 
 J OVE once a wooing went, & tride 
 ■*■' To winne Himselfe a Rurall Bride : 
 His robe of State He layd aside 
 And clad in homely country weeds, he took 
 For his bright Scepter a plaine shepherds Crook. 
 
 Nor was't some Masque y* He intended, 
 But in good earnest thus He rended 
 Through Heavn his passage, & descended, 
 Where in a Stable His first Bed He made : 
 What Shepherd ever playner Lodging had ? 
 
 There meeting w th his Love, arrayd 
 In equall Habit (for y e Maid 
 Was Humane Nature) He assayd 
 To captive Her affections by all arts 
 That Love can trie upon beloved Hearts. 
 
 By Blandishments of Tongue & Eye, 
 By many a tear & many a sigh, 
 He strove Her Soule to mollifie. 
 
 No dowry He required, yet was content. 
 
 To jointure Her in Heavn, would shee consent. 
 
 But proud & coy Shee scorned his Love, 
 And with resolved denyall strove 
 Her peremptory Heart to prove 
 As hard as His was soft : No spouse sayes Shee, 
 But one thats great & gallant is for Mee. 
 in 
 
ii2 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 (As if some rare piece She had been 
 Of Beautie, or of Fortune Queen, 
 And not a lump of Dust, as meane 
 As He is Great : Had Pride not made her blind, 
 In's Miracles She might his Godhead find). 
 
 This cruell Word's unworthy Dart 
 Strook deep in Lovers most tender Heart 
 Yet was too weak to make him start 
 From his sweet enterprise : I have sayd He 
 As good an aime ; & darts as sharp as Shee. 
 
 With that ten thousand times He shot ; 
 But Shee all flint & Steele would not 
 Yeild to one wound ; which made Him plot 
 An amorous vengeance, & brave tryall make 
 Seing Life could not, by Death her Heart to break. 
 
 I'l dye, He cryes, I'l soundly dye 
 By mine owne mortall wounds lie try 
 To make her bleed, & venture by 
 My languishment & death to make Her prove 
 The dainty languishments, & deaths of Love. 
 
 Good as this Great Word up he flyes 
 Unto his Throne of Miseries, 
 Where fastened by his wounds, he cryes 
 Was ever Griefe like Mine, who here must dye 
 For Love of Her, who doth my Love defye ? 
 
 And now His conquered Spouse does yeild 
 Unto her Lord his bloody field, 
 Who both Himselfe & Her hath killed : 
 His most convincing Death it selfe did dart 
 Into her breast, & slew her hardned Heart. 
 
 And now by Lovers Life shee doth live, 
 Which dying He to her did give, 
 And doth with loyall fervour strive 
 To quit that mighty Score, & to repay 
 Him to Him selfe, upon their Wedding Day. 
 
Loves Adventure 113 
 
 For He reviv'd againe & now 
 Waits till y e Church be drest below, 
 That He againe his Face may show 
 Not now in Servile, but Majestik guise 
 His Nuptiall Feast Princelike to solemnize. 
 
A Love bargaine 
 
 LOVE, how faine my Heart would dye, 
 To live with Thee ! But every day 
 Temptations ly 
 In ambushment, & steale my heart away. 
 
 o 
 
 Surely were I but I, no bait 
 Could from thy gentill Lure invite me : 
 But some Deceit 
 Or other's allwayes ready to delight me. 
 
 Ah poore Delight, w ch does no more 
 But tickle me untill I run 
 
 From y e safe shore 
 Of Thy Restraint into y e Sea of Sin. 
 
 Where oh how oft had I been drown'd 
 Had not thy Graces blessed beames 
 
 Look'd forth & found 
 My shipwrack'd Heart amidst y e helplesse streames. 
 
 But there thy everwatchfull eye 
 Ope'd wide & shew'd it selfe to Me 
 That fainting I 
 Againe unto y e Shoare my Way might see. 
 
 Sweet Ray of Love, no Marriner 
 So much salvation ever ought 
 
 The Polar Star 
 As for my sinking Soule thy Light hath wrought. 
 114 
 
A Love bargaine 115 
 
 Confirme thy rescue Lord, that I 
 No more may feele Temptations spight, 
 Or constantly 
 By thy strong hand repell their treacherous Might. 
 
 So my Song 
 Shall be long 
 To no praise, but Thine : 
 So my Heart 
 Ne'r shall start 
 Back from being Mine. 
 
 Mine, yet still 
 
 At Thy will, 
 For thy will should be 
 
 Soule, & more 
 
 Then before 
 Selfe was unto Mee. 
 
 So each Line 
 
 Shall be fine 
 With thy beauteous Name, 
 
 Whilst my Muse 
 
 Doth refuse 
 Vaine Pernassu's fame. 
 
 LOVE can be 
 
 Poetrie, 
 And each verse grow brave 
 
 Where an Heart 
 
 W th true art 
 JESUS doth ingrave. 
 
 Never sound 
 
 Did rebound 
 From y e Sphears like this : 
 
 Peace all other 
 
 Sweets together 
 Musik JESUS h. 
 
The Death of y e Life of Love 
 
 O MIGHTY LOVE, well may thy Glorious Throne 
 Be high erected on subdued Hearts ; 
 Whose onely Shade, & faint Reflection, 
 With Life & Death annoints its mystik Darts ! 
 
 But yesterday I did attend upon 
 
 Its solmne Triumph carryed on an Herse, 
 
 As now I second that Procession 
 
 By borrowing feet of my Admiring Verse. 
 
 Twas y e Unfortunate Body of a Mayd 
 Whom unsuccessfull Love had slowly slaine : 
 A generous Soule, & lesse of Death afrayd, 
 Then of her long Beloved's proud disdaine. 
 
 In y e sinceer Munificence of Love 
 She freely did resigne Him all her Heart : 
 And He, awhile seem'd not in debt, but strove 
 To answer Her in Bounties dearest art. 
 
 But afterward cold & disdainfull growne, 
 Her loyall Heart away He carryed quite ; 
 For Shee would not receive it as Her owne, 
 Having by deed of gift made His y e right. 
 
 And thus deprived of Life's onely Fount 
 Her owne soft Heart, & allso His, wherin 
 She hope'd to find Her owne, she well might count 
 The first part of Her Death did heer begin. 
 116 
 
The Death of y e Life of Love 117 
 
 And so it did : for sighing out her dayes 
 In languishments of unregarded Love, 
 By secret dainty Torments she decayes 
 And Death's unwilling Forces doth improve. 
 
 She so improves them, that they now befriend 
 Her w* their finall stroke, & send her hence, 
 One out of Love w th Life, w ch would not lend 
 Her love againe to quit her Love's expense. 
 
 Dear JESU, if these Mortall Loves can be 
 Stronger then Death, what are y e Powers of Thine ; 
 How shall we measure its immensitie, 
 Which, like thy selfe, compleatly is Divine ! 
 
 No wonder that brave Soules of Fire, w ch are 
 Kindled by thy Love's living Flame, can give 
 Defiance at y e blackest Deaths, & dare 
 On any termes Venture with Thee to live. 
 
 No wonder that those amorous Hearts, w ch be 
 Their owne no longer, but intirely thine, 
 So pant & gasp, & languish after Thee 
 Till Thou unto their high desires incline. 
 
 The Rose smiles not w th fragrant braverie 
 On them, but onely Prickles forth doth bring : 
 They nothing can in y e Hyblean Bee 
 Discover, but an angry venom'd Sting. 
 
 Their Palates relish no such things, as We 
 Doe Dainties call : No earthly Glorie's blaze 
 Bears theirs contemptuous Puffe : No Gold can be 
 So bright, as to allure their eyes to gaze. 
 
 Life holds them on y e rack, whilst heer they stay, 
 Far from y e Life, by w ch their Soules doe live : 
 No Cup of Sweets can their great thirst allay, 
 But what y e wished hand of Death doth give. 
 
1 1 8 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 For Thee they thirst, for Thee the Spouse of Hearts, 
 For Thee all Faire, all Lovely, & all Love ; 
 For Thee, who art not proud, but by these arts 
 Of kind delayes, their loyalty doth prove. 
 
 For Thee they thirst, & burne in this their Thirst, 
 Till by strong Sighs their Soules exhaled be ; 
 As Clouds of Incense from y e Altar burst 
 Taking their course towards thy Heavn, & Thee. 
 
 Brave lovers these indeed, whose Herses I 
 Would gladly follow j but doe more desire 
 To trace their living loving steps, & by 
 Their Way unto their journeys end aspire. 
 
 But for thy Love, Dear Savior could I die ? 
 Me thinks I could, if I but worthy were j 
 Surely this World's not worth my Love : yet I 
 Trust not my Selfe, but hang on Thy Sweet Care. 
 
The two Fires 
 
 Depart from Me yee Cursed into everlasting Fire, prepared for ye 
 Devill & his Angells. S. Mat. 25. 41. 
 
 AND surely Lord Thou knowest best, 
 Who didst that Fornace make ; 
 Though venturous damning Men contest, 
 And thy Decrees doe break. 
 
 O why should Wee ordeine that Fire 
 
 For Man, which Thou at first 
 
 For Devills kindle'st, & conspire 
 
 With them to be accurst ! 
 
 Fire of another mixture Thou 
 
 For Man prepared hast, 
 
 More hot then that in Hell below, 
 
 And which as long may last : 
 
 Delitious Fire, whose fuell is 
 
 Thine owne all-sweetning Graces, 
 Flames of eternall Love & blisse 
 Of ravishing Imbraces. 
 
 And that we might be sure to be 
 
 Its Sacrifices, Thou 
 Thy Selfe didst kindly come & see 
 
 It kindled heer below. 
 119 
 
120 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Whence, when Thou wert returned, Thou 
 Thy potent Spirit didst give, 
 
 Which on our Hearts mightst breathe & blow 
 And keep y e Fire alive. 
 
 What couldst Thou more ! If we reject 
 
 Our proper FLAMES, sure none 
 
 But that STRANGE FIRE we can expect ; 
 For burne we must in One. 
 
Novemb. 5. 1644 
 
 o 
 
 NO Mischeivous Spirits, it cannot be 
 That all Hell should at once break out, y t yee 
 Should let Confusion lose, & by 
 An absolute Impietie 
 Leave Antichrist Himselfe no way 
 How Hee y e King of Monsters may 
 Approve Himselfe, & by some gallant sin 
 Usher y e whole Worlds dreadfull Dissolution in. 
 
 Your Plot is layd too deep : oh it would rend 
 
 Hells lowest bowells out, & fouly blend 
 
 Them with Heavns beauteous face. You might 
 Have been content w th finite spight, 
 And chose some Treason that might not 
 The whole Worlds former Traytors blot 
 
 Out of their Catalogue ; you might have bin 
 Cursed enough, had you but copied some old sin. 
 
 It must not be : Heavn has a thousand Wayes 
 To undermine your vault, and can with ease 
 
 Blow up your plot it selfe ; but yet 
 
 Its infinite Wisdome thinks it fit 
 
 That you, The Traytors onely bee 
 
 Traytors to your owne Treacherie ; 
 That your owne hand & pen y e way may write 
 Your deep Designe of Darknes how to bring to light. 
 
 O may that Vengeance, w ch now sits on You 
 
 Heavy & sure, its Wholesome terrour throw 
 
 121 
 
122 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 On their foule Zeale w ch labour by 
 Full streams of blood to purine, 
 And to reforme, what cleanly they 
 Esteeme polluted : Must y e Way 
 Of Puritie be purged by a staine, 
 And that of Scarlet's deepest Die a Sin ingraine ? 
 
 Surely this is a Treason too, whose bent's 
 Not y e two Houses but two Testaments 
 
 To undermine, & at one blow 
 
 Both Root and Branch to overthrow ; 
 
 To make both Law & Gospell be 
 
 Pliant to lawlesse Fervencie ; 
 To rend y e Lambs skin, & to make his Fleece 
 Blush all in Blood, w ch ought still to be white in Peace. 
 
L 
 
 The Diet 
 
 AST night my Supper, as I fed, 
 Sufficed not but changed quite 
 My Stomack, & in Secret led 
 It to a Table 
 Compleatly able 
 To satisfie the largest Appetite. 
 
 What are these Meats & Drinks below, 
 But things as vaine & fraile as Wee ? 
 By which We grow indeed, but grow 
 
 Neerer each day 
 
 To that Decay 
 Which must consummate our Mortalitie. 
 
 Wee feed but on these Things, untill 
 Ourselves become fit meat, wherby 
 The Grave her gaping Mouth may fill ; 
 
 Where finallie 
 
 Our Meats & wee 
 In one Corruption swallowed up must lie. 
 
 Could any earthly Dainties teach 
 Us how to live indeed, sure I ; 
 Could there Devoto turne, & preach 
 For them, & none 
 But them alone, 
 Nor any Doctrine presse, but Gluttonie. 
 123 
 
124 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 I could on silly Womens Zeale 
 Grow fat, & at their Tables end 
 Uses & Exhortations deale 
 Wherby they might 
 Both Noon & Night 
 Meat & Drink-Offrings on GOD BELLY spend. 
 
 The Reprobates I could Decree 
 To have no Right, but those alone 
 Who Godly are, to all we see 
 Daintie & sweet 
 And fatning Meat ; 
 Taking for granted, that my Selfe were One. 
 
 All Fasting Dayes I could despise 
 And prove a Fryday-Capon were 
 A purer, holyer, Sacrifice 
 
 Then Abstinence 
 
 And Penitence, 
 And such vexatious Superstitious geare. 
 
 But oh ! Those Viands onely can 
 The Belly fill ; but know not how 
 Indeed to satisfie y e Man. 
 Man's not w l We 
 Heere feeding see ; 
 The Soule's y e Man, & that must feed & grow. 
 
 Unbounded is its Appetite, 
 
 And boundlesse Diet doth require ; 
 
 Meats of unmeasured delight 
 
 Which allway fill 
 
 It full, yet still 
 Leave room for Hungers ever fresh Desire. 
 
 fESU, no Diet can suffice, 
 But what Thine, owne Magnificence 
 Provided hath above y e Skies. 
 Thou, who didst make 
 This Hunger, take 
 Some course to stop its burning violence. 
 
The Diet 125 
 
 Long in this weary world have I 
 Trembled & toss'd, & nothing found 
 But husks, which cannot satisfie 
 
 My hungry Heart : 
 
 Faine would I part 
 From hence, whence naught but nothing does abound. 
 
 But if I must not die as yet, 
 Alive do Thou this Hunger keep : 
 By Faith & Hope oh nourish it 
 
 Till at y e last 
 
 This long, long Fast 
 By Thy sweet grace an endlesse Feast shall reap. 
 
Censure 
 
 NO ! I'm sure it was presumptous Pride . 
 Poore Heart trier's no excusing it : 
 Not all y e Wit 
 Of Philautie can serve this swelling blot to hide. 
 
 o 
 
 Though some to shun a Tempest's Molestations 
 Made choise of Shipwrack ; & drunk up 
 In a New Cup 
 Rank Poyson to prevent a Fevers short Vexations : 
 
 Thou hadst no reason to insult & ride 
 
 In Triumph over Those, who were 
 Throwne downe by feare : 
 With other Sins They made a Covenant, Thou w th Pride. 
 
 Had strong Temptations flowne so thick on Thee 
 Perhaps Thou wouldst have sunk : it was 
 The Gale of Grace, 
 Not Thine owne Spirit, which made Thee saile in safetie. 
 
 O tremble then, when Thou beholdest Others 
 Fearefull of anything, but sin, 
 Lest Thou begin 
 By Pride to share in that Offense, which was thy Brothers. 
 
 In HUMBLE FEARE let all thy strength be layd, 
 For Pride's but at its highest rise 
 Big Cowardice. 
 Hell fears no Pride, but is of HUMBLE FEARE afrayd. 
 
 126 
 
Wish 
 
 es 
 
 NOW I have Mind & leisure 
 To trip a chearly Measure ; 
 DESIRE, come freely hither, 
 And tell Me plainly, whither 
 Thy Wishes come not thronging, 
 And make Thee big w th longing. 
 
 Dos't hanker after Pleasures, 
 The Bellys lazie Treasures, 
 Which there will rot before Thee, 
 And with Corruption store Thee, 
 Providing quicker breeding 
 For Wormes & fatter feeding ? 
 Such belly Amunition 
 Maintaines but y e Physitian, 
 And howsoe'r it pleases, 
 Cheats Thee into diseases. 
 
 Doe Gold & Silver woo Thee ? 
 Abundance will undoe Thee. 
 The MetalPs sad ; be warie, 
 How much thou striv'st to carry : 
 ENOUGH is vaster Treasure, 
 Then Wealth, y l knows no measure, 
 Which Dropsie-like, may kill thee, 
 And split, but never fill thee. 
 
 To Honours gaudy splendor 
 Couldst thou thy selfe surrender, 
 And court y e glittering graces 
 Of high commanding Places ? 
 Where flattering Eyes devotions 
 Will wait on all thy motions, 
 127 
 
128 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 And foulest vices garnish 
 
 With Virtue's forced Varnish ; 
 
 Where Envie's disaffections 
 
 Will blast thy fairest actions, 
 
 And in ten thousand Places 
 
 Will undermine thy paces, 
 
 Painting in thy confusion 
 
 A falling stars conclusion. 
 
 Doe Wedlock's Looks invite Thee 
 
 In chast Sweets to delight Thee ? 
 
 But what if thou dost marry 
 
 Millions of Cares, & carry 
 
 Thy single Freedomes Treasure 
 
 Into a Chaine for Pleasure, 
 
 Of which sole Death can ease Thee ; 
 
 A Friend, which scarce will please Thee ? 
 What, does thy Study lure thee 
 
 Within it to immure thee ? 
 And stow up thy Provision 
 Of learned Ammunition ? 
 
 Alas vaine Project, Plunder 
 
 Has broke that Plot in sunder : 
 
 Cambridge, thy genuine Mother, 
 Is force'd to be no other 
 But step-dame, & reject thee, 
 Though once she did elect Thee. 
 Tis well, God doth not fashion 
 By Man's, his Reprobation. 
 Tis well, thy new & Noble 
 Society doth double 
 Thy Comfort : gallant Spirits 
 (Men of abused Merits) 
 With Thee are Reprobated : 
 Seing then Thou art estated 
 In this brave Losse, no matter, 
 This FELLOWSHIP'S y e better. 
 
 Wouldst, if thou couldst come by it, 
 Thy Living hold in quiet, 
 And by its Profits, treasure 
 Up fuell for thy Pleasure ? 
 
Wishes 129 
 
 Fondling, how thou mistakest 
 
 Thy happiness, & makest 
 
 Thy gaine thy Losse ! Th' ast gained 
 
 Not to be spent & pained 
 
 With Mystik Cares : Most mighty 
 
 Hero's who knew y e weighty 
 
 Burden of Soules, have faster 
 
 Fled from y e Name of Pastor 
 
 Then unfledge Brats now hasten 
 
 Upon this charge to fasten : 
 
 Well now I see that Wishing, 
 Is but halfe way to Missing j 
 E'n wish no more : II tell thee 
 A certaine course to fill thee 
 With all, thy Heart can covet ; 
 Choose but Gods Will & love it, 
 So shall thou be assured 
 Thy Wish will be procured ; 
 For no Crosse then can spight Thee 
 Thy Will being grown Almightie. 
 
S. Andrew 
 
 FARRE on his Manly shoulders had the Saint 
 Carry'd his Masters mightie Crosse : nor Thrace 
 Nor spatious Scythia ever saw Him faint, 
 But on He marched still, & march'd apace. 
 
 The dark Barbarians wondered at y e Sight, s 
 And cast their conquerd Hearts all in his way 
 Whilst in their Northern Superstitious Night 
 They saw y e Rise of a Meridian Day : 
 
 A Day, w * 1 ought its East, not to y e East 
 But to y e South, to priveleg'd Palestine : 
 The Christian Day full Southern is, & drest 
 With highnoon rayes, when first it ginns to shine. 
 
 And now, said Heavn, though He would still goe on, 
 Wee must relieve Him for Our Honours sake : 
 Be then his LOAD his EASE ; let Him upon 
 The Crosse his Chaire of earned Triumph take. 
 
 Nor shall Aegeus, though Proconsul He, 
 Disdaine to help Him up upon His Throne : 
 In proudest Rome ne'r did Aegeus see 
 So fair a Triumph, nor so long a one. 
 
 Nayld fast unto his Honour is y e Saint, 
 Arrayd in Scarlet from his owne rich veines. 
 Mistake not Pagans ; tis no torturing Paint 
 Nor is this Crosse a Throne of Soveraine Paines. 
 130 
 
S. Andrew 131 
 
 Draw neer & hearken ; does He there bewaile 
 Himselfe, or you ? Craves He your Lenitie, 
 Or offers help to your lethargik Aile ? 
 Fast are You nayld to Danger, He is free. 
 
 And to his freedome He invites you all. 
 How sweet sit Heavn & JESUS on his Toung ! 
 Whilst from His Lips full Streames of Life doe fall, 
 No words which to a dying Man belong. 
 
 Oft had He preachd, but never climbd till now 
 So fit a Pulpit, where y e World might see 
 What sweet fruit on that bitter Tree can grow 
 This Noble Pulpit preachd as well as He. 
 
 Long was His Sermon, for his last it was. 
 Two dayes it measur'd & yet seem'd but short. 
 What are two poore & flitting dayes, alas 
 To that which doth Eternity import ? 
 
 And am I nayld in vaine, Deare Lord, said He 
 Unto this Pillar of renowned Death ! 
 Though not poore I, yet Thou deserv'st for Me 
 That in this honour I may yeild my breath. 
 
 Up flew these Words, & downe there flew as fast 
 For His Sweet Convoy an illustrious Light : 
 With which from this dark world y e Saint made haste 
 And to his Lords Deare Bosome took his flight. 
 
 Where for Aegeus with Requests more warme 
 Then was his reeking Blood, he strongly prayes ; 
 And labouring that red Crie asleep to charme, 
 The Tyrant for his Crosse He well repayes. 
 
S. Thomas 
 
 1MUST not praise Thee that Thou tardy art 
 In crediting thy Lords Miraculous Rise 
 Yet must I thank Thee, for my Heartned Heart 
 By this thy tardiness more nimbly flyes. 
 
 My faithlessnes prevented is by Thee, 
 
 And by thy Tongue, e'r I was borne, I said 
 
 Fl not believe He's Risen, till I see 
 
 Those Prints which by the Spear, & Nailes were made. 
 
 By thine, my Finger tryd each reverend Wound, 
 By which each Hand of Mercy broached was : 
 By thine, my hand express admission found 
 Where y e lesse cruell Spear before did passe. 
 
 With Thee, by those three Mouths of Goodnes I 
 Confuted was, & could not chuse but yeild. 
 He who could conquer Death, whilst He did dye, 
 Of Us might easily, living, win y e Feild. 
 
 By thine, my Tongue did clear Confession make, 
 Whilst further then my hand my Heart did prie, 
 And from my Lips thy Eccho still doth break 
 My God y my Lord, for ever will I crie. 
 
 132 
 
S. Johan. ad Port. Latin 
 
 (To a Base & 2 Trebles.) 
 
 FOOLISH Tyrant, spare thy cost, 
 All thine Oile & Labour's lost : 
 This is a Seraph all on fire ; 
 Oile will but feed his Flames up higher. 
 If Thou would'st kill Him, let Him live 
 Death his best Life to Him will give. 
 
 Foolish Tyrant 
 Who anoint'st thine Enemie 
 Too strong before for Hell and Thee ; 
 And dost for streams of Torments, shed 
 Soft Oile of Gladnes on His Head. 
 
 i33 
 
SS. Innocents Day 
 
 (To a Base & 2 Trebles.) 
 
 GOE Roseall Budds of Martyrdome, 
 In Paradise goe take your rome ; 
 Where you may flourish, & not fear 
 That Herods Sword can cropp you there. 
 
 Your little LORD that scapes to-day ' 
 
 All yours in richer Blood will pay : 
 
 First let Him grow, & fill his veins 
 
 Whose Blood must wash the whole Worlds staines. 
 
 i34 
 
Epiphanie Oblation 
 
 (To a Base & 2 Trebles.) 
 
 1. /^\UR Gold, rich King of Povertie, 
 Xss. 2. \_J Our Incense Infant Dietie, 
 3. Our Myrrh for thy Humanitie, 
 
 Chorus. — And Our poore Selves we bring to Thee. 
 
 Xs. 
 
 In Us our East is hither come. 
 Chorus. — To meet thine Eyes, its fairer Home. 
 
 1. O let this Gold wait on thy Crowne : 
 Xss. 2. This Incense let thine Altar owne ; 
 
 3. And this Myrrh on thy Tomb be throwne : 
 And our East be thine Eyes Sweet Dawne. 
 
 Chorus. — So shall our other East & We 
 Adore no Sun, but onely Thee. 
 
 i35 
 
The Admirable Conversion of S. Paul 
 
 Acts 9. 
 
 A THIRST againe ? But even now 
 Stev'ns Sacred veines were broached, whence 
 Thou 
 Tookst thy full draught, & left'st y e Saint 
 No more then servd his wounds to paint. 
 Thy bloody Mouth still blusheth in 
 Confession of that reeking sin : 
 And needs some other liquor now, 
 To wash that stain. O didst Thou know 
 The vertue of y e Springs, which rise 
 In a true Penitent Sinners Eyes, 
 Those streams y e better thirst of thy 
 Inflamed Soule would satisfie, 
 And washing her deep staine away 
 Up unto Heavn thy Heart convey 
 (How foule soever it came hither) 
 As faire as His Thou Stoned'st thither. 
 
 But of all Liquors onely Blood 
 Quenches not thirst ; its Purple Flood 
 All though but moderate whilst at home, 
 Most Fiercely burnes when it doth come 
 Abroad, & in all veines is knowne 
 To turne to fire, but in its owne. 
 Look how y e furious flame doth break 
 Vers. 1. From Sauls impatient Mouth, & speak 
 Its proper language, fire & sword 
 Against y e Followers of y e Lord : 
 
 136 
 
Admirable Conversion of S. Paul 137 
 
 fcThat Lord, whose blood, if any, might 
 Have quenchd Mortalls immortall Spight. 
 But Furies thirst, still thirsty can 
 Exhaust y e Blood of God & man. 
 
 But whither now ? Why to y e Priest ? 
 He is a Man, & in his Breast 
 There something lesse perhaps may dwell 
 Then perfect Tigre : down to Hell 
 And get thy desperate Commission 
 Under y e Broad Seale of Perdition. 
 There Thou shalt have both thanks & pay 
 And new fire to thy Zeale : away, 
 A prince will help Thee there, & be 
 Captaine of thy Conspiracie. 
 
 No : heers a shorter Passage : Saul 
 Can meet Him in y e High Priests Hall, 
 Where y e black Warrant first was pennd 
 JESUS him selfe to apprehend. 
 And 'tis decorum now, sayes He, 
 That none but this Authoritie 
 Which did that foule Imposter take, 
 Should seize his Followers, & make 
 The Glory wholly yours ; that you 
 Most Holy Sir, should overthrow 
 That Rout w ch dares oppose y e Grace 
 Of Moses evershining face ; 
 Which dares blasphemously preferre 
 Poor Tabors forged Lustre far 
 Before those dreadfull beames, w ch did 
 Break out from Sina's glorious Head. 
 Let these resumptious Rebells know 
 Moses is still alive in you ; 
 And as in His great Chaire you sit, 
 So His all-powerfull Rod is put 
 Into your Hand. Had that proud He 
 The Master of this Heresie, 
 Been kept close to his honest Trade, 
 Surely he never could have had 
 So many Prentises. But, Sir, 
 Is it not time for Zeale to stir 
 
138 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Now their vile Carpenters new Art 
 
 Hath built his Fabrik in y e Heart 
 
 Of y e deceived People higher 
 
 Then doth our Temples crest aspire ? 
 
 Now that Mechanik Doctors Law 
 
 Out braves our reverend Statutes ? Now 
 
 The cursed Crosse usurps to be 
 
 Of Life & Blessednesse the Tree 
 
 By His profound Inchantment ? O 
 
 (Seing They themselves will have it so) 
 
 Envy them not that Glorie's shame ; 
 
 Let every one obteine y e fame 
 
 Of their Lords Death : Such honour I 
 
 To no Blasphemer would deny. 
 
 If You can undertake to find 
 
 Crosses enough, let Me have sign'd 
 
 Your warrant, & no feare, but I 
 
 Will Heretiks enough descry 
 
 For you y e righteous Priest to offer 
 
 Upon those Altars ; They can suffer 
 
 Upon no fitter Engin ; you 
 
 No better Offring can bestow 
 
 Upon that God, which doth decree 
 
 Strict Death for lesser Blasphemie. 
 
 And if y e Romans will not Yeild 
 
 By tumult We will win y e feild. 
 
 Eas'ly was this Comission got 
 And Saul well mounted on a hot 
 And fiery Steed (though not so fierce 
 As He himselfe) sets on his course 
 Damascus way. What hardy He 
 Dares stop y e Man ? Authority 
 And zeale both spur him on. I ride 
 Upon Heavns errand ; on my side 
 Is both y e Highest Priest, says He, 
 And that Priests Highest Dietie. 
 
 Why starts y e Gallant ? O hee's downe 
 Both Horse & Man are overthrowne : 
 Vers. 3. A Light shining with much more day 
 Then y e compleat Meridian Ray 
 
Admirable Conversion of S. Paul 139 
 
 Arrests Him in his way unto 
 
 His work of darkness ; & doth show 
 
 A higher Priest then He, from whom 
 
 His proud Commission doth come. 
 
 It showes y e Carpenter to be 
 
 Maker of Light & Majestie, 
 
 At which those late disdainfull eyes 
 
 Shrink into Blindnes. Now Saul spies 
 
 Without his Sight, what untill now 
 
 He could not see, or would not know. 
 
 O happy Blindnes ! Christ before 
 
 Caird divers, whilst He did restore 
 
 Their Sight : but here He doth begin 
 
 By Blindnes Proselytes to win. 
 
 It is enough, if to y e Eyes 
 
 Of Mans dark heart Day does arise. 
 
 But hearken Saul, thine ears are ope ; 
 The way of Faith Christ would not stop. 
 Hark, 'tis not angry Thunders tone 
 But y e soft Voice of Love alone. 
 Vers. 4. SA UL, SA UL. And why not Rebell, who 
 Against his King rides armed so. 
 O no : tis Love y t speaks, & He 
 By Sweetnes will a Conqueror be. 
 Why persecutst Thou Me ? Can I 
 Offend my Creature, who did die 
 To win its love? What wouldst Thou more, 
 Then what I freely gave before ? 
 My Heart resignd Thee all her blood 
 Which once alone can do Thee good. 
 Seek not to ravish it againe 
 Out of my Mystik Bodies veine, 
 Out of my tender Church which I 
 Have chose to be its Treasurie. 
 Alas thy Stomach doth in vaine 
 My milde Humilitie disdaine : 
 Were I still crownd w th Thornes, ev'n those 
 Would prick & vex my proudest Foes. 
 But now that wreath I have layd downe, 
 And reassum'd my Royall Crowne, 
 
140 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Whose Lustre frights Thee thus. And how 
 Wilt Thou indure my Hand, who now 
 Confounded art with one poore beam 
 Which from my Countenance doth stream ? 
 And yet more powerful!, & more bright 
 And farr more sweet then is this Light, 
 Is My dear Name : I JESUS AM 
 Whom Thou to persecute art come. 
 
 Sure Heavn & all its powers doe lie 
 In this blessd words Epitomie. 
 Sweetly rolld up : Sure JESUS is 
 The truer Name of Paradise. 
 In this one Sound all Charmes unite 
 Their Mystik & unconquer'd might : 
 Which makes all Nature stop, & yeild 
 Unto victorious Grace y e Feild. 
 Rage never held a larger part 
 In any robbed Lyons Heart, 
 Then in Sauls furious Soule, untill 
 This potent Name his Eares did fill : 
 His eares, w ch stop'd before had heard 
 Onely y e Outside of y e Word. 
 But now no Dove more mild, no Lamb 
 More gentle ever was & tame, 
 No Aire more calme, no wax more free 
 To entertain impression : See 
 How patiently He lies j DEARE LORD, 
 Vers. 6. WHAT WOULD ST THOU HAVE ME DOEs 
 his word. 
 I am beseig'd with light & love 
 And yeild my selfe to them \ O prove 
 Thy Prisoners Loyaltie ; impose 
 What task Thou wilt, I cannot choose 
 But serve so dear a Conqueror : say 
 Shall I goe travell in y e way, 
 That hard & stony way, which thy 
 Most Faithfull Steven went in to die ? 
 Or shall I march unto y e Place 
 Of thy dear Crosse, & have y e grace 
 To climb up to it, & there pay 
 
Admirable Conversion of S. Paul 141 
 
 The debt of this most gracious Day, 
 My Blood & Life ? O that I had 
 Ten thousand Hearts, that I might shed 
 Some worthy store of Streames for Thee 
 Who shed'st such Noble Blood for Mee ! 
 Stay, Zealous Soule ; brave is y e heat 
 Which in thy faith full Breast doth beat. 
 A Heat too brave to make such hast 
 Unto its ashes \ it must last 
 Untill it flame so high & bright, 
 That all y e World admire its light : 
 Untill it doth those Mists dispell 
 Which on y e Earth have spred out Hell ; 
 Untill it dazell y e weak eye 
 Of y e proud Priest, no longer high ; 
 Untill it takes up all y e room 
 From Solyma to Illyrium ; 
 Untill its Prosperous beams doe fight 
 With sturdy Pomes most monstrous Night ; 
 And in great Nero's Court prepare 
 Some lodging for Heavns Emperor. 
 Then shall thy Fire have leave to make 
 Towards its Sphear : A Sword shall take 
 Away thine Head, or rather be 
 But as a Snuffer unto Thee j 
 For then y e Flame shall purer rise 
 And reach far far above y e skies, 
 Meeting y e fount of that Sweet Light, 
 From whence it selfe at first grew bright ; 
 And so for ever glitter there 
 A sweet & intellectuall Star. 
 
Christmasse Day 
 
 WONDERS Birthday 
 Which maks't Decembers face 
 Fairer then May, 
 And bidst y e Spring give place 
 To fresher Winter, in whose hardie Snow 
 A Flowre more sweet then y e wholl Spring doth grow. 
 
 For Winter now 
 A Virgin Plant espies 
 
 Which all his snow 
 Could never equalize : 
 More white, more chast is shee, yet fertile too : 
 The King of Miracles would have it so. 
 
 For Hee it was 
 Who would be borne below 
 
 And find a place 
 Amongst poor Us to grow : 
 Him selfe He planted in our Dust, that Hee 
 Might be as true a Mortall Thing as wee. 
 
 That He should get 
 A Birth all clean & pure, . 
 
 Him selfe He set, 
 And by that Art was sure. 
 Proud flesh corrupts & staine's y e Seed we sow : 
 He, planted by his Spirit will spotlesse grow. 
 142 
 
Christmasse Day 143 
 
 Virginitie 
 His Father vaunteth not 
 
 Though glorious He 
 So great a Son hath got. 
 Wherfore Heavn orders that a Virgin be 
 The Lilly-Mother of his Puritie. 
 
 Upon y e white 
 Church-wall oftimes have I 
 
 Observ'd y e Light, 
 Which darting from y e Skie 
 Peirce'd y e unbroken Glasse, & w^ it brought 
 The orient colours in y e Window wrought. 
 
 So from his sphear 
 The Lord of Light doth come, 
 
 And passing here 
 His chrystall Mothers womb, 
 Leaves her intirely whole, yet brings away 
 Her perfect Image, borne as Man to Day 
 
 He who did wear 
 Gods radiant boundlesse Forme 
 
 Shrinks Himselfe heer 
 Into a simple worme. 
 Heavn's moulded up in Earth, Eternity 
 Grasp'd in a span of Time doth bounded ly. 
 
 All Paradise 
 Collected in one Bud 
 Doth sweetly rise 
 From its fair Virgin bed : 
 Omnipotence an Infants shape puts on : 
 Immensitie becomes a Little One. 
 
 But onely Love 
 Would not thus scanted be 
 
 But stoutly strove 
 'Gainst this Conspiracie 
 Of strange Epitomies, & did display 
 It selfe more full on this contracting Day. 
 
S. Stephen 
 
 BLIND foolish Jews^ y e Stones yee throw 
 Though rude as you, shall pretious grow, 
 And sparkle in y e Martyrs Crowne, 
 Whom yee exalt by beating downe, 
 Or serve to pave his way 
 On's Coronation Day. 
 
 As y e Arabian Sweets are bruis'd 
 To make them sweeter ; so y'have use'd 
 Our pretious patient Saint : see now 
 What store of Odours from Him flow, 
 
 Which in a cloud arise 
 
 Perfuming all y e skies. 
 
 What odoriferous Prayers from 
 
 His beaten bruised Mouth doe come ! 
 
 How like an Incense Offring they 
 
 To Gods owne Nostrills make their Way, 
 
 Striving to pacifie 
 
 The angry Dietie ! 
 
 For You He prayes, & louder beats 
 Heavns Gate, then all your bloody threats 
 And stones doe Him. But having sed 
 His Prayers, he falls asleep ; his Bed 
 
 Indeed is hard, yet this 
 
 The Bed of Honour is. 
 144 
 
S. Stephen 145 
 
 And Honour sweeten's every bed, 
 
 And gently doth repose y e Head 
 
 Of Noble Hero's : Tis not all 
 
 Your rampant cursing noise that shall 
 
 Keep Steven from Sleeping on 
 His hardy Bed of Stone. 
 
 There sleeps his reverend Body. But 
 His soaring Spirit to Heavn is got ; 
 Nor wears He onely in his Name 
 A Crowne, but on his Head doth flame 
 
 Felicities pure gemme, 
 
 An Heavnly Diademe. 
 
 He crowned is, & is with all 
 
 The Crowne of that stout Troop, w ch shall 
 
 Upon their Heads wear ruby beames 
 
 And grained Purple Diadems 
 
 The crowne of those who give 
 Their lives away to live. 
 
 Receive my Spirit Lord Jesu cry'd 
 
 The Noble Saint, & so he dy'd. 
 
 O no, He then began to live 
 
 A Life, w ch Life could never give. 
 Death is y e Art wherby 
 Martyrs leave off to dy. 
 
 He gan to live, & gan to prove 
 
 His Sacred Ministry above. 
 
 The Deacon gan to wait upon 
 
 The Soveraigne Priests triumphant Throne : 
 
 And by that Service, He 
 
 Began a King to be : 
 
 Jesus is King of Kings, & his 
 Kingdome by Saints impeopled is, 
 Who from his Crowne's reflected beams 
 Doe all receive their Diadems ; 
 
 So they all reigne in blisse, 
 Yet He sole Soveraigne is. 
 
S. John 
 The Disciple, whom Jesus loved 
 
 BELOV'D indeed : not that thine onely Heart 
 Had captiv'd His, & did monopolize 
 All its rich wares of Love, w ch did impart 
 Themselves in liberall mines, & surprise 
 
 The Universe w th Sweetnes ; but y* Hee 
 
 Who loved all Men was IN LOVE WITH THEE. 
 
 He was in love with thy Virginitie, 
 Which with all blooming beauties was bedeckt : 
 Millions of softest Graces shin'd in Thee, 
 Which from Heavns Treasuries He did select 
 To garnish out a worthy Spouse, in whose 
 Delicious eyes, his owne He meant to lose. 
 
 He was in love with y e Reflection 
 Of His owne Sweetnes shining in thy Face ; 
 With Sympathetik Joy He dwelt upon 
 His iterated Selfe in that pure Glasse, 
 
 Striveing all amorous Arts on it to prove ; 
 
 O blessed Soule w th whom Love fell in Love. 
 
 From off y e troubled Maine He lured Thee 
 Into a deeper Sea of calmest Pleasures, 
 The Bosome of Supreme Serenitie 
 To which y e Ocean is but poore in Treasures : 
 
 His owne dear Breast to Thee He opened wide, 
 
 And let Thee in unto its fullest Tide. 
 146 
 
S. John 147 
 
 There didst Thou lie next to y e Heart of Love, 
 Whose ravishing imbraces kept Thee warme 
 With all y e best of Heavn, no more above, 
 But folded up in His incircling Arme : 
 
 Whence our admiring Thoughts, Great Saint, conclude, 
 
 Thou wert aforehand with Beatitude. 
 
 The loftiest Stories, where pure Seraphs dwell 
 
 Exalted in felicities bright Sphear, 
 
 Thy dainty Habitation doth excell ; 
 
 For at His Footstoole They lie prostrate there 
 Amidst y e Sweets of whose all-balmy Breast 
 Thine onely Head makes its Delicious Nest. 
 
 What potent Joyes, what mysticall Delight, 
 
 Woo'd & beseig'd thy Soule on every side, 
 
 Whilst thy inamour'd Spouse spent all y e might 
 
 Of Heavnly tendernes on his deare Bride ! 
 
 How many healing wounds gave His Loves Dart, 
 How many living Deaths to thy soft Heart. 
 
 Thus while He lived, He sweetly live'd in Thee : 
 
 But now He dyes : Behold Him nayled fast 
 
 Unto His Death. Yet no Mortalitie 
 
 Can seize upon His Love ; observe his last 
 
 And tenderest words, whilst He Himselfe doth dy, 
 To Thee He gives Loves living Legacie. 
 
 Into His Dearest Mothers Bosome Hee 
 
 Commendeth Thee, & bids Her owne her Son ! 
 
 What Nature could not, Love commands to be, 
 
 And Mary must be Mother unto John. 
 
 Jesus Szjohn love had so closely tyde, 
 That in their Mother They must not divide. 
 
 Mary no other Glasse could find, where Shee 
 
 So fair an Image of her Son might read ; 
 
 Nor John so pure a Mirrour, wherin Hee 
 
 His ever-looking-longing eyes might feed 
 
 On His dear Lord. Thus Love, though dead & gone, 
 Sweetly leaves John his Spouse, Mary her Son. 
 
148 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 No wonder, dearest Saint, y l on Thy Toung 
 Love builds his Hive, & drops his Honey thence, 
 Whilst thy Soule-charming Words relish so strong 
 Of Heavns best Sweets, & choicest influence : 
 
 That Love, from his owne Wing lent Thee y e quill 
 Which all thy Lines w th Charity doth fill. 
 
 No wonder y 1 Port Latin saw y e Oile 
 Scalding in vaine : Thou, who dost live by Fire, 
 And in whose Breast such amorous streams doe boile, 
 Canst feele no other Flames. O, no : some higher 
 Fervor of Love must melt thine owne, & send 
 Thee to y e flaming Bosome of thy Friend. 
 
 The languishments of never-faint Desire 
 Must crowne thy Life with correspondent Death : 
 Though by sharp pains thy Brethren doe expire, 
 This dainty Martyrdome must end y e Breath 
 
 Of y e BELO VED DLSCIPLE ; onely by 
 Those Flames the Phenix lived, must it dy. 
 
Wednesday in y e Holy Week 
 
 WHO doubts how Avarice can be 
 Plaine & right-downe Idolatrie, 
 Neither thy Story, Judas, knows nor Thee. 
 He knows not how a little poore 
 Silver mov'd thy Devotion more 
 Then He, whom Men & Angells all adore. 
 
 JESUS the Crowne of Heavn & Earth, 
 
 From whom all Glory takes its birth, 
 To thy Idolatrous Heart seems little worth : 
 
 Worth lesse then is y e meanest Wight ; 
 
 For Moses sure hath settled right 
 The price of Man in his Creators sight. 
 
 God never priz'd a Man so low 
 
 As thirty silver Peeces, though 
 He were as wretched & as vile as Thou. 
 
 And yet canst Thou thy God & Lord 
 
 At a farr lower price afford 
 Then He has valued Thee at in his Word. 
 
 And Chapmen Thou canst easily find 
 Resolv'd to traffique to thy minde 
 
 With ready money, & are all combinde, 
 
 Combinde to gaine this Prize ; since they 
 Gods House to Trading did betray, 
 
 Him too among y e Wares account they may. 
 149 
 
150 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Unhappy Wretch, Thou dost to day 
 Not thy own God alone betray, 
 
 But thy despairing Selfe Thou selFst away. 
 For JESUS still though sold so cheap, 
 Is worth a World : all his poor Sheep 
 
 Shall still from Him a full Redemption reap. 
 
Thursday in Holy Week 
 
 GRIEFE stay a while, to morrow Wee 
 Will wait on Thee. 
 Now holy Joy must take it part 
 And cheare y e Heart. 
 Not all Hells furie can say nay, 
 For This is LOVES great Holyday. 
 
 And LOVE to day most nobly feasts 
 
 His faithfull Guests 
 Great is y e Cheer, as great as He 
 
 Could make it be : 
 If y e choise Dainties of all Heavn 
 Is this high Entertainment given. 
 
 For on y e royall Bord is set 
 
 Illustrious Meat 
 Whose noble composition is 
 
 Of Life & Bliss. 
 Meat, in whose pretious Mixture lies 
 Such Sweets, as Shame old Paradise. 
 
 Nor is't a drie Feast, here is wine 
 
 Purely Divine, 
 Blood of y e heavnly Grape, which God 
 
 Heer planted had : 
 A Cordiall Wine, which onely can 
 Truly cheere up y e Heart of Man. 
 
 151 
 
152 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 For in y e crowned Bowie doth move 
 
 The Blood of Love. 
 LOVE his own dear Heart-Blood doth spill 
 
 The Cup to fill 
 With streams as rich & sweet as they, 
 Which all about Gods right hand play. 
 
 All Heavn is melted, & doth drop 
 
 Into y e Cup : 
 Which smiling there, invites each Guest 
 
 To come & taste, 
 Come taste, sayes LOVE, & drink in MEE 
 At one short draught Eternitie. 
 
 Sit downe, Dear Friends, & feast, sit downe ; 
 
 All is your owne : 
 I came to dresse this cheer below 
 
 Onely for You : 
 No Angell shall intrude : this Fare 
 I did for humble Men prepare. 
 
 And must y e worst of Wormes, Vile Wee 
 
 Feast upon Thee 
 Immortall LOVE} Must all y e Cheer 
 
 Thou makest heer 
 Be spent on Wretched Beggars ? Must 
 That pretious Cup be spilt on Dust ? 
 
 Sure Thou art LOVE indeed, pure LOVE 
 Which dost not move 
 
 By Reasons rigid rules, but by 
 The Fervencie 
 
 Of its owne Fullnes. Royall LO VE 
 
 Will make it selfe its Reason prove. 
 
Goodfryday 
 
 (To a Base & 2 Trebles.) 
 
 W 
 
 EEP & spare not : 
 Good eyes are not 
 Of use, now He is gone 
 On whose sweet eyes alone 
 They dwelt, & liv'd, & lov'd, & read 
 More Heavn then in y e Sphears is spread. 
 We tender not our dull eyes now Wee finde 
 The Eye of Heavn it selfe to Day is Blinde. 
 Poore Eyes, what have you left to see 
 But blackest face of Miserie ? 
 
 Then though you melt & waste 
 With your owne Tears at last ; 
 Yet We care not ; 
 Weep & spare not. 
 
 i53 
 
Raster 
 
 (To a Base & 2 Trebles.) 
 
 T 
 
 EARS have done : 
 Our Rising Sun 
 Shall drie you up, & bring 
 His ever-smileing Spring 
 Of purest Joyes, which blest at first 
 Old Paradise, where they were nurst. 
 What though that Night were long ? This gilded Day 
 Wears on his Forehead an eternall Ray. 
 Now JESUS lives, We cannot die 
 Or but to live immortally. 
 
 In Him w' are rose again 
 Before Death us hath slain. 
 Then sing we on, 
 Tears have done. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Rise Heart ; Thy Lord was early up, arise 
 And sing Him now his Morning-Sacrifice. 
 
 154 
 
Saturday in f Holy Week 
 
 T 
 
 HE Sabbath now 
 
 Can a more ample Title show 
 Unto its Rest since God againe 
 
 Doth now refraine 
 And cease his Work, a Work much more 
 Laborious then He rested from before. 
 
 The Frame & fashion 
 Of this huge bulk, y e whole Creation 
 Cost Him no more pains but y e speaking 
 
 For its whole making : 
 But now its dear Redemption stood 
 Him in his Groanes, his Sweat, his utmost Blood. 
 
 His weary Head 
 Rests now at quiet in a Bed 
 Fast sealed up & fortify'd 
 
 Strongly beside. 
 With a well Armed watch, that none 
 May stir Him till He wake, & rise alone. 
 
 For Potent He 
 Will teach subdued Death to be 
 Onely a safe & sweet Repose 
 
 Unto all Those, 
 Who falling into their last sleep 
 Commit themselves into his Hands to keep. 
 
 i55 
 
156 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 O happy Grave ! 
 Ne'r could y e Beds of Princes have 
 Such royall honour as We see 
 
 Layd up in Thee : 
 Not Solomons Couch, though Arabie did 
 With all its Sweetest Beds go there to bed. 
 
 Our Tombs from Thee 
 Shall learne delicious to bee, 
 Safe Cabinets, wherin We may 
 
 With comfort lay 
 Our weary bones, & rest in hope 
 Till y e Worlds generall Crack shall set them ope. 
 
F 
 
 Newyear Day 
 
 (To a Base & 2 Trebles.) 
 
 AIND Janus now forget thy Name, 
 And both thy faces hide for shame, 
 The Nobler Face of Heavn & Earth 
 Are joynd in this Great Infants Birth, 
 Who in His double Nature now is come 
 To ope y e Year at Bethlehem, not at Rome. 
 
 Shine out blest Year ; 'twas not to cause 
 A Blush, that Blood drop'd on Thy Face, 
 Those Circumcision Drops will dresse 
 Thee in bright Purple Blessednesse. 
 The Paschall Lamb doth sprinkle his most pure 
 Blood on Times Doore to keep it safe & sure. 
 
 Sweet Earnest of an happy Year, 
 Which on thy Front all Heavn dost wear 
 Shine out Faire Day, y l we may see 
 That fairer Sunne, which smiles in Thee. 
 Shine out, that Heavn & Earth may have y e Grace 
 To read y e Name thats printed on thy Face. 
 
 O downe with Heart, & downe w th knee 
 Tis Hee that made both, whom we see : 
 Behold how Hell, Earth, Heavn & all 
 Downe flat to Him in reverence fall. 
 The radiant Forehead of this noble Day 
 The Glorious Name of JESUS doth display. 
 i57 
 
Jan. i. 1643 
 
 AWAY fond Hopes, built upon THREE MONTHS 
 HENCE 
 
 And on y e drienes of y e spring: 
 
 Mischeifs post faster on 
 
 Then aged Time can run, 
 And in their Traine a FALL they bring, 
 'Gainst which y e tender SPRING knows no defense. 
 
 What if kind Heavns should make next SPRING as dry 
 As are our stony Hearts or eyes ? 
 The BLOOD already sown 
 Is not so deep sunk down 
 But it before THREE MONTHS may rise 
 And reach our foolish Hopes that mount so high. 
 
 But sure our Sins are higher grown then so, 
 No BLOOD of ours can wash away 
 Those tall, & mighty Things, 
 Onely y e Stream which springs 
 From thy dear veines, Sweet LORD can stay 
 And staunch that Torrent, which so high doth flow. 
 
 Thy potent BLOOD, though ne'r so little, may 
 Performe y e Cure : Good frydays Even 
 We need not wait to see : 
 O let y e Medicine be 
 That Earnest, which at first was given 
 Those pretious DROPS Thou shedst for Us to Day. 
 
 158 
 
Jan. i. 1643 159 
 
 Our Hopes We rather build on this WET SPRING, 
 Thy young Obedience may suffice 
 For our old Sins, & Wee 
 With joy may live to see 
 Our happiest PEACE from BLOOD arise, 
 The Soveraigne BLOOD of our triumphant King. 
 
Purification of f B. Virgin 
 
 (To a Base, a Tenor, & 2 Trebles.) 
 
 HOW shall Chrystall purer grow ? 
 What shall purge, & whiten Snow? 
 In this Sacred Virgin-Mother 
 Snow & Chrystall joyne together. 
 What shall Days faire gate adorne, 
 What shall gild y e face of Morne ? 
 Ne'r did East so pure as Shee 
 Beare a Sun of Majestic 
 
 Yet must Chrystall, yet must Snow, 
 
 Yet must th' East to clensing goe : 
 
 By no Law, but onely the 
 
 Sweet Law of Humilitie. 
 
 160 
 
Purification of f B. Virgin 
 
 S. Luc 2. 24. 
 
 MAY We have leave to ask, illustrious Mother, 
 Why Thou dost Turtles bring 
 For thy Sons Offring, 
 And rather giv'st not one Lamb for another ? 
 
 It seems that golden showre w ch 'tother Day 
 The forward Faithfull East 
 Pour'd at thy Feet, made haste 
 
 Through some devout expence to find its way. 
 
 O pretious Poverty, which canst appeare 
 
 Richer to holy eyes 
 
 Then any golden prize, 
 And sweeter art then Frankincense & Myrrh ! 
 
 Come then, that Silver, which thy Turtles wear 
 
 Upon their Wings, shall make 
 
 Pretious thy gift, & speak 
 That Son of thine, like them, all pure & fair. 
 
 But know that Heavn will not be long in debt ; 
 
 No ; the Eternal Dove 
 
 Downe from his Nest above 
 Shall come, & on thy Sons dear Head shall sit. 
 
 161 M 
 
1 62 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Heavn will not have Him ransom'd, heavns Law 
 Numb. 1 8, 17. Makes no exception 
 
 For Lambs, & such a one 
 Is He : A fairer Lamb Heavn never saw. 
 
 He must be Offerd, nor must Thou repine : 
 
 Heavn hath a Title too, 
 
 As neer & sure as Thou ; 
 And He is Gods Firstborne as well as Thine. 
 
 He must be Offerd, or y e World is lost : 
 
 The whole Worlds Ransome lies 
 In this great Sacrifice j 
 
 And He will pay its Debt, whate'r it cost. 
 
 Nor shall these Turtles unrepayed be, 
 These Turtles which to day 
 Thy love for Him did pay : 
 
 Thou ransom'dst Him, & He will ransome Thee. 
 
 A deare & full Redemption will He give 
 Thee & y e World : this Son, 
 And none but this alone 
 
 By His owne Death can make his Mother live. 
 
T 
 
 S. Matthias 
 
 HERE must be Twelve; y e other Sunn 
 Thorough no fewer Signes doth runn ; 
 Then why should He, whose Zodiak is 
 As heavnly full, & faire as His ; 
 And whose sweet beams doe further flie 
 Then Phebus ever could descrie, 
 
 Darting out Light 
 On those, whom Night 
 And Shades of Death till now had buried quite 
 
 Judas, that ominous Signe, is now 
 Falln from his Orbe, & finds below 
 A fitter Region, his owne Home, 
 Where Traytors all have fitting room, 
 But still below his Throne, who there 
 Reignes King of Treason. In his Sphear 
 A Vacancie 
 Long may not be, 
 Plenty of stars are ready heere, you see. 
 
 But two of Noblest Magnitude 
 The great Election soon conclude ; 
 Joseph y e Just is one, the other 
 Is good Matthias, Joseph's brother 
 In every beam of Virtue, so, 
 That which was fairer of y e two 
 Is far above 
 Mans Art to prove 
 Heavn onely knows which way y e scale will move. 
 163 
 
164 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Wherfore to Heavn they doe referre 
 
 To judge which was y e worthier. 
 
 The Lots are cast ; And Heavn, whose Eye 
 
 Into all Hearts & Reigns doth prie, 
 
 Did guide y e doubtfull prize to goe 
 
 On brave Matthias side, & show 
 
 How he had more 
 Of Virtues store 
 Then He, who in his Sirname JUSTICE wore. 
 
 Illustrious Saint, We bid Thee joy 
 Of thy Preferment : Now thy way 
 Lies fair & plaine unto a Throne 
 Of endlesse triumph, built upon 
 Glories immortall Pillars, where 
 Thou one day shall inthron'd appeare, 
 And from that great 
 And potent Seat 
 Judge the proud Tribes then trembling at thy feet. 
 
Ashwednesday 
 
 R 
 
 IGHT Welcome pleasant bitter Day 
 Smiles never did so sweetly play 
 Upon y e sleek 
 And shining cheek 
 Of Joy, as now 
 On thy sterne brow 
 Severer Frowns, in whose black furrows lie 
 Deep sowne y e Seeds of true Festivitie. 
 
 O how much sweeter is y e Pill 
 Which honest Bitternes doth fill 
 
 With healing Powers, 
 Then all y e Flowers 
 And Creame, y* we 
 And Luxurie 
 Suck from abundant Diet's treacherous Breasts, 
 Whose Office, sweetly is to choke Her Guests. 
 
 Let Sugars tempting baits be spread 
 On things, which flatteries help doe need : 
 No need hast Thou 
 Such charmes to throw 
 Upon thy face, 
 Whose potent grace 
 Though spread with palest ashes, yet can move 
 The Noblest Spirits with Thee to fall in love. 
 
 For in those Ashes sure there lie 
 Sparks of that Fire, w ch cannot die : 
 165 
 
1 66 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Embers of Love 
 Which nobly prove 
 Their Royall Race 
 When in y e Face 
 
 Of Heavn they flie, & with full fervour rise 
 
 In flaming Pietie to their native skies. 
 
 Envy no other Crowned Day 
 Who art a purer Feast then they : 
 
 None of thy Sweets 
 Consist in Meats, 
 And things where Beasts 
 May be y e Guests : 
 Angelick is thy Entertainement since 
 Thou art the Festival of ABSTINENCE. 
 
 A Feast w ch doth invite each Guest 
 Not to devoure, but to Regest 
 
 To dense y e Heart 
 And every Part 
 Where Luxurie 
 Had made a Stie : 
 A Feast, where they most welcome are, & most 
 Merry, who of y e deepest sadnesse tast. 
 
 A Feast, which knows no other wine 
 But what is Princely, & Divine, 
 
 Which grows not in 
 Canarie's sun 
 Nor Grecian Hills ; 
 A Wine, which fills 
 Gods Sacred Bottles & doth onely rise 
 From y e fair Fountaines of repentent Eyes. 
 
 A Feast, where we may feed & be 
 
 Fatned up for Eternitie : 
 
 And learne below 
 How We may grow 
 Fit for that Upper 
 All-glorious Supper, 
 
Ashwed nesday 167 
 
 Which Gods Magnificent Lamb doth there prepare 
 For those, that Feast themselves with fasting here. 
 
 A Feast, whose Musik doth rebound 
 A welcome & delicious Sound 
 
 Unto His Eares 
 Who tunes y e Sphears. 
 A Feast where Groanes 
 And dolorous Tones 
 Wait on each draught of Teares, whose variation 
 Makes y e grave Musik of Mortification. 
 
 Sit downe, Dear Friends, loe a soft Bed 
 Of Ashes here is ready spread. 
 
 Sit downe & feast 
 Your fill : at least 
 Sit downe to cross 
 Our ancient Losse ; 
 Feed here, & countermine y e envious Devill, 
 Being as Gods discerning Good & Evill. 
 
Annunciatto B.V. 
 
 c 
 
 OME every Eare 
 That longs to heare 
 News though most strange, yet full as true 
 As ever rung 
 From any Toung, 
 Or from Fames widest Trumpet flew. 
 
 Observe you there 
 
 A Messenger 
 Faire as y e Morne, whose noble Wing 
 
 All pure & bright 
 
 As is y e Light 
 Some News as sweet as Day doth bring. 
 
 And tis y e Day 
 The World did pray 
 
 So long to see ; The World which sate 
 In a dark Night 
 Till now this Light 
 
 Begins its dawne from Heavns fair Gate. 
 
 It is no lesse 
 
 Then Blessednesse 
 Which Gabriel brings ; it is y e News 
 
 Of God who now 
 
 To us below 
 Himselfe, & all his Bounty shews. 
 1 68 
 
Annunciatio B.V. 169 
 
 The Mighty One 
 
 Gods 07iely Son 
 Sets forth to Day, & Gabriel's come 
 
 His Harbenger 
 
 To find Him heer 
 A Correspondent Royall Roome. 
 
 And that can be 
 No where, sayes He 
 
 But in thy revernd womb, sweet Maid ; 
 Where this great Guest 
 Will take his rest 
 
 And in that private Bed be layd. 
 
 Haile, Queen of Love ; 
 
 Whose Sweets can move 
 The Spouse of Hearts to lodge with Thee, 
 
 And hither come 
 
 From his bright Home 
 To shrowd in thy Virginitie. 
 
 Inlarge thy Breast 
 To make a Nest 
 
 For the Eternall Dove, who now 
 
 From Heavn will hover 
 With thy dear Lover, 
 
 To place Him in his House below. 
 
 O doe not fear 
 To lose thy Dear 
 
 Virginitie, who art design'd 
 
 Above all other, 
 In whom a Mother 
 
 Shall with a Virgin be conjoynd. 
 
 Be but content 
 
 And give consent 
 To be y e Mother of thy God 
 
 That we may see 
 
 Againe in Thee 
 The budding of old Aarons rod ; 
 
170 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 And by thy Seed 
 
 Forever tread 
 With noble Vengeance on y e Head 
 
 Whose craft at first 
 
 Made all accurst, 
 Who from y e Woman issued. 
 
 HAILE FULL OF GRACE; 
 
 May we have place 
 To heap our prayses on thy Crowne, 
 
 About whose wreathe 
 
 All Sweets doe breathe 
 And Heavns illustrious Joyes are throwne. 
 
 May we have leave 
 
 To think old Eve 
 No more unhappy, who have found 
 
 The Cure, & may 
 
 With Triumph say : 
 EVE'S GALL in MARIES SWEETS are drownd. 
 
Good Fryday 
 
 BUT now y e Sceen is chang'd, chang'd is y e Day, 
 Chang'd from it selfe, & clad in strange array 
 Black as y e News it brings : A monstrous Night 
 Usurps th' amazed houres of banish'd Light, 
 Bidding y e Sun his revernd Eyes forbeare 
 And snatch all Heavn from our curs'd Hemispheare. 
 The World would not its God indure to see, 
 And why should Heavn to it unveiled be ? 
 Let Night take Vengeance on that treacherous Noon 
 Which strives t' extinguish Heavns Eternall Sun. 
 
 Yet shall no cloud of Night or Shame forbid 
 Our eyes attendance : JESUS is not hid 
 To those, who know & love Him, & can spie 
 Ev'n on his Crosse his true Divinitie. 
 A glimpse wherof y e Thiefe with greedy Eyes 
 No sooner stole, but straitway He descries 
 This most abused & despised Thing 
 To be a most sublime & potent King. 
 
 And so had need to be, now Hell & Earth 
 Are with confederate malice marched forth, 
 And well appointed come into y e fight 
 With all y e furniture of warlike spight, 
 With swords, w th staves, w th whips, w th spears, w th thorns, 
 W th threats, revilings, Blasphemies & Scornes, 
 Engins prepar'd on purpose to prevaile 
 Upon his Body, & his Soule assaile ; 
 Engins enough against a Mortall Foe : 
 And might have conquerd Him, had He been so. 
 
 171 
 
172 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 But He is their Almighty Friend, whose love 
 The whole Worlds armed Hate cannot remove. 
 He fights as well as They, & with more force ; 
 Yet against Them bends not its potent course, 
 Nor thinks it can His Mighty Arme commend 
 With peevish Dust & Ashes to contend. 
 With Heavn He grapples, & by Valiant cries 
 Full in y e face of Gods great Justice flies. 
 Striving to stifle Vengeance, w° h was now 
 Upon its March to tame y e World below. 
 O Noble Combat ! Men incounter Him, 
 He wrestles with his God to rescue them. 
 
 Father, by all th' inchanting Powers w ch lie 
 Treasur'd up in that Sweet Names Epitomie, 
 Regard y e Prayers of thy Dying Son 
 Who Dyes for what He prayes : Let me alone 
 Spend all thy Quiver, that no Arrow may 
 Be left, these poor unwitting Men to slay. 
 Hell has deceiv'd them ; tis not They, but Hell 
 That kicks at Heavn. O let this Blood they spill 
 Wash their Mistake away, & wooe their eyes 
 To answer these my Wounds : O let my Cries 
 And sighs rebound from thine appeased Eare 
 Upon their Hearts, & raise a Tempest there 
 Of penitentiall sorrow ; so shall I 
 See them begin to live for whom I die. 
 
 O blessed JESU, how wilt thou repay 
 Those, who shall love Thee, & thy will obey 
 If such delicious vengeance Thou dost take 
 On them, who both thy Laws, & Body break, 
 Who broach thy veins, & make Thee look as red 
 With blood, as they with Crimes are coloured ; 
 Who having nay Id Thee to thy Torments, crie, 
 Come downe, & save thy Selfe from Miserie. 
 
 O no, Thou wilt not come ; tis not thine owne 
 Deare Life, which can perswade Thee to come downe. 
 Tis not thy selfe, but them y l mock at Thee 
 And at their owne prepar'd felicitie 
 Whom Thou desir'st to save : y e more their spight 
 Heightens their Crime, y e more thy Love doth fight 
 
Good Fry day 173 
 
 By mediating for them : thy desire 
 
 Is not to live longer then to acquire 
 
 Their Pardon, who are busily imployd 
 
 In murdering Thee, & their owne Soules beside. 
 
 Now therfore hang'st Thou as a Mark, wherat 
 All Tortures, Pains, & Pangs are to be shot. 
 For these Thou woo'st, & these are easily won 
 No Anguish but it seeks Thee out, not one 
 Inhumane shamelesse Torment, but can find 
 Some way to sting thy Body or thy Mind. 
 Judas his monstrous Fact, y e High Priests Sin, 
 The Peoples obstinate faults come flocking in, 
 Adams & Evfs Rebellion, every Crime 
 Which hath been hatched since y e birth of Time 
 Or which y e ending Worlds last minute shall 
 Be witnes to in one Black Tempest fall 
 Upon thy single Head : y e mighty Lord 
 Of y e Worlds Massy Pillars never stood 
 So heavy on y e Center, as on thy 
 Unpittied Heart this long Conspiracie 
 Of raging rampant Sorrow. Yet is this 
 Farre from y e Masterpiece of thy distresse. 
 
 Some comfort would it be if Heavn would now 
 A gentle & propitious aspect show. 
 But no kind beam peeps from y e lowring skie 
 To light so much as Hope : y e Fathers Eye 
 Is shut against y e Son ; oh bitter News ! 
 O who can help, if God to help refuse ! 
 Well may thy desolate State, Sweet JESU, now 
 Unto thy Patience some complaint allow : 
 Well may thy wondring Greife thus Question make, 
 O God, my God, why dost Thou Mee forsake ! 
 
 And we will wonder too, why Rocks & Stones 
 Deferre their Splitting, now such mighty Groanes 
 Rend all y e Heavns ; & why y e Graves forbeare 
 To ope, & let thy trusty Friends appear 
 And rise in time, if not to rescue Thee 
 Yet to lend Pitty to thy Miserie. 
 
 Surely such Griefe as thine was never heard : 
 The whole world passeth by w th out regard, 
 
1 74 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Leaving its Pains to Thee ; & Thou alone 
 Who need'st it most, find'st least Compassion ; 
 Thou find'st not that, which Thou to all dost lend, 
 All are thy Foes, whilst Thou to all a Friend. 
 
 O King of Patience, may thy Copie be 
 Incouragement unto our Constancie. 
 Afflictions now are pretious Things, since they 
 Crown'd thy sweet Head, & in thy Bosome lay. 
 May Enemies be too weak to force us to 
 Hate them againe, whom thou hast loved so. 
 (Thy Noble love to them has made them prove 
 Well- worthy Objects of our poorer love.) 
 So shall we welcome scornes, & hug Disgraces ; 
 So shall our Armes well practiz'd in imbraces 
 Professe y e best of Fencing which is by 
 All-patient Love to conquer Tyrannic 
 So shall our whips & Thorns forget to Us 
 That ever they were steep'd in Bitternes ; 
 And these y e Arrows, those shall be y e Cords 
 Which Divine Love to faithfull Hearts Affords. 
 So shall thy Noble Crosse to our esteeme 
 The Throne of Victory & Triumph seeme. 
 It was of old y e Cursed Tree, but Thou 
 By Death y e Tree of Life hast made it now : 
 A Tree forever verdant, w ch doth spread 
 Its shade as far as Heavn its light doth shed. 
 With humble kisses, & with Tears of joy 
 May We acquaint with it, & let no Day 
 Pass w th out thanks to our delicious King, 
 Who turnes y e Crosse into so Sweet a Thing. 
 
Easter 
 
 SLOW Phoebus thou hast slept too long ; 
 Our earlyer song 
 Long since awake attended on 
 A Fairer Sun : 
 A Sun, whose Rise 
 Summond our Eyes 
 Betimes to pay their Morning Sacrifice. 
 
 Thou quite hast lost this noble Day : 
 A richer Ray 
 
 Prevented thine, & gilds y e side 
 With Majestie 
 Great Jesus light 
 Hath broke from Night 
 And sweetly woo's the Worlds admiring Sight. 
 
 As from her Morning balmy Nest 
 
 All over drest 
 With new borne beauties Thou hast seene 
 
 The radiant Queen 
 
 Of Birds appeare j 
 
 So riseth here 
 A more then Phoenix in our Hemispheare. 
 
 His Native Tombe was sweetned more 
 With odorous store 
 
 Of Libanus and Arabie : 
 
 Or rather they 
 Perfumed were 
 By kissing here 
 The feet of Him, in whom all Odours are. 
 
 175 
 
176 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Nor could y e Phaenix ever gaine 
 So far a Traine 
 
 Of wing'd Attendants ; Paradise 
 Now hither flies 
 Upon y e Wings 
 Of these Sweet Things 
 In whose eternall Song Gods Glorie rings. 
 
 For Angells shining all in white 
 
 Answer y e Light 
 Of this fair Day ; & wait upon 
 
 The reverend stone 
 Which was y e Bed 
 Where He lay dead 
 And where He springs afresh inlivened. 
 
 Yet may We Night-birds too have leave 
 To Day to heave 
 
 Our swarthy Wings, & joine with Them 
 To wait on Him, 
 And His fair East, 
 Which knows no West 
 Wherby its glorious Day might be supprest. 
 
 Especially seing His Great Rise 
 
 All ours implies, 
 And draws them after it, all We 
 Aforehand be 
 With Death & are 
 Past its cold feare 
 Now He, our Head revived doth appeare. 
 
S. Mark 
 
 TIS not thine Alexandrian Seat, 
 Though faire & great 
 That can conteine y e fame 
 Of Thy illustrious Name, 
 Nor may Venitia?i Triumphs satisfie 
 The debt y e world ows thy dear Memorie. 
 
 The furthest Isles, Great Saint must pay 
 Their part to Day : 
 The Sunns all-piercing Eye 
 No climate can descrie 
 Remov'd beyond ingagement unto Thee, 
 For Light much fairer then from Him they see. 
 
 Our Engla?id all innobled by 
 The Historie 
 Of Blisse & Heavnly Light, 
 Which thy faire Pen did write, 
 Must eccho back with English Pens & Toungs 
 The bounden dutie of her thankfull Songs. 
 
 For surely from a Cherubs wing, 
 Or some such thing, 
 Thou pluck'st that Noble Quill 
 Which writeth Heavn as well 
 And true as Cliertibs sing it, which displaies 
 That very JESUS, whom their Anthems praise. 
 
 177 N 
 
178 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Faire it displaies Him ; We who were 
 Muffled up here 
 In mists of Death & in 
 The gloomy shades of sin, 
 Have seen his Sweet and all-refreshing East 
 Set ope a Wondrous Day in this our West. 
 
 We read thy Book, & reading kisse 
 
 Those leaves of Blisse 
 
 And unto Him appeale ; 
 
 Whom they to Us reveale 
 
 To help our Thanks : onely that King of glory 
 
 Whom Thou recordest, can reward thy Story. 
 
May-Day 
 
 SS. Philip & James. 
 
 TO Crowne y e Smileing front of May 
 And double gild its eldest Day, 
 Philip & James 
 Two radiant Names, 
 Both full & faire 
 Here stamped are, 
 Whose interwov'n fraternall Rayes 
 Make of this one two Holy-Dayes. 
 
 Two Holy Dayes to Sacred Mirth, 
 
 Mirth, w ch doth cheer both Heavn & Earth. 
 
 Heavn gains a Pair 
 
 Of Stars more faire, 
 
 Then those whose light 
 
 Spangles y e Night, 
 And Earth though loosing them, does yet 
 Triumph that they in Heavn are set. 
 
 We count not that they dy'd to day 
 Who now begun to live for aye. 
 
 The Day w ch paints 
 
 The Death of Saints 
 
 With purple look 
 
 In y e years book 
 Array eth them for Life, & is 
 Onely y e Birthday of their Bliss. 
 179 
 
180 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 For Saints, while they are living here 
 But all y e while a dying are : 
 That gasp w ch we 
 Fooles think to be 
 Their dying breath 
 Breath's out their Death ; 
 It breathes it out, & sets them free 
 From all Laws of Mortalitie. 
 
 Great James & Philip now are borne 
 Twinns of one everlasting Morne, 
 
 Where happy They 
 
 Shall meet a May 
 
 More Sweet then this 
 
 They ope to Us : 
 A May whose blessed Smiles are seen 
 In Paradise for ever greene. 
 
8. Philip 
 
 TWELVE golden Trumpets to proclaime 
 The fairer & y e richer Name 
 Of JESUS, by Himselfe were chose, 
 In whose great Blast his Gospell goes, 
 And rowseth all y e World which lay 
 Loud snorting in y e face of Day : 
 That Day, whose Dawne at Bethlehem broke, 
 And thence its East all-glorious took 
 From a rare Virgin much more faire 
 And roseall, then the Maiden Aire, 
 Which wanton fictions finely framed, 
 And delicate Aurora nam'd. 
 
 One of these royall Trumps was He 
 Whose eccho this Festivitie 
 Yields back in praise : In vaine y e world 
 Some Nations hath in corners hurld 
 Almost beyond Humanitie, 
 Where banish'd & forgot they lie, 
 Living nor they, nor We know how 
 Fast Locked up in ice & snow : 
 Philip has fire enough to melt 
 More Winter then yet ever dwelt 
 About y e Pole, or friezed up 
 Barbarian hearts ; no cold can stop 
 The most unconquerd fervencie 
 Of his Apostolike Charitie. 
 
 He hies him to y e North, y e place 
 Stamp'd with Proverbiall disgrace ; 
 The Place, whence never Goodnes came, 
 And therfore Goodnes now doth frame 
 181 
 
1 8 2 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 His journey thither : Philip there 
 Finds out a Clime well worth his care ; 
 A Clime, where though y e boistrous Winds 
 Breathe endlesse Frosts, whose rigor binds 
 The captiv'd Sea & Land, & where 
 December walks through all y e yeare : 
 Yet are y e things y l should be Men 
 More stupid & congealed then 
 Their frozen Country, & will show 
 Farr Lesse relenting in a Thaw ; 
 For Scythids Clime in vaine contests 
 In point of Cold with Scythian Breasts. 
 
 These Breasts are they our Saint makes choice 
 Wheron to trie his Flaming voice. 
 Much Fire he spake, & spake so strong 
 That Conquests waited on his Toung. 
 The ice of Paganisme he brake 
 And there a generall Thaw did make, 
 By which y e Penitent floods did rise 
 In all y e Yielding Peoples eyes. 
 The Heavnly heat otJESU'S LOVE 
 In their inlightned hearts did move, 
 Whose fertile warmth makes them grow high 
 In fruits of Christia?i Pietie. 
 Thus Scythia is flaming now 
 Ev'n In y e midst of all its snow. 
 
 Back turns y e Saint in holy haste 
 Whose great imployment was to last 
 As long's his life. In Asia now 
 A likelyer soile he strives to sow 
 His heavnly Fire : Hierapolis 
 His new selected Garden is. 
 But in this warmer Clime He finds 
 A colder Scythia ; fiercer Winds 
 Oppose Him here, & strive to blow 
 Away y e Seed his Tongue doth sow. 
 No, here are Men, whose stomacks can 
 Never digest that God is Man ; 
 Or if He be they scorne to change 
 Their ancient Jupiter for a strange 
 
S. Philip 183 
 
 And feeble God, whose Crosse & Shame 
 
 Blast all y e Credit of his Name. 
 
 Nay come, say They, wee'l make of Thee 
 
 As good & great a Dietie : 
 
 We have a Crosse, & Nayles wherby 
 
 To inthrone thy upstart Majestie ; 
 
 We have Contempt & Taunts enough 
 
 At thy despised Head to throw, 
 
 And trie if thou by Patience can 
 
 Approve thy selfe more then a Man. 
 
 And welcome all, says Philips I 
 By these Proofs best shall testifie 
 I am his Servant, & dare give 
 My life for Him, by whom I live. 
 If you had let me ope y e way 
 Unto your Blisse, you could not pay 
 Me greater thanks then your blinde wrath 
 Freely for Me devised hath. 
 
 Goe then Undaunted Champion, goe, 
 Since thine owne Heart will have it so. 
 Drink deep, & quench thy Noble Thirst 
 In that brave Cup He drunk of first 
 What now Thou followst : Take thy fill 
 Of greatest Patience : & spill 
 That Blood which burnes so in thy veins 
 Loud Challenging all wounds & paines 
 To let it out, that Thou mayst pay 
 Thy Lord his Blood againe to Day 
 As Thou art able : So shall Hee 
 In his owne Colour seing Thee, 
 Thy freedome give to Thee above 
 In y e bright Citie of his Love. 
 The Citie of Delight & Blisse, 
 The truer Hierapolis. 
 Where we are sure Thou wilt not cease 
 Strongly to interceed for these 
 Unhappy Citizens, whose Hate 
 Occasioned thy so happy State. 
 
aS". James Bp. of Jerusalem 
 
 ALL yee whose Pride is built upon 
 Some generous relation 
 To Noble Kindred, come & see 
 A Man whose Consanguinitie 
 Intitles Him unto a Name 
 Of far more illustrious Fame 
 Then that big Traine of Words, wherby 
 The Stiles of Princes swell so high : 
 Come see a Man, who is no lesse 
 Then Brother to y e Lord of Blisse. 
 
 Yet his aspiring Soule is not 
 Content with this alliance, but 
 With brave ambition strives to be 
 Neerer in Fraternitie 
 
 Then Natures casuall hand had plac'd him, 
 With royall Parents when it grac'd him. 
 James will be Father to his owne 
 Nobilitie, & wear no Crowne 
 But what he wins ; by Virtue He 
 Brother to f Lord will be. 
 
 Wherfore all his Noble paces 
 With faith full diligence he traces, 
 Through every hard Heroik step 
 Of Life & Death he climbeth up ; 
 And let Jerusalem witnesse be 
 Unto this great Veritie ; 
 Jerusalem, which having lost 
 Its Sceptre, now againe may bost 
 Of that reverend Throne, w ch there 
 This glorious Bishop first did reare. 
 184 
 
S. James Bp. of Jerusalem 185 
 
 A Throne, but not of pomp & state ; 
 A Throne on which all Meeknes sate, 
 A Throne of Love, a Throne wheron 
 Reigned pure Devotion. 
 
 Nor could lesse expected be 
 From Him, whose Life was Pietie, 
 Whose Meat & Drink was to fullfill 
 His dearest Masters royall will. 
 Ne'r did y e dangerous Blood of grape 
 Staine his most abstemious lip ; 
 Onely Virgin Fountains were 
 Both his Cellars & his Beere, 
 Which pure & coole did best agree 
 With his unspotted Chastitie. 
 Nor did y e rampant flesh of Beasts 
 E'r reek in his grave simple Feasts; 
 His highest, & his daintiest Dishes 
 Were some modest sober fishes, 
 Meat very correspondent, where 
 Onely water serv'd for beere. 
 Delicious Oiles did never wet 
 His Body with lacivious Sweat, 
 No tender Bath's unmanly heat 
 His hardy skin effeminate. 
 O no ; behold his reverend knee 
 All plated with austeritie, 
 No Camells rigid knee can show 
 More patient Brawne then there doth grow : 
 For on y e Temples Marble Floore 
 So oft he kneel'd, that what before 
 Was tender flesh, is now all one 
 With y e Sacred Pavements Stone. 
 Nay ev'n his forehead you may see 
 Seal'd with y e same Severitie ; 
 Prostration in his Prayers had 
 There y e like impression made, 
 And mark'd him out for one, whose Zeale 
 No wearinesse could ever feele. 
 
 What wonder now, if He no more 
 Can hide his worth as heretofore, 
 
1 86 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Which all y e World that hath but eyes 
 Ingraven in his face descries. 
 Plaine they descry it, & confesse, 
 How much of Heavn it doth expresse : 
 For on their knees all in his way 
 The ravish'd People humbly pray 
 But to kisse y e utmost hemme 
 Of that robe, y' kisseth Him ; 
 That they may their lips therby, 
 And their kisses sanctifie. 
 Nay y e high & sirly Priest 
 Convinced is among y e rest, 
 And his great Right imparts to him, 
 Who a worthier Priest doth seeme ; 
 James may now have leave into 
 The Sacred Oracle to goe, 
 And injoy y e matchlesse glory 
 Of that Noble Oratorie. 
 
 But Winds & Seas more trusty far, 
 And constant then ye People are ; 
 And no Nations ever use 
 Such shamelesse Treason as y e Jews. 
 Jews admire & love to day 
 Him, whom to morrow they can slay ; 
 Jews can with the same lips kisse Thee, 
 Which by & by shall taunt & hisse Thee. 
 Jewish Mouths can speak all good 
 Of Thee, & forthwith suck thy Blood. 
 
 'Twas now their Passover, a Feast 
 In which a Lambs blood was y e best 
 That should be shed, but cursed They 
 Humane veins will ope to Day 
 JESU'S Name cSc Doctrine still 
 Perverse Jerusalem did fill 
 With zealous Rage, w ch will not see 
 How Maries Son the Christ can be. 
 James therfore now must plainly show 
 Whither He thinks Him so or no, 
 And from y e Temples Battlement 
 His full opinion represent. 
 
S. James Bp. of Jerusalem 187 
 
 Fooles ! & what can James professe 
 But truth of Him, who is no lesse 
 Then Truth it Selfe ? He knows full well 
 How on this very Pinnacle 
 His Master did that Foe subdue 
 Who from Hells bottome thither flew. 
 Him therefore He proclaimes aloud 
 And his great Truths to all y e Crowd : 
 JESUS IS GOD cries He, & this 
 Temple's his Fathers House, & His. 
 Jesus, whom on y e Crosse you nayld, 
 Dy'd, but over Death prevaild, 
 And laden with Hells spoiles is gone 
 Home unto his heavnly Throne. 
 
 At this th' impatient People crie 
 Intolerable Blasphemie ! 
 Downe with him from that Holy Place 
 Which he profanes : The Law doth passe 
 His capitall Sentence ; Throw him downe 
 Lest We make his Crime our owne. 
 
 Madnes was ready to fullfill 
 The furious Peoples bloody Will j 
 For those above feard not to throw 
 The Martyr downe to them below. 
 Indeed they thought they threw him downe, 
 But helped him upward to his Crowne. 
 Saints by such falls as these rebound 
 To highest Heavns from lowest ground. 
 
 Yet James by this not fully slaine 
 Feeles their furious Spight againe : 
 A Fullers club was soone at hand, 
 And Rage as ready at Command ; 
 With this & that at Him they flie, 
 And in Him at Pietie. 
 First their barbarous ears they stop, 
 Then his reverend Head break ope, 
 And their Monstrous selves they staine 
 With his Blood, and with his Braine. 
 
 The Passover did never know 
 A Lamb so pure & mild as Thou 
 
1 88 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Great Saint but that whose eve did see, 
 
 The Holy Lamb, w ch dy'd for Thee. 
 
 He dy'd for Thee, & Thou againe 
 
 For Him, & for His Truth art slaine ; 
 
 Slaine indeed, but slaine into 
 
 A better Life then this below ; 
 
 A Life, which will exalt Thee higher 
 
 Upon a fairer Temples Spire 
 
 Then whence Thou fell'st, a Temple where 
 
 In Truth is, what's in Shadows heere. 
 
Ascension 
 
 (To a Base & 2 Trebles.) 
 
 LIFT up your Heads great Gates, &: sing, 
 Now Glory comes, & Glories King ; 
 Now by your high all-golden way 
 The fairer Heavn comes home to Day. 
 
 Hark now y e Gates are ope, & heare 
 The tune of each triumphant sphear, 
 Where every Angell as He sings 
 Keeps time with his applauding Wings, 
 And makes Heavns loftiest Roofe rebound 
 The Treasures of this Noble sound 
 
 Hallalujah : 
 Which our poor Tongues shall as they may 
 Restore to them againe & say 
 Hallelujah. 
 
 uSo 
 
A 
 
 scension 
 
 T 
 
 HE time is come 
 
 For Times Great Lord to think 
 of Home : 
 A Home : but not to Him alone, 
 Who goes to find a Mansion 
 For Us, who be 
 As well as he 
 Pilgrims in this wild World of Miserie. 
 
 He goes before 
 To ope the everlasting doore : 
 Come Cherubim^ Resign e, saith He 
 Your flaming Sword & Custodie, 
 
 That Adam may 
 
 Againe to Day 
 Find into Paradise his open way. 
 
 For I must now 
 Keep open House for all below, 
 Who will accept my invitation, 
 And come to this great Preparation : 
 
 My Servants all 
 
 Shall goe & call 
 All Tribes & Nations to this Festivall. 
 
 Sweet Cloud, whose back 
 A Chariot soft & cool did make 
 For our Great Ascendant^ wee 
 This Privelege doe envy Thee. 
 190 
 
Ascension 191 
 
 Were not y e Wings 
 Of Angells, Things 
 More fit to carry home the King of Kings ? 
 
 Yet seing He 
 Is so well content with Thee, 
 Wee, Things as sleight & vaine as Thou, 
 Will take Us pious Courage now ; 
 
 Our Hearts shall raise 
 
 A Cloud of Praise 
 Upon y e soft Wings of our sweetest Layes. 
 
 Thus as We may 
 Will We attend Him in His way ; 
 And as He goes our Song shall move 
 In a tune as high as Love 
 
 Can reach; as high 
 
 As We can flie 
 By stretching up our thankful Fervencie. 
 
 (The Hymn Sett to 5 Parts for voices & violls. by R. C.) 
 
 Halalujah : 
 Hark how y e joy full Heavns rebound 
 The Triumph of this welcome sound : 
 Halalujah. 
 For they 
 To Day 
 Shall repossessed be 
 Of what makes Heavn, Joyes Treasurie. 
 
 Halalujah. 
 Ne'r did Triumphant Conquerour wear 
 Spoiles so rich & vast as here : 
 Halalujah : 
 For see 
 How Hee 
 
1 92 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 His Banner stained hath 
 With y e Heart-blood of Hell & Death. 
 
 Halalujah : 
 Great Lord of Life & Death, too meane 
 Is this our World to lodge Thee in : 
 Halalujah : 
 
 Thy Throne 
 Alone 
 Now full as big must be 
 As all y e Heavns capacitie. 
 
 Halalujah. 
 Goe then & may the Aire to Day 
 Its sweetest Gales blow in thy way. 
 Halalujah : 
 And as 
 They passe 
 O let thy gracious Feet 
 Print Blessings on y e Clouds they meet. 
 
 Halalujah. 
 Our long Adieu we take, but yet 
 Not for ever take We it : 
 Halalujah : 
 Farewell 
 Untill 
 We meet againe, for We 
 Doubt not thy bright Returne to see. 
 
 Halalujah. 
 High-mounted on a Cloud wilt Thou 
 Returne as Thou ascendest now : 
 Halalujah : 
 Farewell, 
 Yet still 
 We must have leave to say, 
 No Cloud shall beare Thee all away. 
 
Ascension 
 
 Halalujah. 
 Thy pretious Name & Memorie 
 Inhabitants with Us shall be : 
 Halalujah. 
 
 Our Layes 
 Shall raise 
 Their Noble Praises high, 
 And their Ascension thus supply. 
 
 !93 
 
Whitsunday 
 
 (For a Base & 2 Trebles.) 
 
 BUT now Heavn comes againe y e Same 
 It went, though in another Name 
 It went y e Son, but here 
 It comes y e Comforter. 
 O blest & strange, 
 O sweet exchange ! 
 LOVE has made y e Bargaine even 
 We did but part with Heavn for Heavn. 
 
 Look how y e Stars come showring downe, 
 Ambitious now to be y e Crowne 
 Of Mortall Heads, where they 
 Divided Flames display. 
 
 Sweet Crowns, your shape 
 Was not by hap : 
 Right are the Churches Temples crown'd 
 When cloven Mitres them surround. 
 
 All Babells Tongues and more then they 
 In these sweet Cloven Flames doe play : 
 Which, though Divided, sure 
 Will that Division cure. 
 No feare but now 
 Our Tower may grow 
 High as its Hopes ; y e Church may rise 
 Compleat, & meet y e equall skies. 
 
 194 
 
Whitsunday 
 
 (To a Base & 2 Trebles.) 
 
 FOUNTAINE of Sweets, Eternall Dove 
 Which leav'st thy glorious Perch above, 
 And hov'ring downe, vouchsafest thus 
 To make thy Nest below with Us : 
 Soft, as thy softest feathers, may 
 We find thy Love to Us to Day j 
 And in y e Shelter of thy Wing 
 Obteine thy leave & Grace to sing 
 Halalujah. 
 
 95 
 
T 
 
 Whitsunday 
 
 (To a Base & 2 Trebles.) 
 
 HY heavnly Kingdome heere below 
 Now like it selfe Dear Lord doth show, 
 And needs no Metaphor to tell 
 How Loftie Things beneath can dwell ; 
 Now thy Celestiall Flames are hither sent 
 To light y e Stars of Earths new Fermament. 
 
 How bright they shine ! Brave Stars whose Light 
 Spreads Day upon y e Face of Night ! 
 And gilds y e furthest Shades, which lie 
 Hid from y e Upper Heavns great Eye. 
 Coasts to y e glaring Sun unknowne shall say, 
 Welcome Sweet beams of bright Religious Day. 
 
 These Heavn's thy Glory shall declare, 
 And with thy Prayses fill y e Aire, 
 The Tongue of this Great Day shall send 
 Thy Name unto y e Worlds vast end. 
 
 Where e'r it lists this Spirit shall blow, & find 
 
 Its Chariot on y e Wings of every Wind. 
 
 196 
 
Whitsunday 
 
 (To a Base & 2 Trebles.) 
 
 TUNE We our Heart strings high, 
 And to the Heavnly Dove 
 As we are able, flie 
 On Vocall Wings of Love. 
 To Him our Thanks and Prayses pay 
 In all the Tongues He gave to Day. 
 
 197 
 
Whitsunday 1644 
 
 WHAT though the Fiends have chang'd their Place, 
 Though Shamelesse Hell dare show its face 
 So big & black in our sad sphear 
 And stare 
 Upon the Sunne ? though War 
 Its bloody Mouth doth ope 
 Threatning to swallow Hope 
 Almost y e onely Relict that 
 Is undevoured ? Yet must we not 
 Betray 
 That little mighty stay 
 Seing This is Comforts Holy-Day. 
 
 When Truth went home, He left behind 
 The Word, which now so true we find ; 
 The Comforter PI send, sayd He ; 
 And we 
 
 This Feast of Comfort see. 
 
 To Day the Comforter 
 
 Broke from his loftie Sphear 
 And brought his sweet Omnipotence 
 To conquer feares, & chase them hence. 
 And though 
 
 Dangers still swarme below, 
 They'r but to trie our Courage now. 
 
 The Comforter will not deny 
 Matter for Faith & victorie : 
 Nor could He be a Comforter 
 If heere 
 198 
 
Whitsunday 1644 199 
 
 No Enemies did appeare. 
 
 Tis our advantage now 
 
 That Hee does Foes allow, 
 Who allwayes ready is at hand 
 To conquer what doe Us withstand. 
 Doe Yee 
 
 But dare to fight, says He, 
 And if you faile complaine of Mee. 
 
 How should We faile, Dear Lord, when thy 
 Allmighty Hand does Strength supply? 
 Had We but Faith in this Great Day, 
 Dismay 
 
 Would vanish quite away. 
 
 O win our Soules, & wear 
 
 The Spoiles Thou come'st for heere : 
 Help Us to fix our Trust in Thee, 
 So shall our greatest Conflicts be 
 An Art 
 
 To exercise each part, 
 But most of all to breathe our Heart. 
 
 So shall this happy Exercise 
 Be but a Trade of Victories ; 
 And whilst one hand does fight, y e other 
 Shall gather 
 
 Balmes for his conquering Brother : 
 
 Which both of them shall bring 
 
 To Thee their mighty King : 
 And at thy Feet shall throw them downe, 
 Being not theirs, but all thine owne. 
 Poore Wee 
 
 Can never Victors be 
 Unlesse by thy Sole Potencie. 
 
Trinitie Sunday 
 
 (For a Base & 2 Trebles.) 
 
 FOND Syllogismes, in vaine 
 You arme your Propositions Three 
 Against Religious Trinitie. 
 
 Alas, what need you straine 
 To run so mad with Reason, & excell 
 In wrangling all your Masters into Hell. 
 
 Must Faith & Heavn goe learne 
 
 Reason of Arius ? Must y e Son 
 
 Be God no longer then Art can 
 
 The Mysterie discerne, 
 
 And by pure Demonstration teach y e Eye 
 
 How th' Angles in the Eternall TRIGON lie ? 
 
 Fooles, we would not maintaine 
 Our ONE in THREE, & THREE in ONE, 
 If your best Demonstration 
 Could wisely it explaine. 
 No : Tis a Mysterie, & shall ever quell 
 Both Arius, & all other Gates of Hell. 
 
 Come Faithfull Hearts & sing : 
 All Saints & Angells will conspire 
 To fix y e Consort of your Quire : 
 They know your Mystik King : 
 And in their everlasting Anthems crie 
 (Chorus) Thrice HOLIE HOLIE HOLIE TRINITIE. 
 
 200 
 
Trinitie Sunday 
 
 HOW well This dawns next that illustrious Feast, 
 Which brought y e Heavnly Dove from his high Nest ! 
 The whole yeare did proclaime the Father's Name, 
 Christmasse y e Sons, & Pentecosts Sweet Flame 
 The Sweeter Spirit : How 'twas time that We 
 This TRIPLE ONE is one Dayes Unitie 
 Should celebrate : time that our Triumphs now 
 Full Catholik & Orthodox should grow : 
 Time that our Joyes be Mysticall & high, 
 Learning in one devout Loveknot to tie 
 A Trinitie of Feasts. Hence faithlesse Yee 
 Whither of Arius long-damned stock ye bee, 
 Or of y e later but the ranker Weed, 
 Which taints y e Churches Garden, goe & feed 
 On your drie Syllogismes, & with your stout 
 And witty impudence still face it out 
 That they much sweeter & more wholesome be 
 Then Angells Bread the HOLY TRINITIE. 
 Leave Us our Sweets, & call them, if you will 
 Fooles Paradise : We are contented still 
 With Truth and Blisse on any termes ; & though 
 We seem such easy credulous Fooles to you, 
 JESUS to Us is wisdome made, Evn He 
 Who is the wisdom of Eternitie. 
 Nor shall those Serpents Hises, whose fell Toungs 
 Lurk under yours, disturbe our faithfull Songs : 
 That everlasting Mystik harmonie. 
 Whose sweetnes dwelleth in y e TRINITIE, 
 Invites our Musiks eccho ; & this Feast 
 Of DIVINE CONSORT fits an Hymne y e best. 
 20 1 
 
20 2 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 HYMNE 
 
 (To be sung \v th three voices.) 
 
 I PART 
 
 Xs. i. A SK not how the thing can be, 
 
 ;a 
 
 2. J~\ But adore the Mysterie 
 
 3. THREE IN ONE ch A ° r - & ONE IN THREE. 
 
 Xs. 1. Faiths Eye does not double see, 
 
 2. But treble, yet in Unitie 
 
 3. Seeing ONE ch A ° r ' it seeth THREE. 
 
 Xs. 1. The Sacred Knot's the Deitie 
 
 2. Tied up close in Unitie 
 
 3. Yet tied up ch A ° r ' in Persons THREE. 
 
 2D PT. 
 
 Xs. O TRIPLE UNITIE 
 We humbly offer Thee 
 
 One Songs A ' Triplicitie. 
 
 Xs. As Thou art One A ' may We 
 
 All One together be, 
 
 And One at length with Thee. 
 
 So shall our harmonie 
 By no time measured be, 
 But by Eternitie. 
 
Trinitie Sunday 203 
 
 3D PT. 
 
 Xs. For when this brittle voice shall be 
 Cracked by our Mortalitie, 
 Cho. Our Hearts shall cleerer sing to Thee : 
 
 Xs. When hence we are released to see 
 The beams of thy Divinitie, 
 Cho. We shall be cheerlyer being free. 
 
 Then next thy Angells Harmonie 
 Our Prayses shall resound to Thee 
 Which We will tune by their high Key 
 Halalujah. 
 
S. Philip f Deacon 
 
 June 6 
 
 FAITH, thou art boundless ; not one Graine 
 Of Thee, but doth more weight conteine 
 Then vastest Mountains : Yet full well 
 Thou In Mens narrow Hearts canst dwell, 
 Which Mystick Cells y e lesse they be 
 And humbler, allways yeild to Thee. 
 The larger roome : 
 Thou lov'st to come 
 To such as these with all thy Noble Traine, 
 And fixing there thy potent Throne doth reigne. 
 
 And Thus of old in Philips breast 
 Thou kept'st thy Court ; so great a Guest 
 We never knew herselfe bestow 
 Under a roofe more poor & low. 
 Yet with such glory didst Thou there 
 On thy commanding Throne appeare, 
 That thy strong hand 
 None dares withstand 
 
 But all Samaria doth acknowledge Thee 
 
 Her best & gentlest Conquerour to be. 
 
 Sturdy Diseases, w ch could dare 
 All Physiks Powers, modest are 
 Before y e face of Philip, and 
 Aw'd by his conquering Command : 
 204 
 
S. Philip y e Deacon 205 
 
 Rather then they with Men will fight 
 Against themselves they'l turne their spight 
 And by & by 
 Grow sick & dy : 
 And well y e Servant Sicknes may destroy, 
 Whose Master lately Death itselfe did slay. 
 
 But these were easy Cures : His Art 
 Wrought cheifely on y e inmost Heart, 
 By Teaching it a Life to live, 
 W ch mortall Seed could never give : 
 A Life w ch might y e First-fruits be 
 And Dawne of Immortalitie. 
 
 He rubs y e rust 
 From off y e Dust, 
 And fairely prints Heavn in its Head : for where 
 JESUS is stamp'd y e sweetest Heavn is there. 
 
 No Thunders Rage so dreadfull is 
 To our most timorous ears as this 
 All-conquering Name appears to those 
 Who are Mans everlasting Foes : 
 They exercise y e utmost skill 
 That could be forg'd & hatch'd in Hell 
 To fortifie 
 Themselves, & trie 
 Whither their Immortall Legions cannot be 
 As strong as one poore Mortall Enemie. 
 
 They trie indeed ; but trie in vaine, 
 Still Philip Victor doth remaine ; 
 And As y e mighty Tempest throws 
 The Sea before 't where e'r it goes ; 
 So doth his Potent Voices Blast 
 Foameing & roaring Spirits cast 
 
 Out from Mens breasts 
 The Proper Nests 
 Of a Mild Spirit : for there should onely dwell 
 The Dove of Heavn, & not these Ravens of Hell. 
 
206 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Black Simon startled much to see 
 The Forces foild, & routed He 
 Had sided with, swells w th Disdaine, 
 And falls to rave & curse amaine : 
 Now all yee Powers below, full well 
 And justly are yee damnd to Hell, 
 If yee whose Pride 
 Did swell too wide 
 For Heav'n, if yee, who feard not to oppose 
 The great Eternall yeild to Mortall Foes. 
 
 Blame not their God ; the Place is due, 
 And they succeed in right to you 
 If they can beat you thus : Poor Fiends, 
 Ev'n We your best & surest Friends 
 Sham'd by your weaknes, shall no more 
 The Deitie of Hell adore ; 
 
 No more shall We 
 Spit Blasphemie 
 Against y e God of Heavn at your Devotion, 
 If Earth can intercept Hells strongest Motion. 
 
 Look how Samaria laughs at Me 
 Conquered by Philips Potencie : 
 Look how great Belzebubs dread Name 
 Shrinks into Nothing at y e fame 
 Of upstart JESUS, whilst we straine 
 And play y e Devills all in vaine. 
 No furie could 
 Have stoutlier stood 
 
 For your accursed Cause, then I have done, 
 
 Nor earn'd a gallanter Damnation. 
 
 And must I now be foold, must I 
 
 Stoop unto any Deitie 
 
 But thine great Lucifer \ & now 
 
 In Spells & charmes I aged grow 
 
 Be thus out-conjur'd by a new 
 
 And not hard Name ? the words, w ch you 
 
S. Philip y e Deacon 207 
 
 Upon my Tongue 
 Did print, were strong 
 
 And dismall barbarous Sounds, but Philip by 
 
 One sweet & easy Name doth them dene. 
 
 Me thinks had I thy Homes & Voice 
 
 Dread Satan, by my Looks & Noise 
 
 I could affright y e Stars, & throw 
 
 The torne Heavns headlong downe below. 
 
 Had I thy doubled-steeled Paws 
 
 And thy long Adamantine Claws. 
 Anew I'd tosse 
 That Christ to's Crosse 
 Where e'r he lurks, nor any Nailes would need 
 To fix Him there, but what my fingers bred. 
 
 For Shame renounce thy baffled Throne 
 
 And let y e Airs Sweet Realme alone 
 
 To Him y fc rules in it ; Goe dwell 
 
 A Coward in y e holes of Hell : 
 
 Thy conquerd Head & Shame goe hide 
 
 In thy old Night, where by thy side 
 Deaths & Despairs 
 Thy Comforters 
 Shall bid Thee welcome home, & make thee be 
 Content with that sole Principalitie. 
 
 Search there y e black Records, & send 
 If thou canst find them, to thy Friend 
 Some choice Receits, & charmes, w ch yet 
 Were never belched from thy Pit : 
 Once more I'l trie for Hell & Thee ; 
 But if I faile, farewell for Mee 
 
 Devills & Feinds, 
 I'l get me Friends 
 
 With Philip ; blame not what you taiight me, Pride ; 
 
 Though against Hell, I'l take y e nobler side. 
 
 Thus vex'd, y e Wizard does his best 
 Great Philips Power to resist ; 
 
208 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 But finds him selfe too weak to fight 
 With holy Faith's Mysterious Might, 
 Which so amazeth him, y l he 
 No longer dares its Enemie be : 
 He yeilds, & cries 
 I sacrifice 
 My black & weak Profession to the Light, 
 Which from y e Crosse doth break so strong & bright. 
 
 Victorious Saint, thus at thy Feet 
 Convinc'd & conquerd lies y e Great 
 Champion of Darknes ; Heare how He 
 Beggs for his better Life of Thee. 
 Grant Him his Prayer, & drench Him in 
 The Fountaine purgative of sin ; 
 
 The Fount, w ch will 
 Quench all y e Hell 
 That flam'd in Him ; unlesse releas'd in vaine 
 He throws Himselfe into y e Fire againe. 
 
S. Barnabas 
 
 Acts 14 
 
 TIS not so poore a thing to be 
 Servants to Heavn, Deare Lord, & Thee 
 As Earth would make it ; no not heere 
 In thy Humilities low Sphear ; 
 Not heer where scoffings & Disgraces 
 Use to be heaped on their faces, 
 As on thy blessed Selfe they were 
 When Thou didst breathe, & grace our Aire. 
 Through thine owne humble veile there broke 
 Sometimes such Noble Beams as spoke 
 The Sun within : Let Tabor be 
 Witnesse to this faire Veritie. 
 Thus didst Thou prove Thy Selfe j & thus 
 Assert'st thy Saints illustrious 
 By Glimpses of that Glory Thou 
 Aforehand dost on Them bestow. 
 
 This royall Splendor faire did rise 
 In all y e wondring Lystrians eyes, 
 Whilst they beheld what Power there was 
 Dwelling in Paul & Barnabas : 
 One, who since first he came into 
 The world, in it could never goe 
 On Natures errands, leapeth now, 
 And feeles his feet obedient grow 
 To Pauls command : No Lamenesse dares 
 Be lame, where so great Power appeares. 
 But, let what weakness will say nay, 
 Forthwith finds legs to run away. 
 
 209 p 
 
210 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Away that runs, & in its roome 
 The ravish'd People crowding come : 
 Great Names of Gods (though Gods alas 
 Lesse reall then those Names) did passe 
 For current in their Pagan Creed : 
 But now, say they, we have no need 
 Of perblinde Faith, who cleerly see 
 Naked & plaine Divinitie 
 Walking & working heer ; nor shall 
 Those vocall masks, y e Names of Paul 
 And Barnabas, snatch from our Eyes 
 Our Two Omnipotent Deities : 
 Paul is not Paul, but noble He 
 Is y e most eloquent Mercuric ; 
 And Barnabas no lesse then Jove 
 Father of all y e Gods above. 
 For Gods they are though clothed in 
 The Garb & countenance of Men. 
 
 Now comes y e Priest of Jove, & brings 
 His fattest finest Offerings, 
 Selected Oxen, & y e Pride 
 Of every beauteous Garden, tye'd 
 In dainty Garlands, so to please 
 And welcome their grand Deities. 
 And who shall heer forbid, says He, 
 Great Jupiters High Priest to be 
 True to his Office, & to day 
 Unto his God his homage pay ? 
 
 Why that will We, cry They, for whom 
 This Pompe & Sacrifice is come. 
 Behold we rend our clothes, & know 
 Our Hearts are wounded more then so, 
 To think that you should Us adore, 
 Who are as brittle & as poore 
 Dust as your Selves ; & Him neglect, 
 Whom We, you worship so, respect 
 As onely God & greater far 
 Then your greatest Jupiter. 
 A God that made both Him & you, 
 Both Things above, & Things below, 
 
S. Barnabas 211 
 
 A God whose Clouds doe drop on Us 
 A seasonable fruitfullness, 
 And wet Joves rotten Grave, from whom 
 You needs will dreame y e Raine doth come. 
 Alas we were more Lame than He, 
 Whom heer We heal'd to day could be 
 Untill our God helped us j & now 
 That onely God we preach to you. 
 
 And thus indeed our Saints did stay 
 The Peoples Sin j but ope'd a way 
 To greater glory : Noble odds 
 They now have gaind on Pagan Gods, 
 Who might have had, but did despise 
 Ev'n Jupiters owne sacrifice. 
 Thus To be JESUS Servants, speaks 
 More royall Splendor far then breaks 
 Forth from y e most Majestike Throne 
 That Heathen God e'r sate upon. 
 
S. John Baptist 
 
 w 
 
 HEN Nights black houres be almost spent, 
 And her still stealing course is bent 
 To some far West, where Shee doth crowd 
 Behind y e World herselfe to shrowd, 
 The royall Day 
 Doth not straitway 
 In its full grace 
 Supply y e place ; 
 But quick Aurora sweetly faire 
 Stepps in before to trimme y e Aire, 
 Showing ten thousand Roses all before 
 The Suns bright entrance at his easterne doore. 
 
 The Jews thick Night (where y e huge shade 
 Of duskie Ceremonies made 
 Jacobs great Sun descry'd from far 
 Appeare no more than Jacobs Star) 
 When once it grew 
 Mature, & drew 
 Unto its end ; 
 Heavn strait did send 
 An Harbenger to dresse the way 
 With morning Glories for y e Day : 
 The other darksome is to this Days Sun, 
 Nor is Aurora faire compar'd with John. 
 
 212 
 
S. John Baptist 213 
 
 Elizabeth & Zacharie 
 
 Grown old in spotlesse Pietie 
 
 Shall have their yeouth renew'd & turne 
 
 Againe unto their vigorous Morne, 
 
 Whence shall be drawn 
 This glorious Dawne : 
 From such & none 
 But such, may John 
 Derive his Birth ; a Plant so faire 
 Must needs of some choice Root be Heire ; 
 A Stream so pure & holy could not be 
 Issue to any Fount, but Sanctitie. 
 
 Both in y e work & in y e Place 
 Of Holynes y e Business was 
 Reveal'd at first, whilst Gabriel spies 
 Old Zacharie at Sacrifice. 
 
 He spies Him, and 
 Doth silent stand 
 Aside, y l He 
 No stop might be 
 Unto y e reverend Service : but 
 Archangells faces cannot shut 
 Their lustre up so easily ; Zacharies eye 
 Though old & weak, its presence did descry. 
 
 And as an awfull reverence did 
 Through all his joints a trembling spread, 
 Fair Gabriel with a gentle grace, 
 Whilst all Heavn smiled in his face, 
 
 Thus chears y e Saint ; 
 
 No time to faint 
 
 Is this for Thee 
 
 Blest Zacharie, 
 But to grow young & strong againe 
 Strong as thy Noble Prayers, w ch streine 
 And reach Heavns top with Clouds more sweet then those 
 Which from that Incense Altar ever rose. 
 
214 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Strong must Thou grow, & strong shall be 
 The Partner of thy Pietie : 
 Thy Dear Eliza shall bring forth 
 A dearer Son ; in whose great Berth 
 Heavn being far 
 Ingag'd, takes care 
 About his Name, 
 Which wer't y e same 
 With Thine, y e World might take Him for 
 Old Zacharies Issue, & no more : 
 Heavn gives Thee Him, but bids Thee Name him John, 
 For Heavns He is, & not Thy Son alone. 
 
 Be tender therefore how you fashion 
 Heavns blessed Darlings education : 
 No wine nor no strong Drink must gin 
 To kindle dangerous fervour in 
 
 His Sacred Blood : 
 The Virgin Flood 
 Of some chaste Spring 
 Shall dayly bring 
 Supply unto his Cup, that He 
 As pure & chaste as it may be : 
 For in his infant venerable Breast 
 The spotlesse Dove of Heavn will make its Nest. 
 
 God means to come & dwell w th Men 
 But will be nobly usherd in, 
 And sends thy Son before to see 
 His royall way prepared be. 
 
 Hearts are y e path 
 He chosen hath ; 
 And these alone 
 By powerfull John 
 Can conquerd be & force'd to meet 
 All plaine & smoothe their Makers feet : 
 For tis His Privelege fully to inherit 
 Mighty ElicCs most unconquerd Spirit. 
 
S. John Baptist 215 
 
 As strange as was y e Messenger 
 Did this all-glorious News appear. 
 Give leave, Illustrious Angell, cryes 
 Good Zachary, if Doubts arise : 
 Shall worthlesse I 
 Grown old & drie, 
 Againe revive 
 And double live, 
 Fresh in my Selfe, & in a Son 
 So great, so pure, so strange a One ? 
 Surely this Wonder well deserves that Thou 
 Some signe aforehand to my Faith allow. 
 
 Know then, says He, I'm Gabriel, 
 And that my honour is, to dwell 
 Before y e Seat of God, & see 
 The glories of Divinitie. 
 
 Those Spirits, w ch lie, 
 Soar not so high, 
 But groping dwell 
 In lowest Hell 
 Falshoods dark Kingdome : Truth alone 
 Finds roome about the heavnly Throne. 
 Yet take this Signe ; thy Tongue w ch ask'd it, shall 
 Be mute, till Men shall Thee Johns Father call. 
 
 And with this Word, into y e Aire 
 More pure then it, vanishd y e faire 
 And nimble Spirit ; whilst Zacharie 
 Doth after in devotion flie ; 
 
 In praise his Heart 
 Could beare her parte ; 
 But on his Toung 
 Did sit so strong 
 The Silent Signe, that onely now 
 The language of his Pen can show 
 His dear Eliza what had made him dumbe, 
 And what would ope her aged barren wombe. 
 
216 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 ii 
 
 Eliza found the Promise true 
 Which with her Wombe still bigger grew, 
 And to its plenitude did swell 
 Moneth after moneth ; whilst Gabriel 
 Being to goe 
 On busines to 
 A Friend of hers 
 This News inferrs 
 Among y e rest, which Shee w th joy 
 Imbraced, & contriv'd a way 
 How to goe visit, & congratulate 
 Her new revived Cosins pregnant state. 
 
 No sooner was She come, & had 
 Her gentle Salutation made, 
 But strait Eliza's wombe prevents 
 Her Tongues most forward Complements. 
 The Babe, w ch there 
 Lay hid, did heare 
 The Strangers Toung 
 Which sweetly rung 
 Heavn in his ears, & made him know 
 His mighty Lord was neer him now ; 
 He knows those gratious words can speak no other 
 But Heavns and Earths Delight, his Makers Mother. 
 
 Wherefore before Eliza's lips 
 Could let an answer out, He skips 
 With sprightfull joy, & as He may 
 Doth to his Lord his homage pay : 
 Betimes He tries 
 To exercise 
 Himselfe, who was 
 Designed to passe 
 Before Him, & all things prepare 
 As his most faithfull Harbenger : 
 He leaps, & seems to chide y e Wombs delay 
 Which stopt him now from entring on his way. 
 
S. John Baptist 217 
 
 At length y e happy time was come 
 Which did release Him from y e wombe 
 Unto his joyfull Mothers warme 
 Kisses, & soft imbracing Arme. 
 
 Her Friends about 
 Her round, poure out 
 In thousand fashions 
 Of Gratulations 
 Their Joyes & Wishes, every one 
 Blessing y e Mother & y e Son. 
 But when y e Circumcision Morning came, 
 A pretty quarrell rose about his Name. 
 
 His Friends desir'd He might inherit 
 Both his great Fathers Name & Spirit, 
 And in a kind presumption stilde 
 Him Zachary. O no, y e Child 
 
 Is mine, his Mother 
 Cries, & no other 
 'But John shall be 
 His Name : to me 
 Dear is the Name of Zachary, 
 Dear as my reverend Lord, yet I 
 Must have my will ; this Name say I, or none ; 
 Let Him be Zachary 's son, but named John. 
 
 And must We this Sweet Babe, say They, 
 Unto a forrein Name betray ? 
 A Name not heard of yet in thy 
 Old Famous Line and Family. 
 
 Meanst Thou to pluck 
 Him from y e stock 
 Where Heavn hath set him, 
 And not let Him 
 Be come a Root from whence may rise 
 An endlesse Brood of Zacharies ? 
 O let his Father end this quarrell, and 
 May his most reverend Decision stand. 
 
2 1 8 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Content, & what my Lord, says Shee, 
 Does write shall prove a Law to Me. 
 Grave Zachary no sooner takes 
 The Table, but by it He speaks. 
 His name is John. 
 Which scarce was done, 
 But strait He felt 
 All y e Bands melt, 
 Wherin Great Gabriel thus long 
 Had kept close Prisoner his Toung. 
 But now his Mouth flows with his Makers praise 
 And vents his Spirit in inspired Layes. 
 
 The sound of this restored Toung 
 Through all y e Neighbor regions rung, 
 Spreading Amazement all y e way 
 Where e'r it travelled : yet they 
 
 Who heard it, were 
 Roused with fear 
 And wonder, not 
 So much at that 
 As at y e Childs miraculous Fame, 
 Which w th a louder Eccho came 
 And pierc'd their Hearts : what will He prove, say They, 
 Whose Birth through Wonders makes its Noble way? 
 
 Why, He will prove all to be true 
 That Gabriel did of Him forshow, 
 He will not prove a Man for you, 
 Nor for y e Life professd below. 
 
 Betimes He grows 
 Angell, & knows 
 A way to ease 
 His Soule of these 
 So weildy worldly clogs : into 
 The Deserts freedome He can goe 
 Living alone with God, & learning there 
 Of Him how He his Sons way must prepare. 
 
S. John Baptist 219 
 
 He thinks not much to leave behind 
 Those dainty Clothes, w ch lay y e Mind 
 Open & naked : He can wear 
 A suit of harsh, & homely hair ; 
 And so appeare 
 More fine by far 
 In Heavns strait view, 
 Then finest you : 
 A simple Thong girds Him as well 
 As all your massy Belts, w ch swell 
 With Pearle & gold, this being garnished by 
 The richest Gemme, poorest Humility. 
 
 Though for his Portion, He might call 
 Unto you yet He leaves them all, 
 All those soft sweets, w ch may invite 
 Your Learned Palates to delight : 
 From those w ch you 
 Away doe throw 
 In fatt disdaine, 
 He doth refraine 
 As viands too too delicate 
 For Him, who at a cheaper rate 
 Can live & serve his God : poore Locusts are 
 With wilde & casuall Honey, all his cheare. 
 
 And chear enough : No want hath He 
 All whose Desires answered be. 
 No Art of Luxurie can please 
 A Soule with such accomplishd Ease 
 Which sets her free 
 From Slavery 
 Unto this Dust 
 No rampant Lust 
 Flies up & blinds y e Eyes of John, 
 Who Master of Himselfe alone, 
 Can freely yeild what is so fully his 
 Unto His Service, whom to serve is Blisse. 
 
2 20 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 in 
 
 Thus waits He on His God, when loe 
 The wondring World conspires to goe 
 And pay Attendance unto Him, 
 Judea & Jerusalem 
 
 Both leave their home, 
 And Pilgrims come 
 Unto y e Wilde 
 And desert field, 
 Yea Jordan summons all his streame 
 Thither to come & meet w th them ; 
 Such is y e Conflux, y' y e W T ildernesse 
 And that alone no Desert doth confesse. 
 
 The Noble Preacher now begins 
 Battle to bid against those sins, 
 Which fought w th Heavn, & in its way 
 Did thick & Foule obstructions lay. 
 
 Take downe, He cries, 
 Those Mounts which rise 
 So high, & fill 
 Those gaps of Hell, 
 That so a Path all smooth may meet 
 And kisse your Makers gratious feet. 
 Pave all His way with Hearts, but let them be 
 Gentle & soft, for such a One is He. 
 
 Yet if you rugged make his Path, 
 He can be like to it : in wrath 
 Upon you can He trample, and 
 Has Hell & Death at his Command. 
 If you will prove 
 Good wheat, his love 
 And Armes shall be 
 Your Granarie : 
 But if his righteous Fan shall finde 
 You worthlesse chaffe, his Angers winde, 
 Which kindled y e eternall flames, shall cast 
 You headlong in by its all-potent Blast. 
 
S. John Baptist 221 
 
 O turne in time, & with your tears 
 Both quench y* fire, & drowne my fears. 
 Repent, & He will doe so too, 
 Who has decreed to overthrow 
 All y l withstand 
 His mighty hand. 
 Soone will He heer 
 In power appeare 
 And you in Spirit & Fire baptize : 
 O hearken then, & timely wise 
 In Water first baptized be by Me 
 So shall his Baptisme safe & welcome be. 
 
 As Jordans crowding Streames made haste 
 Into y e Sea themselves to cast ; 
 So into his fair channell now 
 All The converted People flow, 
 
 Hasting to drench 
 Themselves, & quench 
 Their thirsty Fire, 
 Whose brave Desire 
 Burnt all for Baptisme ; now no more 
 Trust They their Ceremonious store 
 Of Legall Washings, which themselves did grow 
 So foule, that now 'twas time to wash them too. 
 
 Startled at this the High Priests take 
 Advice about y e Point, & make 
 Upon debate a Joint Decree 
 To send Ambassadors, & see 
 
 What was this John ; 
 Whither that Great One, 
 On whom they had 
 So long time fed 
 Their highest Hopes, their deare Messias, 
 Or the miraculous Elias 
 Or some selected Prophet ; for no lesse 
 By his great Fame could they collect, then this. 
 
222 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 No, none of these, says He, am I ; 
 I am y e Voice sent out to crie, 
 Make strait y 6 Way, & clear y e room 
 That God unto his World may come. 
 Though Mighty He 
 Comes after Me, 
 Yet does He too 
 Before Me goe ; 
 As far before, as He could be 
 Ev'n By compleat Eternitie. 
 And I poor worme unworthy am to loose 
 Ev'n but y e latchet of my Makers shoes. 
 
 Peace humble Saint, for He must be 
 Immediately baptiz'd by Thee. 
 The more unworthy Thou dost deeme 
 Thy selfe, y e worthyer dost Thou seeme 
 To Heavn & Him; 
 Who on y e brimme 
 Of Jordan now 
 Himselfe doth show, 
 And wooe's thy Hand to wash him there, 
 j O no, cries John, Deare Lord forbeare, 
 How can pollution wash such Puritie ? 
 All need have I to be washd clean by Thee. 
 
 And so Thou shalt : Yet say not no, 
 Now thy great Lord will have it so. 
 Humilitie if once it side 
 With Disobedience, swells to Pride. 
 He needs not be 
 Washed by Thee, 
 But means to make 
 Thy Hands partake 
 Of nobler Puritie, whilst They 
 In washing Him his Will obey ; 
 Whilst on that Sacred Head they water poure, 
 Which Gods owne hand had dew'd w th Oile before. 
 
S. John Baptist 223 
 
 Now willing growne, yet trembling too 
 About his great Work He doth goe ; 
 A Work so royall & so High 
 As might Archangells dignifie, 
 
 Yet deignd to none 
 But humble John, 
 His Hands w ch were 
 More pure & faire 
 Then Jordans silver flood, he fills 
 With it, & then with reverence spills 
 Itton y e Head of JESUS '; & before 
 His venerable feet his Soule doth poure. 
 
 IIII 
 
 This Busines done to Court He goes, 
 A fitting Match to deal w th Those 
 Illustrious high borne Sins, w ch there 
 In silks & Gold doe domineere ; 
 
 And which sometime 
 Are seen to climbe 
 Up to y e Throne 
 And reigne alone 
 Both over Prince & People too ; 
 And Herods Court was tainted so : 
 The Tetrarch rules y e numerous Multitude 
 Whilst by no fewer sins He is subdue'd. 
 
 But John, who no displeasure feares, 
 But His, whose Throne's above y e Sphears 
 Dares bid y e Prince beware how He 
 Offends an higher Majestic 
 
 Herod give eare, 
 Says He, & heare 
 What word to Thee 
 Heavn sends by Me. 
 Tis not thy Kingdome that can buy 
 Thy Brothers Bed : O why should thy 
 Fond lust, & old Herodias dearer be 
 Then thy Gods Law, & thine owne Soule to Thee ? 
 
224 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Unto thy choise indulgent Heavn 
 The fullnes of y e world hath given, 
 Nor is Herodias alone 
 The Noble & y e beauteous One : 
 A lawfull Love 
 As sweet may prove ; 
 And blesse thy Bed 
 With nobler Seed. 
 Could all y e world no Females show 
 But that Herodias, yet Thou 
 Must not have Her : but now thy choise is free, 
 Take Thee some other Queen, & prosperous be. 
 
 What fire so fierce as that of Lust 
 When into furie it doth burst ? 
 Is Herod King, & must He be 
 Bridled by such a Thing as He ? 
 
 What, must a young 
 Poor Preachers Toung 
 Limit his Love ? 
 Must He remove 
 Out of his Breast his dearer Heart 
 And Him, & his Herodias part ? 
 Forbid it all my Might, & Kingdome, cries 
 The Prince : The Saucy Preacher surely dies. 
 
 Whilst in his Breast this furie burnes, 
 Into his Minde y e thought returnes 
 How bright in all y e Peoples eyes 
 Johns Sanctitie & Name did rise. 
 To murder him 
 Whom they did deem 
 A Prophet, might 
 Their Zeale incite 
 To flat Rebellion, & y e King 
 Unto a lost Condition bring : 
 Yea They perhaps, what He had preached, by force 
 Might execute, & hasten a Divorce. 
 
S. John Baptist 225 
 
 Yet must not He escape, nor I 
 Be Prince in vaine, still He shall die, 
 Though in a Death silent & long : 
 I have a Prison dark & strong, 
 
 Where He shall have 
 
 His larger Grave, 
 
 Whilst I doe live 
 
 And freely give 
 My Soule unto all Joyes in Thee 
 Herodias, my Felicitie. 
 And thus y e zealous Saint imprisoned is, 
 And sent to trie a straiter wildernes. 
 
 Now foolish Herod fearing none 
 To check his lust, goes cheerly on. 
 His Birthday comes, & as if now 
 He liv'd anew, He means to show 
 His Princely Joy ; 
 That merry Day 
 To consecrate 
 To Pompe & State, 
 His Nobles all must feasted be 
 At this his grand Solemnitie. 
 And young Herodias w th her charming dance 
 The entertainements value must inhance. 
 
 The King is set, & set are all 
 
 The Nobles in y e royall Hall. 
 
 In comes y e Nymph & feeds their eyes 
 
 With daintier Varieties 
 
 Then those, w ch were 
 The Tables chear : 
 Her amorous face 
 Beauties owne Glasse, 
 Her robes, y e most accomplishd dresse 
 Of all illustrious Comelinesse : 
 But when her gracefull Dance She measures, all 
 Their Hearts trip after Her about the Hall. 
 
 Q 
 
226 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Filld with delight, like some mad Lover, 
 In a wilde Oath y e King runs over ; 
 By Heavn, He cries, & as I'm King 
 Ask Me, Herodias, any thing ; 
 Challenge of Me 
 If it like Thee 
 Halfe of this Throne 
 I sit upon ; 
 Herod unworthy were to be 
 A Prince, if unrewarded He 
 Let goe thy Merit : say what must I give, 
 In this deep debt thy soveraigne must not live. 
 
 The Younger Witch runs to her Dame, 
 And gives account how Shee did frame 
 Her soft inchantments, w ch did wring 
 This usefull promise from y e King ; 
 All thanks, says Shee, 
 Dear Child, to Me 
 Thou dost restore 
 What I before 
 Gave Thee, ev'n Life ; I now againe 
 Shall live, & like a Queen shall reigne. 
 Ask that bold Preachers Head, & I shall be 
 From all his raylings & aspersions free. 
 
 Back goes y e Dancer, & does pray 
 A Dish of Meat might be her Pay, 
 That she as well as all y e rest 
 Might with her Mother goe & feast. 
 Let Herod now 
 Performe his vow, 
 Cries She, & on 
 His happy Throne 
 For ever flourish ; the Desire 
 Of his poor Handmaid shall aspire 
 No higher then y e wretched Head of John ; 
 This in a Dish I ask, & this or none. 
 
S. John Baptist 227 
 
 Herod starts at y e Word, & tries 
 How He might put on Sorrows guise ; 
 Else it might seem a Plot between 
 Him, & his deep inraged Queen 
 How to betray 
 The saint to Day. 
 Alas, sayes He, 
 Too late I see 
 The rashnesse of my rampant vow, 
 And must be wondrous wicked now 
 That I^may not be so : foule Crueltie 
 Alone from Perjurie can rescue Me. 
 
 All yee, my Lords, are Witnesse how 
 Profound & solemne was my Vow : 
 My Honour & my Honestie 
 Deeply in it ingaged lie : 
 
 could but I 
 With safetie, 
 
 1 would betray 
 Both these to Day 
 
 Rather then John : But now, alas, 
 
 Inslaved to Herodias 
 I'm not my selfe : then fetch his Head ; but say 
 'Twas Rashnes & not Herod Him did slay. 
 
 Yes glozing Tyrant, it is Thou, 
 Who dost pretend, but breakst thy Vow : 
 No more then halfe thy Kingdome was 
 Ingage'd to spruce Herodias : 
 
 Let Her have that, 
 But let her not 
 Incroach & call 
 For more then all. 
 Farr More then all is this, that Shee 
 And angry Lust doe ask of Thee, 
 More then thy totall Kingdome & thy Crowne, 
 The Baptists Head is worth more then thine owne. 
 
228 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Well, be it worth a World, it must 
 Be yeilded to y e Dancers Lust ; 
 Who to her Mother dances in 
 Bearing y e fruit of her bold sin. 
 
 Look heer, she cries, 
 I have y e prize, 
 A Dish I bring 
 You from y e King 
 Wheron your eyes, your Heart, your Spight 
 May feed with uncontrolld delight. 
 Madame be free, loe ev'n y e Preacher now 
 Your pleasure serves, & to your Will doth bow. 
 
 Mock not, Herodias. Rescue'dy^w 
 From both his Prisons now is gone 
 Unto a Feast more Princely far 
 Then Herod has provided heer ; 
 
 Thou hast made this 
 Birthday prove His 
 The Day, y l sends 
 Saints to their ends 
 Opes them a new Nativitie 
 Unto a Life, that cannot die. 
 John lives to day, nor dost Thou dance alone j 
 In Paradise they dance, where John is gone. 
 
 One Dance for Thee is still behind 
 By which Revenge thy Crime will find : 
 The Ice perfidious to Thee, 
 But unto Justice true shall be, 
 
 When it shall catch 
 Thy neck, & snatch 
 Its Head away, 
 Which there shall play 
 And dance a tragik Measure on 
 That fatall Pavement : then shall Joh7i 
 W th greater glory view Thee from his Sphear, 
 Then Herod at his Feast beheld Thee heere. 
 
S. Peter 
 
 TRUE, 'tis thy time foule Nero ; Thou 
 Mayst be more then Devill now, 
 And venture on this Saint, w ch Hell 
 Hath often felt & fear'd : full well 
 This Work thy monstrous Hand doth fit, 
 Which blusheth not itself to wet 
 In thine owne Mothers Heart, & write 
 The King of Tyrants, just & right 
 It is y e Emperour should see 
 His conquerd God revenged bee : 
 Now thy bruised Simon dies 
 This other Simons Sacrifice j 
 It will become Thee Him to slay 
 Who of thy God hath won y e Day. 
 
 Foolish Tyrant, dost Thou know 
 What Thou art about to doe? 
 Know'st Thou that Thou takst away 
 Not thy Tutor Seneca, 
 But y e Worlds great Master, One 
 On whom y e education 
 Of greater Things then Thou depends, 
 One, whose school it selfe extends 
 Much further then thy Empire, by 
 Thy stoutest Eagles wings could fly? 
 Knowst Thou that thine owne hand shall be 
 The ladder, by whose Service He 
 To Heavn shall climbe, who but ev'n now 
 Thy soaring God pulld downe so low ? 
 Thither shall He climbe & yet 
 Leave firm & sure his reverend Seat ; 
 229 
 
230 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 For thy proud Rome shall see his Throne 
 Flourish, when thine is dead & gone. 
 
 What though He but a Fisher be ? 
 Illustrious is his Trade, for He 
 Useth no bait, but what is more 
 Worth, then this Imperiall store : 
 His Hook's a noble Crosse, & this 
 With a Kingdome baited is ; 
 Eternall Crowns are fastned on it ; 
 Blisse & all Heavn hang upon it ; 
 Doe Thou thy Selfe but Bite, & He 
 Can catch, & thither draw up Thee. 
 
 Yet if His Blood be all that thy 
 Desire does thirst for, He can Die : 
 He can Die with more delight 
 Then Thou canst Live : thy fiercest Spight 
 Can mingle no such deadly Cup 
 But He can thirst to drink it up, 
 And find Life in its bottome : He 
 Counts it but Death to Live w th Thee, 
 Seing his Lord & Life long since 
 Was returned home from hence. 
 
 And hearty thanks He gives unto 
 Thy furie, which contrives it so, 
 That by y e same illustrious step 
 After his Lord He may goe up. 
 Had He his choise of all thy store 
 Of Torments, none would tempt Him more 
 Then this fair Crosse, w ch bounteous Thou 
 On his Ambition doth bestow, 
 Who would not halfe so willing be 
 To climbe thy Royall Throne w th Thee. 
 
 This is that Tree, w ch reacheth up 
 To highest Heavns its Noble Top ; 
 Whose boughs through all y e world doe spread, 
 And a wholesome shadow shed ; 
 Whose foot tramples y e Head of Hell, 
 And all its envious Powers doth quell : 
 The Tree, w ch bare no fruit but God 
 When in Calvarie it stood. 
 
S. Peter 231 
 
 Look now how rare Humilitie 
 Plucks back y e Saint from this fair Tree : 
 This Altar is too great, He cries, 
 For so mean a Sacrifice ; 
 My Masters Throne of Torment is 
 Too Royall for my Worthlessnesse : 
 Were some Cherub here to die, 
 This Ingine Him would dignifie ; 
 Alas any unhonourd way 
 Of Death would serve poor Me to slay ; 
 The best of Crowns, dear Martyrdome 
 Though in y e meanest Shape it come, 
 Will bring sufficient Glory. Yet 
 If needs I must aspire to it, 
 May I have leave to show that I 
 Desire'd not in this Pompe to die : 
 So hang Me that my Head below 
 Its dying Kisses may bestow 
 Upon the reverend foot of this 
 Great Seat my Master once made His. 
 None but this fashion can agree 
 With my unequall Dignitie ; 
 When their Kings honours Servants crowne 
 Tis fit y e upside should be downe. 
 
 Thou hast thy Wish, meek Saint, to this 
 Request y e Tyrant liberall is ; 
 And smiles that He has learnd to day 
 To Crucifie a new found way. 
 Now doe thy feet point to y e Place 
 Whither Thou must straitway passe ; 
 And turned quite away art Thou 
 Allready from all Things below ; 
 A sweet Advantage by thy new 
 Torment doth to Thee accrew, 
 Which with thy humble Project's even 
 Now Thou lookest downe to Heavn. 
 
 Heaven a Place to Thee well knowne 
 Into whose hand y e Keys were throwne, 
 A Place w ch will to Thee restore 
 Thy Heart lodgd there so long before ; 
 
232 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 A Place much higher, Nero, then 
 
 He is falln below a Man. 
 
 A Place, where Thou shalt meet w th thine 
 
 And with Heavns Blisse, y e most Divine 
 
 Eyes of JESUS, from whose Beames 
 
 The Way of Life & Glory streames. 
 
S. James y e Apostle 
 
 S. Marc. i. 19-20. 
 
 LOVE walking once by y e sea side 
 A knot of busy Fishers spide : 
 And why may I not fish, said He, 
 Who made the Fishes, & y e Sea ? 
 Good reason Mighty Love that Thou 
 Where Thou dost please thy bait shouldst throw 
 And happy They, who can but be 
 A free & willing Prey to Thee. 
 
 O what commanding Power doth wait 
 Upon thy more then golden Bait ! 
 How instantly doth James forget 
 The mending of his broken Net, 
 And finds y 4 He needs more to be 
 Mended, & made whole by Thee ! 
 No sooner did thy blessed Call 
 Ring in his Heart, but, Farewell all, 
 Cries He, & welcome more then so ; 
 I to a greater Sea must goe, 
 A Sea of Bliss & Joy w ch I 
 Now standing on y e Shoar descry. 
 Dear Sire, bear w th this short Adieu, 
 Loe there my Father more then you ; 
 He, who on you did Me bestow 
 Calls for his owne, & I must goe. 
 
 Goe gentle Soule, & Captive be 
 Unto y e best of Libertie. 
 A fairer Ship then this Thou leav'st 
 Thou by a blest exchange receiv'st : 
 
 233 
 
234 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 The Holy Church a Vessell is 
 
 All built & riggd, & fraught w th blisse : 
 
 Thou shalt a fishing goe againe, 
 
 But in y e Worlds more Noble Maine, 
 
 And learned in thy Masters Art, 
 
 Catch such as is thine owne soft Heart ; 
 
 Untill mistaken Herods hand 
 
 Shall draw thy labours unto land, 
 
 And drive Thee w th his murdring Sword 
 
 To Lifes fair Shoar, to thy Dear Lord. 
 
S. Bartholomew 
 
 SURELY this Gold's but Earth, although 
 Through throngs of Tempests it can draw 
 The greedy West 
 Into y e East 
 And make y e Ocean crowd into 
 The Mouth of Inde : And will none goe 
 To finde a Prize more golden then 
 That glittering Ore, th' eternall Soules of Men ? 
 
 Yes, here's a Merchant ready ; He, 
 Were India more Worlds off, can be 
 
 Content to passe 
 
 Them all : He has 
 A fairer gale then ever from 
 The Mouth of any Winde did come ; 
 Full in his Sail God's Spirit blows, 
 And not to fetch, but carry Gold, he goes. 
 
 If Gold be not a Name too poor, 
 To print upon his Noble store ; 
 
 The pretious Wares 
 
 He thither bears 
 Are genuine Peace, & boundlesse Blisse, 
 And Loves, & Joyes, & Paradise : 
 For these & more inshrined lie 
 In JESU'S Name, Heavns best Epitomie. 
 
 235 
 
236 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 With this He trades, yet not to make 
 Him selfe, but India rich : Come take 
 
 Your choise, He cries, 
 
 In this great Prize ; 
 Indeed tis richly worth much more 
 Then all your idolized Ore ; 
 But you may goe on Trust for this, 
 Give' but your Faith, & yours y e Treasure is. 
 
 His market thus in India done, 
 Unto Armenia He doth run 
 
 To traffique there 
 
 With y e same ware. 
 A Braver Merchant ne'r did come 
 Into those parts ; & there were some 
 That dealt with Him, who quickly thrive 
 Getting wherwith eternally to live. 
 
 But having undertook to make 
 His Chapmen Kings, y e King doth take 
 High discontent 
 To hear Him vent 
 Doctrines so bold ; No more, cries He, 
 Of your Christs Kingdome ; there shall be 
 In my Armenia but one 
 And thats mine owne undoubted lawfull Throne. 
 
 The Gods by whose assistance I 
 Ascended to this Royaltie 
 
 Are Gods enough : 
 
 I can allow 
 Thy uselesse Christ no room, & yet 
 Thy selfe maist for some use be fit. 
 Say Slaves, will He not serve to flea ? 
 Though He be naught, yet good his skin may be. 
 
 Mistaken Tyrant, what canst Thou 
 And this thy tardy Torment doe? 
 
 Long since our Saint 
 
 Without constraint 
 
S. Bartholomew 237 
 
 Threw off y e Worlds unworthy skins 
 The foolish furniture of Sins ; 
 Yea & y e Flesh : what matter then 
 For Him to lay aside his weary Skin ? 
 
 Take then thy most unconquerd Prey ; 
 And for y e skin Thou pluckst away 
 Array Him round 
 With one great Wound : 
 Trie if thy Spight can boundlesse prove 
 As are His Patience & his Love : 
 Send Him more naked hence then He 
 Came hither at his first Nativitie ; 
 
 So ! now far fairer then before, 
 He sparkles in his glorious Gore 
 As y e stript Sun 
 The Clouds being gone 
 Though naked yet more beauteous is 
 By that illustrious Nakednes, 
 Having no shame to hide, w ch may 
 Beholding be to some more spruce array. 
 
 What e'r y e stupid Tyrant think, 
 The wiser Devills back doe shrink, 
 
 And dare not look 
 
 On this red book 
 The Saints owne Rubrick, or once come 
 Neere so strong Beams of Martyrdome, 
 But wish a thousand times y e skin 
 Were on y e Noble Martyrs back agin. 
 
 No ; let y e King this token keep 
 That he did slay y e harmelesse Sheep : 
 
 Heavn will provide 
 
 A Robe to hide 
 The Saint ; faire Immortalitie 
 Into a garment fram'd shall be, 
 A garment full & fit, whose hue 
 Though ever worne, keeps ever fresh & new. 
 
238 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Goe then, Great Saint, unto thy Place 
 Much richer then thy India was, 
 
 A Place too high 
 
 For Tyranny 
 To reach Thee thence : there shalt Thou see 
 The Crowne & Throne prepard for Thee, 
 Who to be sure to enter in 
 At Heavns strait Gate, didst first put off thy skin. 
 
S. Matthew 
 
 OLOVE Thou art Almighty ! This 
 Sole Day can prove Thee so, w ch is 
 Not onely Matthews, but from thence 
 The Feast of thy Omnipotence. 
 Thy single Word did not to day 
 Blow sturdy Mountains far away, 
 Or cite y e East into ye West, 
 Or fright y e Centre from its Nest ; 
 But more then so, draw from its Seat 
 The Publican, about whose feet 
 Hung cloggs of Gold : cloggs heavier far 
 Then Centres, Worlds, or Sorrows are, 
 Except those Griefs w ch hung on Thee 
 When Thou wert hung on Calvarie. 
 How safe did Matthew sit upon 
 The most inchanting thriving Throne 
 Of constant Gains, w cb with full tide 
 Came crowding in on every side, 
 And onely bid Him ope his Chest 
 To let it in ! How amply blest 
 Would thousands write themselves, if they 
 So cheaply could such wealth injoy, 
 Though more then one Damnation were 
 Tie'd in its Traine ! But LOVE'S words are 
 Richer then Riches : Matthew now 
 Forgets Golds price, w ch He doth throw 
 With all its hopes away, & choose 
 Bare Povertie as by it goes : 
 For LOVE had put it on, & He 
 No sooner cries come follow Me 
 
 239 
 
240 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 But as a faithful! Eccho to 
 
 The Word, y e ready Saint doth goe. 
 
 No Scruple, no demurre ; he knew 
 
 Twas LOVE that calld, & LOVE that drew. 
 
 Twas LOVE, & He his Tribute can 
 
 As well as Caesar claime from Man. 
 
Michae/masse 
 
 WHAT though our languid Songs cannot aspire 
 (Justly termd AIRES, because they reach no higher) 
 Yours Noble Spirits, make large supply, 
 Whose loftie Key 
 Doth well agree 
 With Him, whose Name you eccho, the MOST HIGH. 
 
 The TRIPLE ONE & UNDIVIDED THREE, 
 In your mysterious Consorts Unitie 
 
 For ever sounds, whose gallant praise 
 
 As you chant there 
 
 All Heavn you chear 
 And make it, & its Stars dance roundelays. 
 
 Whither some Seraphik, or Cherubik Throats 
 Lead up y e ravishing Verse in Single Notes, 
 Before y e full Quire thunders in : 
 
 Or whither all 
 
 Together fall 
 Upon y e Song, the Musik still doth win, 
 
 It wins y e ear, & wins y e favour too 
 Of Him, whom all your loud TRISAGUIMS doe 
 Strive to extoll : HE all things made 
 That Prayses they 
 To Him might pay, 
 And best likes those, who follow best their Trade. 
 
 241 R 
 
2^2 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Close doe you follow it, while ravishd by 
 Your owne exstatic Notes, your Soules doe flie 
 Along w th them, untill they beat 
 Strongly upon 
 Gods Mighty Throne 
 And so rebound againe unto their Seat. 
 
 By this sweet intercourse your Hearts doe goe 
 In glorious pleasure trading to & fro : 
 
 And whilst a veil forbids your Eye 
 Your liscense'd Toungs 
 By their free Songs 
 Carry you close unto y e Deitie. 
 
 O happy Yee, whose undisturbed Quire 
 Can be as lasting as your owne Desire, 
 
 And fears not to be silence'd by 
 Mischeivous Zeale 
 Or ever feele 
 A Reformation by Impietie. 
 
 Sing on Sweet Spirits, & pay our common King 
 What We, alas, can onely wish to bring. 
 Yet if We ever doe arrive 
 (As We desire) 
 At your great Quire 
 Wee'l take our Parts, & sing as long's We live. 
 
 For many a Place We know there vacant is, 
 Since your false Brethern Sung their Parts amisse 
 And made flat Discord in y e Song. 
 The fault was great, 
 And They unfit 
 Unto y e Quire of Angels to belong. 
 
 Let them & their untuned Genius dwell 
 Deep in y e correspondent Jarrs of Hell : 
 
 But Heavn forbid that your fair Quire 
 
 Imperfect be ; 
 
 Rather may we, 
 And our sad Groans, to your sweet Tunes aspire. 
 
S. Luke 
 
 WHAT though some monstrous Things y t wear 
 Physitians Names, & Looks, 
 And all things but their Books, 
 The onely licence'd Murderers are, 
 Traders in Deaths, w ch They so dear doe sell, 
 That They undoe oftimes before they kell ? 
 
 The Art is Noble still, & can 
 
 Bid Death her distance keep 
 Though Age gins to be steep, 
 And downward bends y e hoary Man: 
 Physik is Lifes Reserve, & can make way 
 For routed Nature not to loose y e Day. 
 
 And in this potent Art our Saint 
 
 A Master was : yet He 
 
 Ambitious is to be 
 
 Skilld deeper yet, & to acquaint 
 
 With Mystik Physik, w ch may both restore 
 
 And make his Patients Live for evermore. 
 
 In y e fair Beds of Paradise 
 
 He searcheth every Place 
 To find each herb of grace, 
 In which most heavnly virtue lies. 
 And makes a Soveraigne Purge, whose Power divine 
 Serves to dense Hearts, & grossest Soules refine. 
 243 
 
244 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 But His cheife Simple is that Tree, 
 Upon whose every Bough 
 And Leaf pure Life doth grow ; 
 And this his JESUS is, whom He 
 Folds up in Papyr, & doth freely send 
 For all sick soules to y e Worlds furthest end. 
 
 No Physik like to Gospell is, 
 Which He himselfe did trie 
 Upon himselfe, & by 
 Its virtue still doth live : Tis this 
 Which purgeth all Corruption, & doth wring 
 The deadly poyson from Deaths conquerd sting. 
 
SS. Simon & Jude 
 
 WHEN LOVE the King of bounty, did 
 Look over all his year, 
 Newfound & glorious things He spread 
 To make it rich & fair. 
 
 He sprinkled on y e foremost Day 
 
 Gemms dugg from his owne veins, 
 
 And gave his foreskin to array, 
 
 And hide y e New years stains. 
 
 Another speciall Day He did 
 
 Paint full & fair all over, 
 For all His Noble Blood He shed 
 
 In Purple it to cover. 
 
 But when His owne dear veins were drie, 
 
 He borrows of his Friends 
 And other Days to dignifie, 
 
 The Martyrs Blood He sends. 
 
 Betimes this privileg'd Day did get 
 
 A rich & double share : 
 Two Noble Casks abroach were set 
 
 To wash & dresse it fair. 
 
 Two rich Apostolike streams did run 
 
 With full & liberall Tyde, 
 And joyning both their floods in one 
 
 In this Days Channell glide : 
 
 245 
 
246 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Upon whose either bank each one 
 
 Their reverend Name did spread ; 
 
 Since when in this Days Stile alone 
 Simon & Jude are read. 
 
All Saints 
 
 THE year although 
 A long & tedious Thing till now 
 Grows scant & narrow, 
 And glad to borrow 
 A cleanly shift, wherby 
 To wait on Pietie. 
 Religion hath outvie'd its Days, & bred 
 More Saints then could with Feasts be furnished. 
 
 For Saints indeed 
 Are not Times flitting brittle Breed, 
 But borne to be 
 Eternallie ; 
 Nor can y e years poor Round 
 Their great Dimensions bound 
 For whom y e fairest Sphears extended be ; 
 Saints must impeople Heavns Immensitie. 
 
 Wherfore seing this 
 One Day for all selected is, 
 
 Let its full Glory 
 Outshine y e story 
 Of all y e year beside, 
 Now grown lesse fair & wide 
 Then these few Hours, the vast Epitomie 
 Of what excelld y e years Capacitie. 
 
 247 
 
248 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 As when We see 
 In one rich Mixtures Unitie 
 
 Each Tribe & kinde 
 Of Sweets combinde, 
 And by Art taught to dwell 
 In one small chry stall cell, 
 Such is y e quintessentiall Confluence We 
 Finde in this single generall Feast to be. 
 
 A Feast of Feasts 
 Where holy Hearts (its onely Guests) 
 Finde every Dish 
 Exceed their Wish : 
 For all y e Morsells be 
 Themselves Feasts, yet agree 
 To shrink their bulke, & so contracted lie 
 In the rich lap of this Festivitie. 
 
 There lie the pure 
 Conserves of Lillies, good to cure 
 An Heart or Eye 
 Thats blemish d by 
 (A smoothe but rankling Rust) 
 The burning Spot of Lust : 
 Some call them Angells, sent to shine below, 
 Others, the Virgin Tribe of flaming Snow. 
 
 Next these, are store 
 Of purple Dainties colourd o're 
 
 With their own juice 
 
 Of speciall use 
 
 To chear the Heart, & make 
 
 It manly courage take. 
 
 These are of sundry sorts, yet all doe come 
 
 From one red Fount of Noble Martyrdome. 
 
 The third Course is 
 Though not so rich in hue as this, 
 Yet full & faire 
 And may compare 
 
All Saints 249 
 
 With that delicious store 
 Which was servd up before 
 For sundry Virtues, as in number farre 
 It them transcends for these Confessors are. 
 
 Illustrious Day, 
 In which y e whole year doth display 
 It selfe, & more ! 
 O may our poore 
 Praises, & poorer We 
 Have leave to wait on Thee. 
 Our vilenesse sure the Saints will not despise, 
 Whose Honour first from Lowlines did rise ! 
 
S. Mary Magdalen s Ointment 
 
 FORBID Her not, nor ask a reason why. 
 She is in Love 
 And means to prove 
 The Sacred Boldnes of LOVES Myste?ie. 
 
 Who asks a Reason why y e Zealous Fire 
 Will owne no Rein 
 Which may restrain 
 
 Her venturous Flames, and say, Ascend no higher ? 
 
 Marie's on fire : and such stout Fire as fears 
 No ocean streams 
 To check its flames, 
 
 Which burnes amidst a Sea of brinie Tears. 
 
 These Waters, & those Flames in Her brave Eyes 
 Both have their Place, 
 Both have their grace, 
 
 And stoutly strive which should the higher rise. 
 
 If Shee will be profuse, oh let Her be. 
 
 LOVE'S mystik Art 
 Knows how t' impart 
 
 Virtue's true grace of Prodigalitie. 
 
 The Box is dear, is not Her Heart so to ? 
 Then let Her choose 
 Which Shee will loose ; 
 
 That, or her Heart must break j LOVE chargeth so. 
 250 
 
S. Mary Magdalen's Ointment 251 
 
 O generous Odours ! Ne'r did Thriftie Love 
 Admirers meet 
 With halfe so sweet 
 
 Perfumes, when saving Prudence her did move. 
 
 Fresh from his Alabaster Prison flies 
 
 The Noble Smell, 
 
 Whose riches fill 
 The sweetned Earth, & reach th' applauding skies. 
 
 Stop Her not now : See how her genuine Fire 
 Takes its true course 
 And with full force 
 
 To Heavn it selfe directly doth aspire. 
 
 For what is Heavn, if not sweet JESU'S head 
 Whose glorious eyes 
 Gild all y e skies 
 
 With purer beams then Phaebu's Look can shed. 
 
 Sweet Sacrifice ! But sweeter Altar far ! 
 
 The Altar where 
 
 This Offerer 
 Doth dedicate her Nard, Gods Temples are. 
 
 What, does this rare Effusion ad a glance 
 
 Of pleasing grace 
 
 To JESU'S face, 
 And make in God a cheerfull Countenance ? 
 
 Sure He approves it well : Engedie's Bed, 
 Or Libanus 
 Ne'r pleasd Him thus, 
 
 Nor Edens Hills, w ch liquid Spices'Jshed. 
 
 Smile all y e Sweets, whose Kindred doth advance 
 You to be nere 
 This Ointment here : 
 
 That rich Relation will your price inhance. 
 
2 $2 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 And Courage Lovers : JESUS will allow 
 Your Noble Passion 
 Immoderation, 
 
 Who was excessive in His Love to you. 
 
 But Thou Brave Woman, & thy pretious Name 
 More sweet then was 
 Thy Nard, shall pass 
 
 And fill th' eternall Mouth of holy Fame. 
 
Lemniscus ad Columnam 
 S. Simeonis Stylitae appensus 
 
 FOR still y e reverend Pillar stands, 
 And all religious eyes commands. 
 Still it stands erected high 
 On fairest Mount of Memorie : 
 High as y e top of highest Glorie, 
 Which writes from hence its noblest Storie. 
 Higher then the PRINCE of FLIES 
 With his swarthy Wings can rise : 
 High as y e flight of soules : as high 
 As LOVE'S illustrious Wing could flie. 
 , As high as is the loftie pitch 
 Lowest Humilitie can reach. 
 No Pillar ever higher stood 
 But that which shin'd w th Gods dear Blood. 
 
 Faire Mark indeed, w ch could invite 
 The earlyest Morne & latest Night, 
 The East & West to leave their home, 
 And into Syria Pilgrims come. 
 Look with what haste huge Torrents straine 
 To crowd themselves into y e Maine : 
 With as full & speedy Tide 
 Nations flow from every side 
 Into this Sea of Wonders. Some 
 To feed their Admiration come: 
 Some for health, some for Protection, 
 Some for Counsell & direction. 
 
 253 
 
254 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Ne'r did so thick Devoto's follow 
 The Oracle of Old Apollo, 
 Though He through all y e World did goe 
 For Physiks God & Wisdomes too. 
 Ne'r could usurping Dieties 
 To such exuberant honour rise, 
 As doth from all Quarters presse 
 JESU'S SERVANTS feet to kisse. 
 
 HIS SERVANT, & no more but so, 
 Is He to whom these Glories flow. 
 Honour turnes Servant unto them, 
 Who faithfull Service pay to Him. 
 If Simeons noble soule disdaine 
 To wait upon y e Worlds proud Traine ; 
 The World shall humble prove, & be 
 Servant to his Humilitie. 
 
 Humilitie layd sure & low 
 Is y e root from whence did grow 
 Those Palms & wreathes, whose thick imbraces 
 Caught Him with the noblest graces 
 Of never sought for Fame. His first 
 Acquaintance with y e World was nurst 
 Among Things like himselfe ; poor Sheep 
 And simple innocent Lambs to keep 
 Was all his young Preferment ; low 
 And mean enough, you'l say ; but know 
 To Him it seemd too high : His Crook 
 Did something like a SCEPTER look, 
 And all his FLOCK like SUBJECTS stand 
 And goe as He changd his Command. 
 Ev'n honours Shades & Emblems are 
 Too fair for his meek Soule to wear. 
 He thinks it work enough to keep 
 Himselfe, whilst others govern Sheep. 
 And all his Wishes onely strive 
 In some safe Fold a Lamb to live. 
 
 No Fold so safe immure'd can be 
 As a Monastik Cell, says He. 
 High mounted on Devotions wing 
 Thither hasts this simple Thing, 
 
Columna S. Simeonis Stylitae 255 
 
 And shrowded in that narrow Nest 
 He shuts out all y e World, y l rest 
 And He more room might get, then now 
 Th' excluded Universe could show : 
 Room to traverse Heavn, & see 
 The Crest of all Sublimitie : 
 Room to lodge all Virtue's Traine, 
 Room his God to entertaine ; 
 Room where all his Forces may 
 Mustered & set in array 
 With confidence bid battle to 
 His & Pieties Mighty Foe. 
 
 Light Skirmages had often past 
 Between these Champions, till at last 
 The Saint resolves about the Spring 
 The utmost of his Power to bring 
 Into y e Field. Twas strange to see 
 What kind of Ammunition He 
 Store'd up against y e Fight : all Lent 
 He in Fortifying spent ; 
 Good store of Faith He did provide, 
 And regarded naught beside. 
 Meat & Drink were things too gross 
 And cumbersome for Him, who was 
 With Spirits to fight : Forty long dayes 
 His silence'd Appetite obeys, 
 Whilst his stout Soule did thrive & feast 
 With one perpetuall perfect Fast. 
 His treacherous Flesh quickly fell downe, 
 All his false Friends away were blowne, 
 His Lusts grew tame, & every Passion 
 To his brave Will it selfe did fashion. 
 Unto his great Designe most true 
 And trusty every Member grew. 
 Thus to y e Combate did He goe 
 Neer as much Spirit as his Foe. 
 
 Simple Foe ! The Plot He layd 
 Is long before the fight betrayd : 
 The World & Flesh, w ch He dispos'd 
 In ambuscado, are disclos'd, 
 
256 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 And y e Poore & pined Saint 
 Victorious is in being faint ; 
 Proving y e Staffe of Bread to be 
 No necessary weapon ; He 
 Without it lives & fights, Gods Word 
 Serves Him for food & for a Sword. 
 No marvell if He conquers, who 
 Makes extream weaknes potent grow, 
 By casting from Him all Defense 
 But onely Gods Omnipotence. 
 Little remains of Simeon ; 
 God fights, & almost God alone. 
 
 This Strategeme found such successe 
 That henceforth He doth professe 
 It as his Trade ; No Spring but He 
 Incounters thus his Enemie ; 
 And whilst He other food denyes 
 Diets Himselfe w th Victories. 
 
 Now twas time no more to dwell 
 In Obscurities dark Cell : 
 Heavn dar'd venture Him abroad 
 In some large & fair Abode, 
 Large as his mighty Soule, & fair 
 As his high Atchievments were. 
 His loftie Theater shall be 
 An emblem of his Constancie, 
 A Pillar stout & tall set forth 
 To y e view of Heavn & Earth ; 
 That mounted in y e Aire on high 
 That Elements Prince He may defie, 
 And Angells, Men, & God may fill 
 Their eyes w th this brave Spectacle. 
 
 Brave Spectacle indeed ! Great Rome 
 Had no such noble sight at home, 
 No Pillar Arch, or Monument 
 Of conquerd Worlds gave such content 
 As this one Column : wherfore Shee 
 With devout Humilitie 
 Its Shadow borroweth, to gild 
 All her Streets, w ch now are filld 
 
Columna S. Simeonis Stylitae 257 
 
 With copied Simeon : every Door 
 Henceforth will ope & shut no more 
 But under His Protection, who 
 Ingraven stands above to show 
 On whose stout Prayers & Charitie 
 Th' Inhabitants within relie. 
 
 And in these senselesse Shapes indeed 
 The Saint might stand long years, & need 
 No reliefe : but how shall He 
 Advance soft Flesh & Blood to be 
 Of Marbles Constitution, and 
 Unmoved as his Pillar stand ? 
 The World now staggers at y e sight, 
 Grows jealous that it sees not right : 
 And One y e Speaker for y e rest 
 Humbly doth y e Saint contest 
 To clear Ages Jealousie 
 And his Temper to descry ; 
 To speak whether his Metall were 
 No other then it did appeare : 
 Whither it were not of y e same 
 Pure cast, whence Heavn did Angells frame, 
 Whose blessed Wings still fann away 
 All y e wearines which They 
 May seem to gather as they flie 
 On Errands round about y e skie. 
 
 A gracefull Blush quickly made good 
 That Simeon guilty was of Blood : 
 And that his Flesh was truly so, 
 A deep ingraven Mark will show ; 
 Which now He could no longer hide, 
 He shews his foot : where loe a wide 
 Mouth of a putrifyed Wound 
 Drops large confession on y e ground. 
 Look heer, says He, how rottennesse 
 Gins Me already to possesse, 
 And judge whither I a Spirit be, 
 Or weaker Worme then these you see, 
 Which on my foot in Triumph pray 
 Unto my Heart eating their way. 
 
258 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 O mighty Patience ! Simeon 
 
 As sure & steady stands upon 
 
 This most vexatious gnawing wound 
 
 As stood his Pillar on y e ground : 
 
 And fighting with Immortall Foes 
 
 Indures from Wormes those piercing Woes, 
 
 If yet they pierce Him, & all sense 
 
 Of Mortall Pains be not long since 
 
 Quite drownd in that exuberant Sea 
 
 Of his Angelik Fervencie, 
 
 Whose Mystik Power hath made Him now 
 
 All Soule : Sure Simeon feels no blow 
 
 Nor wound, but those, w ch LOVE'S sweet Darts 
 
 Bestow on Saints Delicious Hearts. 
 
 Twas LOVE, which on y e Pillar set 
 Him as his fairest Mark, whereat 
 To aime, & trie his Heavnly skill, 
 Which w th Darts of Life doth kill, 
 And in ten thousand Deaths doth give 
 A sweet Necessitie to Live : 
 To Live a LIFE of WOUNDS, but those 
 So healing, that y e Soule would choose 
 Rather Ease's Pangs, then not 
 By those Arrows to be shot. 
 
 LOVE shot full oft, & every Dart 
 Flew directly to the Heart 
 Of this fair Mark ; At last He cries, 
 Mine alone, Mine is y e Prize : 
 The Tempters Arrows are in vain, 
 Mine alone the Man have slain : 
 Mine He is, & Mine shall be ; 
 No Title to Himselfe hath He : 
 Him I challange by y e Law 
 Of greatest Arms, & mean to draw 
 Him home in Triumph after Me 
 In token of my Victorie. 
 
 Then farewell Noble Captive, goe, 
 Thy Conqueror will make Thee so : 
 No state so glorious is, & free, 
 As that of Thy Captivitie. 
 
Columna S. Simeonis Stylitae 259 
 
 That holy Appetite, which thy 
 
 Long Fasts begot, shall satisfie 
 
 Itselfe with Heavn : far higher now 
 
 Then was thy loftie Pillar, Thou 
 
 Shalt be exalted, & above 
 
 In y e warme bosome of thy LOVE 
 
 Be payd for thy cold Station heer. 
 
 Farewell, Brave Soule, & though thy Sphear 
 
 Be too high for Us, & our 
 
 Poor Songs to reach, yet will we poure 
 
 Them on y e noble Place of thy 
 
 Dear feet, & heap our Prayses high 
 
 To crowne thy Column, or to be 
 
 Crowned by its Nobilitie. 
 
S. Gregorie Nazianzen 
 
 May 9. 
 
 NE'R would I owne this thing of mine, 
 Which some perhaps a Muse will call, 
 If it forgets to wait on Thine, 
 Which comprehends y e Other Muses all. 
 
 For more of them ne'r dwelt upon 
 Learned Parnassus double Head 
 Then harbour in thy single one, 
 And finde this latter house best furnished. 
 
 Furnished with holy store 
 Of nobler Raptures then till now 
 Snatchd Poets Soules away, & bore 
 It far above these grosser Things below : 
 
 Raptures of purest Loves, wherby 
 Thy Heart on Angells Wings did soar 
 Unto a pitch more fair & high 
 Then Graecian Quills e'r towred to before. 
 
 By Thee to Heavn y e Muses rise, 
 And ravishd in Divinitie 
 Sing with Birds of Paradise 
 Layes, which ennoble rescue'd Poetrie. 
 260 
 
S. Gregorie Nazianzen 261 
 
 Whither in Heroiks stately pace, 
 Or nimble Lyriks softer dance, 
 Or in grave Iambiks grace, 
 Still dost Thou goe with matchlesse excellence. 
 
 Illustrious Saint, thy noble Brow 
 All crownd with everlasting Baies 
 Thee Prince of Poetrie doth show, 
 Who all y e Muses mak'st Urania's. 
 
 Oft has my earthly Soule from Thee 
 And thy rich lines suckd Heavnly Fire, 
 Oft have I kiss'd thy leaves, w ch be 
 The sweet Incentives of devout Desire. 
 
 Fain would I eccho something back 
 Though faint, & short of thy due Praises j 
 Which though thy Honour doth not lack, 
 My Pen to Thine, & Thee, these Altars raises. 
 
 I 
 
 And this, Dear Saint, must be y e first layd Stone 
 Thou wert a Great before a little One ; 
 
 Son of thy Mothers Prayers wert Thou 
 Before her Wombe with Thee did grow : 
 For Nonna prayes 
 That Heavn would raise 
 Her Seed, which Shee 
 Might yeild to bee 
 Onely Heavns j And Heavn to Her 
 Long Zeal doth bow its pleased ear : 
 Aforehand it assumes thy prosperous Birth, 
 Whilst in a Vision Nonna brings Thee forth. 
 
 Unto her watchfull Soule did God display 
 Thy figure, whilst her Body sleeping lay ; 
 Thy Person, & thy genuine look 
 She read in that miraculous Book : 
 
262 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 And with these, there 
 Was written faire 
 Thy vertuous Name, 
 The very same, 
 Which now Thou wearest, Gregorie 
 E'r Thou wert born appeard to be 
 Thy VIGILANT TITLE, who though shown in sleep 
 Wert marked many a pious Watch to keep. 
 
 Thus bigg with Hope, & shortly bigg with Thee 
 Nonna her reverend Wombe doth swelling see. 
 Lighter grows Her Heart, as this 
 Doth increase in Heavinesse ; 
 
 No Moneths, says she, 
 Shall naseous be 
 To Me, who here 
 My Comfort beare, 
 A Flowre of mine owne Seed, w ch may 
 Flourish to Heavn another Day. 
 No Longings shall stretch out my Soule, but one, 
 By which I Long againe to see my Sonne. 
 
 Now brings Shee forth & all her Pangs are sweet, 
 Which layd Her Holy Hopes before her feet. 
 Gladly y e Infant Face Shee sees 
 How with Heavns Modell it agrees, 
 Each lineament 
 Holds true consent, 
 And this is Hee 
 Her Gregorie : 
 In a thousand joyfull kisses 
 Thankfull Devotion Shee expresses, 
 And renders God by Solemne Consecration 
 What Shee receiv'd by His so kind Dignation. 
 
 And now not as the Mother, but the Maid 
 And nurse to Heavns great Pledge, she is afraid 
 To use the Infant but as One, 
 Whom God had made her foster-son : 
 
S. Gregorie Nazianzen 263 
 
 With tender Care 
 She doth prepare 
 All things y l may 
 Another Day 
 Proclaime as much : His tender Heart 
 Shee seasons with religious Art, 
 And brings Him up as if Shee Tutoresse were 
 To educate some tender Angell heere. 
 
 O happy Thou, to whom thy Mother can 
 Give Thee a double Life to make Thee Man ! 
 Thou breathst y e Aire w th Us below, 
 And that, w ch doth in Heavns Fields blow ; 
 Ev'n Gods Great Spirit 
 Thou doth inherit 
 So soone, that how 
 Thou dost not know : 
 Thy blooming Budd is sweetned by 
 The Gales of Paradise, which flie 
 Thick in that breath, by which thy Mother makes 
 Those blessed Words to Thee She dayly speakes. 
 
 Thus in the best of Learning skilld, art Thou 
 At length sent out the lesser Arts to know. 
 To Greece, & Greeces purest Fount, 
 For such the World did Athens count, 
 Thy course is bent, 
 And well content 
 Art Thou to goe 
 Further then so 
 If Learning further dwelt ; let gold 
 And hope of Gemmes make Others bold : 
 Knowledge though ne'r so poor, can seem to Thee 
 Of worth enough to make Thee scorne the Sea. 
 
 Yet thy Adventure dangerous doth prove : 
 The Winds conspire, and all the Sea doth move 
 
 It selfe against Thee ; ne'r did waves 
 
 Split into profounder Graves : 
 
264 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 No Tempest e'r 
 Rended y e Aire 
 W th threats more loud, 
 No Storme did crowd 
 Fuller into any Bark ; 
 Highnoon Day ne'r grew more dark j 
 Wrack & Confusion never seemd to be 
 More ripe, then these, which gape to swallow Thee. 
 
 Feare & Despair through all the Shipmen went, 
 Whose Hearts more then their tatterd Sailes were rent. 
 But yet the Stormes impatient Noise 
 Scarse was higher then the Voice 
 Of thy strong Cries, 
 W th which thine Eyes 
 Their Floods did joine, 
 And sighs combine 
 Into a Tempest neer as great 
 As that w ch on the vessell beat, 
 So that the Sailers thought no more upon 
 The other Storme, amaz'd at thine alone. 
 
 Alas, Thou hadst not yet been drenched in 
 Those Holy Streams, which serve to wash our Sin ; 
 And therfore fearst these Waves w ch can 
 Destroy, but never save a Man. 
 
 This makes thy Crie 
 So strong & high 
 To Him, whose hand 
 Could strait command 
 The fiercest Ocean : never eare 
 Did more violent Prayers heare : 
 Ne'r did distressed Soule crie out like Thee, 
 And that for Water in the swelling Sea. 
 
 What Eyes can read thy Lamentation, and 
 
 Not Sympathize with thine ? My Soule doth stand 
 
 Amazd, when in thy revernd Book 
 
 Upon that tragik Leaf I look ; 
 
S. Gregorie Nazianzen 265 
 
 Wondring what cries 
 Can win the skies, 
 If these w ch rend them 
 Cannot bend them 
 If any Tempest can outcrie 
 Such importunate Fervencie. 
 None can outcrie it: JESUS yeilds at last 
 And into their owne Deeps the Waves doth cast. 
 
 The Winds, as blown quite out of breath, are hurld 
 Into their furthest corners of the World. 
 
 Heavn doffs that clowdy veil, wherby 
 The Storm hath dampt its beauteous Eye, 
 And doth display 
 A gentle Day 
 Upon the Sea 
 Now calme & free, 
 Which shews thy Ship her way unto 
 The wished Port : thus dost Thou goe 
 With weather beaten Safety to the Shoare, 
 And this so brittle Life will trust no more : 
 
 For to the Holy Fount Thou runnst apace 
 There to be drenched in the Streams of Grace, 
 
 That Thou henceforth no more mayst fear 
 Whatever Tempest shall appeare. 
 Where to expresse 
 Thy Thankfulnesse, 
 To Heavn dost Thou 
 Present a vow 
 Worthy of it & Thee : Thy Toung 
 Solemnly undertakes, how long 
 Soe'r Thou liv'st from all Oaths to refraine : 
 Thou strictly swearest ne'r to sweare againe. 
 
266 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 ii 
 
 All Athens now thy vast Capacitie 
 Quickly drinks in, but is not filld therby : 
 The Amplitude of every Art 
 Made haste to lodge in thy large Heart 
 Which entertaines them 
 All, & traines them 
 Unto a pitch 
 More high & rich 
 Then ever they had learnd to flie 
 On Wings of Pagan Industrie. 
 Thou best the Academie prove'st thy Mother 
 By growing up thy selfe just such another. 
 
 Though ruddy yeouths sleek smiles upon thy Face 
 Still keep their modest dwelling, Thou dost passe 
 For One all Gray within, Thy Braine 
 Betimes is Age'd, y* doth containe 
 More store of years 
 By far then theirs, 
 Whose wrinkled skin 
 Doth reverence win 
 Upon Presumption no Man could 
 Live so long to be befoold ; 
 And turne a Child againe in Head, which He 
 By Natures Rule, onely in feet should be. 
 
 The Chaire is mounted, & Thou must ascend. 
 Young as Thou art, old Auditors will lend 
 Their sober eares, & much rejoice 
 To hear their young Professors Voice ; 
 Who sweetly wise 
 His gravnes ties 
 To sprightfull wit, 
 W ch loves to sit 
 On yeouthfull subtile Toungs : All Greece 
 Surpriz'd with admiration is 
 At these thy Oracles, which make it follow 
 Thee full as young, as was their wise Apollo. 
 
S. Gregorie Nazianzen 267 
 
 But that which Athens did to Thee indeare 
 Was that thy Soule met with another there 
 Right fit for thy sweet Company, 
 A Soule, w ch did w th thine agree 
 In every part 
 Of thy best Art, 
 A Soule whose Pulse 
 Beat nothing else 
 But love & Heavn, a Soule so nigh 
 Resembling thine, that Amitie 
 At length mistook, counting thy Heart to be 
 In Basils Breast, & his to pant in Thee. 
 
 Never did Chance of Nature tie a knott 
 Into so strait a Union, as that 
 
 Which Virtues knitt, & Graces tie 
 In a Band of Pietie. 
 
 Now Basil loves, 
 And lives, & moves 
 In Gregorie; 
 And mutuall He 
 Loves Basil back againe, & lives 
 By that Life away He gives. 
 Thus when two Floods imbrace, they loose each other 
 In the pellucid Bosome of his Brother. 
 
 Such noble Soules alone as thine can prize 
 A worthy Friend aright : whatever lies 
 In India's pretious bowells, is 
 Not so golden gold as this ; 
 
 No radiant Gemme 
 By whose rich beame 
 The new rose East 
 Is sprucest drest 
 Such ravishing lustre forth doth send 
 As this short Word, A WORTHY FRIEND. 
 A Friend is Patience, Care, & Secresie, 
 Comfort, Advise, Help, & Communitie. 
 
268 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Thus wert Thou marryed to thy Masculine Spouse 
 When the Soule weds, no uselesse Sex she knows ; 
 And heere thy Soule, & that alone 
 Enters NUPTIALL UNION. 
 No Female shall 
 Think to prevaile 
 By blandishment 
 On thy consent : 
 Though thy breast be large, yet Thou 
 Hast but one Heart to bestow, 
 And that is BASILS, who esteems it so 
 That for the World He will not let it goe. 
 
 Yet will a Paire of noble Wooers see 
 What they can doe upon Thee : Faire they bee 
 And Virgins both, who clothed by 
 A beauteous Vision, to thine eye 
 
 Themselves propose : 
 What, must they lose 
 Their loving pains 
 In thy Disdains ? 
 Must the wrinkles of thy face 
 Duer to smiles, themselves disgrace 
 By turning Frowns ? What needs Severity 
 To ask these gentle Strangers what they be ? 
 
 Know their answer is : They Sisters are 
 Descended from Heavns stock, & come thus far 
 To make Thee sure of what thy will 
 Is most ambitious to fulfill ; 
 To ratine 
 Thy Puritie 
 And to increase 
 W e learned Greece 
 Begun in Thee : nay Bothe beside 
 Meane this night to be thy Bride : 
 Heavn sent them on this busines, & they be 
 Prudence the One, the other Chastitie. 
 
S. Gregorie Nazianzen 269 
 
 Sweet are your Names, sayst Thou, but sweeter are 
 Your royall Persons, which those Titles weare. 
 Be it a Match ; such Mayds as you 
 Indanger not a Virgin Vow. 
 
 Heer, take my Heart 
 Never to part, 
 Your Gregorie 
 Will live & die 
 Your faithfull Spouse, if He but lend 
 His help, who you did hither send. 
 Thus, Glorious Saint, Thou putst thyselfe asleep 
 Into that State, which waking Thou shalt keep. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Accomplishd Soule, I must have leave to be 
 Of that Opinion, which was held of Thee 
 By all the World except by thy 
 Owne Paradox HUMILITIE. 
 
 Such heavnly skill 
 Thy Soule doth fill 
 That none could be 
 More fit then Thee 
 For Heavns imployment, none more fit 
 To help up humble Soules to it. 
 No Head so furnishd to support aright 
 A MITRES mystik unbeleeved weight. 
 
 To thy most perspicatious Wisdome this 
 Sacred & glorious Errour proper is : 
 
 Hadst Thou been like Us, lesse learn'd, 
 Never had thy soule discernd 
 
 The Pastorall Charge 
 To be so large 
 And huge a Load : 
 Ne'r hadst Thou stood 
 So nicely on thy weaknesse, as 
 To prove more weak in letting pass 
 So fair Preferment. We look now adayes 
 How deep's the MITRES gilt, not what it weighs. 
 
2 jo Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Yet to thy awfull Parents Contestation 
 And urgent Wills, thine owne Thou striv'st to fashion. 
 Thy feeble Fathers Shadow now 
 In his Dioceese art Thou j 
 
 How bright so e'r 
 The rays appear 
 W ch break from Thee, 
 Thou wilt not be 
 More then so ; Nay when this Throne 
 And a full election 
 After thy Fathers Death long wooed Thee, 
 It could not conquer thy Humilitie. 
 
 All Nazianzum likes not Thee so well 
 As doth y e Pleasure of thy Pontik Cell j 
 
 Where Thou thy Death canst antidate, 
 And dwell in Heavn before thy fate 
 Shall send Thee up ; 
 Where Thou canst crop 
 And prune away 
 All things that prey 
 Upon our vitall Moisture, Pleasures, 
 Preferments, & superfluous Treasures ; 
 Possessing all thy Selfe intirely free 
 From our vaine Worlds inchanting Tyrannic 
 
 Nor shall thy Basil Thee persuade to be 
 Content to suffer Publik Dignitie, 
 
 Or make Thee ever set upon 
 The new erect Sasamean Throne. 
 So deep doth this 
 Designe of His 
 Wound Thee & thy 
 Humilitie, 
 That strong Complaints break out, whose course 
 Runs so far, & with such force, 
 That much they did prevaile, & had well nigh 
 In sunder rent your Bond of Amitie. 
 
S. Gregorie Nazianzen 271 
 
 Yet can thy Resolutions not withstand 
 Heavns providentiall overruling Hand : 
 
 If Heavn please to appoint Thee Heir 
 Ev'n to Constantinoples Chair 
 
 Thou wilt not shrink 
 Away, nor think 
 Thy Selfe unfit 
 Therin to sit : 
 Thou wilt not shrink for any Storme, 
 That Hell & Heresie can arme 
 Against thy single Head, that Head, whose sheild 
 All Heavn becomes, when er Thou tak'st y e feild. 
 
 This royall City was invenome'd by 
 That part of Hell, which at the Trinitie 
 
 Its poyson spits ; Such potent Foes 
 What Mortall now will dare oppose ? 
 What Valiant He 
 Will Champion be, 
 And stretch his hand 
 To countermand 
 The mighty Stream, w ch floweth forth 
 First from Hell, & then from Earth ? 
 Who dares divide his God, & therby sow 
 Division too among Mens Hearts below ? 
 
 Why, Gregorie without Division can 
 Untie this knott, and in that Union 
 
 A Triad find & prove ; no Net 
 By Sophistik cunning set 
 
 Can trap his feet, 
 No swelling Threat 
 Can terrifie 
 His Constancie : 
 JESUS is his God, and He 
 That mystik Truth can prove to be 
 As sure & sound y' wondring Christians joine 
 This Name to crowne his other, the DIVINE. 
 
2*] 2 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 He now becomes allmost the Rule wherby 
 The Catholik World their faithfull Truths doe trie, 
 And thus resolve their Questions : This 
 Gregories Opinion is. 
 
 This makes his foes 
 Blush to propose 
 Their Spurious Reason ; 
 No : They by Treason 
 Will now dispute, & take a Course 
 Their Bishop to confute perforce. 
 Their Argument acute & strong shall be 
 A desperate Sword manage'd by Crueltie. 
 
 Fools as you are, now learne at least that He 
 Whom Gregorie asserts has Dietie 
 
 Enough to conquer Hell & you : 
 What makes your gallant Murderer throw 
 His Sword away 
 Without delay 
 When he is come 
 Into the room 
 Appointed for the Murder ? What 
 Casts your Soldier downe so flat 
 Before th' unarmed Saint, & makes him pray 
 For Pardon, to the Man He came to slay. 
 
 But harmes which sometimes Foes cannot effect, 
 Are easlyer done by those we least suspect ; 
 
 And they which wear y e Name of Friend 
 Can soonest noblest Soules offend, 
 Soules which know 
 Full stoutly how 
 To oppose 
 Apparent Foes. 
 Thy Friends and Mitred Brethern be 
 The Host, Great Saint, w ch fights w th Thee ; 
 The reverend Councill in thy Citty mett 
 Grow emulous, and against thy Peace are set. 
 
S. Gregorie Nazianzen 273 
 
 Nor thine alone, but thy dear Mothers too, 
 The Churches Peace by this they overthrow : 
 A Peace w ch is more dear to Thee 
 Then thy Throne & Mitre be ; 
 
 Yea then thy Life, 
 If so their Strife 
 Will needs require : 
 All thy desire 
 Is thine owne Peace to sacrifice 
 Unto thy Mothers j Thou canst prize 
 No Patriarchall Dignitie so high, 
 As with the Churches Quiet, Privacy. 
 
 Yee holy Fathers, who are met to make 
 Up all the Churches rents, oh hear me speak, 
 Hear, sayst Thou this once from Me 
 A Vote, which tends to Unitie : 
 
 The Storms w ch heer 
 So high appeare 
 Perchance may cease 
 In blessed Peace, 
 If worthlesseT like Jonas be 
 Resigned to the gaping Sea. 
 Heer therfore I renounce my envy'd Throne 
 More freely, then I put my Mitre on. 
 
 Thus didst Thou scape into thy long wishd Nest 
 Of a devout and solitarie Rest. 
 
 Thy Soule unhamperd & set free 
 From thy incumbring Dignitie 
 
 Finds ample space 
 Of Time & Place 
 To sit & sing 
 Of every thing, 
 Which tossd & troubled her before 
 The Tempest cast her on this shore. 
 For from thy Cradle takes thy Muse her Rise 
 And to this Days Exploit unwearied flies. 
 
274 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 The Evening of Thy Life Thou solacest 
 With her sweet Lay's to bring thy Soule to rest 
 In softest Peace, & to prepare 
 It for the heavnly Consort, where 
 A Part must be 
 Chanted by Thee 
 In that high Song, 
 Which lasts as long 
 As thy sublimest Wish : No feare 
 That Discord shall affront Thee there 
 To vex thy peacefull Heart, & make Thee throw 
 Thy Honour off, as Thou didst heer below. 
 
S. Joseph 
 
 FORGIVE this Wrong, brave Soule, that other Toungs 
 Have with thine holy Glories swelld their Songs, 
 Whilst ours was grown too proud to sing 
 An handicraft & simple Thing. 
 Loe here a Muse, as poore and plaine as Thou 
 Thy selfe didst seem, offers her humble vow. 
 
 Her vow to teach our English how to frame 
 
 Its homage to thy long-forgotten Name, 
 That now no talking Traveller 
 May tell for News that He did heare 
 
 In Spain & France how JOSEPH us'd to goe 
 
 For current Saint ; In England Thou art so. 
 
 Illustrious Saint, who mak'st thy Royall Line 
 
 In Povertie with richer Glories shine 
 
 Then when upon its WISEST HEAD 
 The fairest Crowne of ISRAEL stood, 
 
 He by his numerous Wives his honour stain'd, 
 
 Thou by thy ONE thy dignitie hast gain'd. 
 
 What though seven hundred Beauties of y e East, 
 All sprung from Royall Stocks, themselves did cast 
 Into his lustfull Bed ? Yet still 
 More Glory in thy Spouse does dwell ; 
 Seven hundred Princesses lesse beauteous be 
 Then One the Sole Queen of VIRGINITIE. 
 
 275 
 
276 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Great Pharaoh's Daughter though her face & ey 
 Convey'd all Egypts lovely Majestie 
 
 Into Judea, did not bring 
 
 Halfe so delicious a Thing 
 As thy Sweet Spouse shall carry back, when Shee 
 Ev'n in her meanest State shall hither flee. 
 
 That SONG OF SONGS, in w ch th' inspired King 
 Rapt far above his owne Loves, strove to sing 
 Of a Diviner Spouse, for whom 
 All Heavn a Wooer would become, 
 Paints out that Maries Prayses, w ch to Thee 
 In purest Wedlock now must joyned be. 
 
 Angells themselves in marriage thus may give 
 
 In Conjugall Virginitie to live : 
 
 For thats the wondrous Life w ch Thou 
 Will with this Angell lead below ; 
 
 And grown all Spirit antidate by this 
 
 Celestiall Life, the futures Virgin Bliss. 
 
 But Jealousy steps in a while, & tries 
 Thy righteous tender Soule to exercise : 
 
 Thy Spouse, whom Thou presumedst to be 
 
 Thy Sister in Virginitie, 
 Proves big with Child ; O what shall Joseph doe 
 Whose most afflicted Soule's as big with woe. 
 
 He cannot Mary hate, nor her expose 
 A publik scorne to her insulting Foes ; 
 
 But being just, He needs must part 
 With Her once dearer then his Heart. 
 Yet will in privite Her Divorce, that Shee 
 Her & her fault might shroud in Secresie. 
 
 Thus drownd in Tears & Thoughts a gentle sleep 
 
 Upon thy heavy brow began to creep : 
 
 When kind & carefull Heavn did send 
 Unto thy Soule thy Winged Friend ; 
 
 Sweet was his face, Joy smile'd in both his eyes 
 
 Which with his Tongue he bad in thine arise. 
 
S. Joseph 277 
 
 Feare not, said He, Good Joseph, Davids Son, 
 
 Feare not to let thy Nuptialls goe on : 
 
 How can thy Maries Wombe not be 
 Big, which containes Divinitie? 
 
 God's breeding there : Heavns Spirit w ch doth give 
 
 Life ev'n to Life it selfe, made Her conceive. 
 
 But I must tell Thee so : for humble Shee 
 Will not y e Trump to her owne honour be, 
 
 But rather chuse that all this while 
 False Jealousie should Thee beguile, 
 And staine her Credit, then her Tongue should tell 
 That God vouchsafes within her Wombe to dwell. 
 
 For Him thy Mary shall bring forth ; & Thou 
 His Name must JESUS call, from whom shall flow 
 
 A sure & generall Salvation 
 
 To every beleeving Nation. 
 This said, the Angell vanishd ; after Him 
 The Sleep took Wing, & so brake up y e Dream. 
 
 Thou wakened thus, & knowing well that thy 
 Owne Guardian Angell used no forgery, 
 
 With faithfull trembling joy unto 
 Thy pregnant Virgin Spouse dost goe, 
 And her, thy gentle Judge, for pardon pray 
 Whom jealous Thou hadst wronged yesterday. 
 
 O with what reverend Love & Care dost Thou 
 Attend on Her, whom Thou beleevest now 
 
 To be Gods Spouse as well as thine 
 And far lesse humane then Divine ! 
 And with what earnest strife doth lowly Shee 
 Beat back those dutifull Respects to Thee ! 
 
 But Caesars Edict to y e tax doth call. 
 
 Thou must in haste to Bethlem, Spouse & all, 
 
 To that proud Towne, w ch yeilds no room 
 When Povertie a guest doth come, 
 
 But some discourteous Cave : Thus scorned Thou 
 
 Who many a house hath built, doth want one now. 
 
278 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 But He built many more, who by & by 
 Will bless his World with His Nativitie 
 
 Ev'n in this Place, which howsoe'r 
 
 Contemptible it doth appeare, 
 Shall outshine Heavn ; such power hath Christmas Day ; 
 Nor can proud Heretiks vote it away. 
 
 Joy, Noble Saint, th' Eternall Father heere 
 
 Hath given Thee leave his dearest Name to wear ; 
 Thou too shalt Father called be 
 Of his great Son, who now to Thee 
 
 Committed is. Was ever Trust so large ! 
 
 God, and Gods Mother are left to thy charge. 
 
 And soone Thou shalt have work, for Herods wrath 
 Through thousands Infants Breasts decreed hath 
 
 To dig its way to JESU'S Heart. 
 
 Thou from thy Country must depart, 
 No longer Bethlem, but design'd to be 
 (So Hell & Herod vote) A Butcherie. 
 
 Thou must depart : thy privy Counsellor, 
 Thy Angell tells Thee so. Flie with thy dear 
 Charge into Egypt, flie, says He : 
 O that these wings of mine might be 
 Their Chariot ! But this noble favour must 
 Be thine, whom Heavn has honourd w th this Trust. 
 
 Great was thy haste, as was thy Love : e'r Night 
 Was fled before y e face of dawning Light, 
 
 From Bethlem Thou hadst borne away 
 
 The better & the purer Day : 
 The Noble Names-sake journying heertofore 
 Much lesse Salvation into Egypt bore. 
 
 With what observance didst Thou forward goe 
 
 Both to the Son, & to the Mother too, 
 
 What fear, lest thine owne loving breast 
 In His, or Hers should be distrest, 
 
 What tenderness to keep the Mother warme, 
 
 What daintie Care that God should take no harme I 
 
S. Joseph 279 
 
 In Egypt Thou keptst house awhile with thy 
 
 Although but small, yet heavnly familie, 
 
 Untill thine Angell thither came 
 And counsells Thee to travell home. 
 
 Herod was dead, & now y e Jews will give 
 
 JESUS, their owne lives fountaine, leave to live. 
 
 O blessed Saint, what glorious Conversation 
 
 Hadst Thou in that great Infants education, 
 Who, though the King of Majestie 
 Deignd to be Subject unto Thee. 
 
 Unto astonishment I must submit 
 
 When I revolve thy Life in Nazaret. 
 
 Surely the Heavnly Quire would gladly come 
 To make in thy poore House their nobler Home, 
 
 And finde their Service full as high 
 
 In thy sublime Oeconomie : 
 Finding no cause for Angels now to scorne 
 The Carpenters Apprentices to turne. 
 
 Heer might they see their Makers blessed eyes, 
 Which when He was at home with them surprize 
 With Light intolerable : heer 
 With safe accesse they might draw neer 
 His simple Cradle, whose illustrious Throne 
 Above, they found too bright to look upon. 
 
 But how at length, Deare Saint, how couldst Thou dy, 
 
 When Life it selfe dwelt in thy Family? 
 
 Gave JESUS leave to Love & Joy 
 Thy overcharged Heart to slay ? 
 
 Lest if Thou still shouldst live His Death to see, 
 
 That One might thousand others heap on Thee. 
 
 Goe then, Sweet Soule, in peace & stand a while 
 
 Behinde the Curtaine, till thy Lord fulfill 
 
 His Tragedie : Then shalt Thou be 
 Restored to His dear Companie, 
 
 And wait upon Him in His glorious Way 
 
 Unto His Throne upon Ascension Day. 
 
Natalitium : Mart] 13, 1645 
 
 T 
 
 IRE'D with my PSYCHE, (for y e Song 
 Though wondrous hudled, yet was long, 
 And near 
 A year 
 Consumed in such singing, well may force 
 A stronger Voice then mine, & make it hoarse.) 
 
 I took some time to breath, but strait 
 Curs'd LAZINES which lay in wait, 
 Did heap 
 Its sleep 
 Upon my Heart, & I grew well content 
 With Ease, ev'n in the midst of active Lent. 
 
 Lent, & y e Spring, & my great Need 
 Of being Buisie could not breed 
 Desires 
 Brisk fires, 
 No, nor y e Spark of any Thought w ch might 
 Me in y e ways of good Imployment light : 
 
 Till rows'd by this important Day 
 I started up, & wip'd away 
 280 
 
Natalitium 281 
 
 The Mist 
 
 Which prest 
 Upon mine Eys ; & now I am awake : 
 But whoe will say so else that hears me speak ! 
 
 Can any Charitie beleve 
 That I a fiction doe not weave, 
 When I shall talk 
 How I have heer 
 In this Lifes Walk 
 Gone Thirtie Year 
 And yet can nothing shew wherby 
 This Course of mine it self may justifie, 
 Unless I use the trick of Travellers, to Lie ? 
 
 He whoe would paint my Life aright 
 Has nothing but a Blank to write ; 
 Pure Vanitie 
 Its Arms doth reach 
 About all my 
 Fond Life ; where such 
 A plenitude of Emptines 
 In all its annuall Circles bubling is 
 That thirtie Cyphers may my Thirtie years express. 
 
 The more my Shame, You'l say : & so 
 All blushing guilty I say too. 
 I shall be yet 
 More vain, yf I 
 Did not admit 
 That Vanitie 
 Which everie Ey that reads but Me 
 Doth in that prospect so compleatly see, 
 That 'tis too late to crave Help of Hypocrisie ! 
 
282 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Tis true, our Nations sinfull Score 
 From patient Heavn hath Vengance bore 
 Love, Peace, & Law, 
 Obedience, Right, 
 And Safetie, now 
 Have taken flight, 
 E'r since our woefull Isle began 
 Within it self to raise an Ocean, 
 And Tides of Blood about the desperate Country ran. 
 
 5 
 
 'Tis true, my Self have felt some share 
 Of headlong & injurious Warr : 
 But had my Hart 
 Been brave & right, 
 Surely my Part 
 Had not been sleight ; 
 But with those faithfull Hero's whoe 
 Impatient gallantrie bid battell to 
 All Persecution, I had had the grace to goe. 
 
 They, noble Soules, long time before 
 Layd up substantiall Virtue's store, 
 But heedless I 
 Had not the Witt 
 Of Gallantrie 
 That Stock to gett : 
 Fond Drone, I playd & wantonized 
 Untill my sunshine Summer was surprized 
 With Winter, which all Heavn with clowds & storms disguized. 
 
 7 
 
 And now, alas, what can I doe 
 But sitt, & think, & sing my Woe 
 
Natalitium 283 
 
 I might have been 
 All pure & white, 
 As was this clean 
 Leaf where I write, 
 But now am farr more spotted, then 
 Is this unhappie virgin Papyr when 
 Deflour'd & stained thus, by my adulterate Pen. 
 
 8 
 
 Yet I can sigh, & wish for Tears 
 To wash my Thirtie blotted years. 
 And whoe can say 
 But languishment 
 And longing may 
 Make Heavn relent ! 
 Whoe knows but Jesus will supplie 
 What wants both in my hardned Hart, & Ey 
 Out of his own deep Wounds, the Springs w ch ne'r are drie ? 
 
 This is my Hope : else would I not 
 To Live, on any terms be got. 
 Life is a thing 
 Which doth belie 
 Its Name, & cling 
 With flatterie 
 About the Hart it means to slay, 
 Yf JESUS helpeth not to purge away 
 The Poison w ch amidst its smiling Looks does play. 
 
 O onely LORD OF LIFE & LOVE, 
 Those pretious Names upon Me prove ! 
 I am thy DUST 
 And ASHES, and 
 My onely trust 
 On Thee doth stand : 
 Since Thou art pleased to repreive 
 
284 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Me still, oh crown the Favour Thou dost give, 
 And to thy Mercie's Praise & Honor let Me live. 
 
 n 
 
 I care not what becomes of Me 
 In this our Warrs Calamitie : 
 I care not though 
 All Mischeifs bend 
 At Me their Bowe, 
 And everie Friend 
 Turns Stranger unto my Distress, 
 So long as I Thy favour may possess, 
 And duelie answer it with bounden Loyallness. 
 
 12 
 
 I feel Rebellious Seeds would fain 
 Amidst my Hart spring up again, 
 And taint this year 
 As they have done 
 All these which are 
 Allready runn. 
 Help, help, sweet JESU ; rather I 
 In any deadly Agonie would frie ; 
 Then, whilst in ease I live, of these soft Poisons die. 
 
Anniversarium Baptism! 
 
 Martj. 21. 
 
 WOE is me, but even now 
 Proud & fond I studied how 
 To erect some gallant Vow 
 On this pretious Mornings Brow, 
 Whoe to Heavn allready ow 
 Whatsoe'r I can bestow. 
 
 From a Childe ingaged I 
 Stand in all Obligements by 
 Baptisme's sacred Bonds, which tie 
 Me so strait, that should I die 
 For my LORD, I still must crie 
 Spare thy Debtors Povertie. 
 
 3 
 
 But how often have I broke 
 That which then I undertook 
 And my Masters Wrath awoke ! 
 Well may my Demerits look 
 For his Judgements heavy stroke 
 Whome so highly they provoke. 
 285 
 
286 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Clean He washd Me then, & white, 
 And with Graces Me bedight ; 
 Which his Favour to requite, 
 I free promise made to fight 
 (Helpd by his inspiring Might,) 
 With all Those whoe Him despight. 
 
 5 
 
 Yet I foulie falsifie'd 
 All my Vows, & madly trie'd 
 How to serve the Hostile Side : 
 In which Service had I die'd, 
 What had my rebellious Pride 
 Gaind, but endless Torments Tide ? 
 
 Would destroying Satan save Me ? 
 Would this fadeing World releive Me ? 
 Or could rotten Flesh repreive Me ? 
 And (which most of all doth greive Me) 
 Could my wronged Lord forgive Me ? 
 Or his scorned Heavn receive Me ? 
 
 7 
 
 O my Hart, what shall we doe ! 
 What, but with Confession to 
 Mercies blessed footstool goe ? 
 Mercie, is our Master, whoe 
 Allways pittieth the Woe 
 Of his meek repentant Foe. 
 
 S 
 
 Lend, sweet JESU, lend thine ear, 
 Loe my Hart, & I, am heer, 
 No ambitious Vow to rear j 
 
Anniversarium Baptismi 287 
 
 But in guiltie woefull fear, 
 To beseech Thee Us to spare 
 Whoe our old ones down did bear. 
 
 9 
 
 Down We bore them all as We 
 Able were ; yet still they be 
 Fixed sure above with Thee, 
 Nor could all our Treacherie 
 Break those Bonds & sett Us free 
 From our bounden Loyaltie. 
 
 10 
 
 Help Us then again to take 
 Up the Yoak We strove to break. 
 Light it is ; Yet thy dear Sake 
 It by farr will lighter make. 
 Help Us, Lord, & from our Back 
 Let no force this Burden shake. 
 
 11 
 
 O these Worldly Vanities 
 
 Whose heap'd Froth upon Us lies, 
 
 Cheat our shoulders in that guise, 
 
 And prove heavie Miseries : 
 
 Yf thy Cross their place supplies, 
 
 Sooner We to Heavn shall rise. 
 
D 
 
 A Friend 
 
 EAR Name, & dearer Thing ! to Thee 
 How dull & coarse all Jewells be ! 
 Though I to them can love maintain, 
 Yet they can not love Me again ; 
 
 Cold stones are sparkling, They, 
 But Thou of fire of Life dost make thy Ray. 
 
 The kindest Gemm w ch me can grace 
 Must be beholden for a place 
 Upon my open Ring or Breast, 
 As being nothing yf supprest : 
 
 But through & through my Hart 
 Thy hidden Riches Thou canst cleerly dart. 
 
 To sett Thee off there dost Thou finde 
 A Foil, alas, more black & blinde 
 Then any Night which ever yet 
 On back of pretious Stone was sett ; 
 
 And though Thou needst it not, 
 Art riveted into an hideous Blott. 
 
 All other Blotts farr purer are 
 Then Snow, yf they with sinn compare 
 288 
 
A Friend 289 
 
 But Thou art Neer as deerest Heavn 
 By which Thou unto Earth art given. 
 Thus other Gemms confess 
 By their sweet Light, that Phebus them did dress. 
 
 O could our greedy World but read 
 The value of a Friend indeed ; 
 No India's should be raked more, 
 No Deeps imbowelled of their Store : 
 All Voyages should be 
 Made to no other Port but Amitie : 
 
 The onely Port where We can finde 
 Safe harbour from that furious Winde 
 Of treacherous Fortune ; She whoe ranges 
 About y e World with Storms of Changes, 
 And with her sudden shocks 
 Dashes Prosperitie upon Sorrows Rocks. 
 
 Why dost Thou goe y e way about 
 Vain Man, to finde some Treasure out ? 
 Tis not at Cittie, nor at Court, 
 At neighbour or at forrein Port, 
 
 Where Thou canst surely finde 
 Thy Hopes, though long & strong, crownd to thy minde. 
 
 8 
 
 O take y e nearest Cutt ; goe trade 
 To gain a Friend, & thou hast made 
 A better merket farr then they 
 Whoe make returns of glittering Clay, 
 Which ever was & must 
 Be subject unto Envie, Theivs, & Rust. 
 
290 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 9 
 
 Hast Thou a Friend ? oh hold him fast 
 As thine own Soule, & know thou hast 
 A Prize, which, as most Kings desire, 
 Few are so blest as to acquire. 
 
 Greatnes may Flatterers gain, 
 But Friends scorn to be drawn by such a Chain. 
 
 10 
 
 Hast thou a Friend ? whate'r thou hast, 
 Thou hast compleatly double : cast 
 Up thy account no more for One, 
 Thy scant Identitie is gone : 
 
 Thou art thy Friend, & He 
 By mutuall Faith transanimates with Thee. 
 
 11 
 
 That life he leads in Thee, to Him 
 More pretious then his own doth seem ; 
 His own he freely will resigne 
 So he may still be sure of thine ; 
 
 Death onely makes him live 
 When he, by dying, Life to Thee doth give. 
 
 12 
 
 Joys loose to Him their Name & Taste 
 But when with Him thy share Thou hast 
 Whenever Thou receiv'st a Wound, 
 He feels as deep y e strokes rebound, 
 And claimeth as his right 
 The moietie of thy disastrous plight. 
 
 13 
 
 Though all y e World upon Thee frown, 
 He counts Thee still no less his own : 
 
A Friend 291 
 
 Tis not thy Fortune, though as high 
 As is a Crowns brave Majestie, 
 But 'tis thy self alone 
 Which knitts him to thee in Loves Union. 
 
 14 
 
 Of Virtu's genuine Faithfullnes 
 True Loves pure Cement tempered is ; 
 A Cement that disdains to feel 
 Times teeth, which triumph over Steel, 
 Or suffer any Harme 
 From angrie Fortune's most outrageous Storm. 
 
 *5 
 
 Parentall Kindenes cold may grow 
 And Filial Dutie cease to glow j 
 Ev'n Matrimoniall Fervour may 
 Be chill & faint & die away ; 
 
 But Friendship's resolute Heat 
 In Loyaltie's eternall Pulse doth beat. 
 
 16 
 
 Tell all things else by thy slight Eye 
 Thou scornst their glozing Treacherie ; 
 But, next to thy Devotions, spend 
 Thy holyest Powers upon thy Friend : 
 None but thy God, & He 
 Inseparably linked are to Thee. 
 
Temp or a 11 Success 
 
 FOULE beauteous Witch, whose painted face 
 Inchanteth everie place, 
 How many more Admirers wait on Thee 
 Then upon Virtu's brave integritie ! 
 
 Let adverse Fortunes but conspire 
 And their shortwinded ire 
 Blow upon noble Job, y e world will swear 
 The Man's condemned, & Gods breath blew there. 
 
 With Swains whoe nothing higher know 
 Then the dull ground they plow, 
 Ev'n Eliphaz, Bildad, Zophar, men of high 
 And famous learning, own this Foolerie. 
 
 4 
 
 Befooled & inchanted, They 
 Conclude Job's Virtu's lay 
 In's Children, Servants, Cattell ; Thus, alas, 
 Uncertain Goods for certain Goodnes pass. 
 292 
 
Temporall Success 293 
 
 5 
 
 The sage substantiall Jews were all 
 Caught in this sottish Thrall, 
 And those that sate in Moses's reverend Chair 
 Amidst their Gravitie thus Childish were. 
 
 Yf they great JESUS nayled see 
 To his tormenting Tree, 
 His Case proclaims his equall guilt, say They, 
 And strait they vote Him a meer Castaway. 
 
 Was flourishing Dives then (although 
 His whole estate be now 
 Not worth one Drop of Water,) so sublime 
 A Saint, bycause in Fullnes He did swimm ? 
 
 8 
 
 And was poor Lazarus a Wight 
 Plung'd in a cursed plight, 
 Bycause in's Flesh as rotten as in's Raggs, 
 And dressed by no Surgeons but the Doggs ? 
 
 Then, Holy Mahomet, say I, 
 Blest in thy Heresie : 
 Then the Odrysian Moons right heavnly Homes 
 The conquerd Crosses Arms most justly scorns. 
 
 10 
 
 Then at the Alcorans brave feet 
 
 Our noble Gospell must submit ; 
 Then are the Turks Heavns Darlings, & the Grand 
 Seignor henceforth for Prince of Saints must stand. 
 
294 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 1 1 
 
 Then is y e noble Gold a poor 
 And contemtible Ore, 
 Bycause it must be tri'd & torturd by 
 The Fornace's incensed Tyrannic 
 
 12 
 
 But lazie Lead, or glaring Brass, 
 Bycause they never pass 
 The trying Rules of such Severitie, 
 For best of Metalls must admitted be. 
 
 *3 
 
 Then y e fair Roses blushing Hue 
 Unto it self is due 
 Being a wretched shamefull Shrub, bycause 
 The persecuting horn her Body claws. 
 
 But Heavn & Shame forbid, that They 
 By such false weights should weigh 
 Whose Master unto generous Virtue chains 
 Ten thousand Persecutions & Pains. 
 
 15 
 
 Those temporall Blessings He can well 
 Betemm on Sonns of Hell ; 
 Blessings which never bless, but when they be 
 Tam'd & in order kept by Pietie. 
 
 16 
 
 But He with Diet course & spare 
 His Champions doth prepare, 
 That sound & hardie grown, they stoutlier may 
 His battels fight, & surer win the day. 
 
Temporall Success 295 
 
 17 
 
 That Day, whose Morning is not drest 
 In our Aurora's east, 
 But then shall spring, & shine forever, when 
 Phebus shall Fall no more to Rise agen. 
 
 18 
 
 Then, whatsoever Blessings were 
 Bated to Virtue heer, 
 JESUS shall with immortall Use repay ; 
 Nor will his Saints think much till then to stay. 
 
( H Ay&Tryj ov tyre? ra eavTyg 
 
 T 
 
 i Cor. 13. 5. 
 
 IS Yee, black Avarice, & Hate, 
 Whose fell conjunction begat 
 Those costly Barrs 
 And wrangling Warrs 
 Which shed the hartblood of ten thousand Purses 
 Draind into Lawyers Chests with full as many Curses. 
 
 Tis thou, incroaching Pride, whoe first 
 Into thy Neighbours Bounds did burst ; 
 Thou, who dost by 
 Extremitie 
 Of Sin, excuse its Guilt, & paint y e stories 
 Of thy vast Murders with victorious Valours glories. 
 
 Love never any Soldiers prest 
 Anothers Right away to wrest ; 
 And though it knows 
 What Shafts & Bows 
 And Battells mean, all its Artillerie 
 Weapons of Sweetnes & Delicacie be. 
 
 296 
 
" Charity seeketh not her own" 297 
 
 Love never went to Law, nor knew 
 What kinde of Trade it was to sue \ 
 Love never feed 
 A Toung to plead, 
 Nor hir'd y e Judges Conscience, so to make 
 Justice hirself upon hir throne unjustly speak. 
 
 5 
 
 O no ; Love nothing thinks so farr 
 Its own, as either by the Warr 
 Of Sword or Toung 
 To right its wrong : 
 And how much less will it a fight maintain 
 To ravish Goods, & others Propertie to gain ? 
 
 Snatch but Loves Cloke, & that will be 
 A Pledge of further prey to thee ; 
 For Love will not 
 Denie its Coat, 
 Being ashamed more to force Thee to 
 Restore its clothes, then naked up and down to goe. 
 
 7 
 
 No Action of Batterie fear 
 Though Loves right Cheek you beat or tear ; 
 No ; Love doth offer 
 Its left to suffer, 
 And by the glorie of like patience be 
 Sister unto the Right, in milde humilitie. 
 
Humane Revenge 
 
 WHERE doth that Beutie & that Sweetnes lie 
 Whereby 
 Thou charmest generous Spirits, whoe 
 With might & main thy busines do ; 
 Thy monstrous buisnes, which 
 All other Witcheries doth farr outwitch. 
 
 Art Thou not stuffd with Bitterness and Gall ? 
 
 Is all 
 Thy Trade not full of gnawing Passions, 
 Of Discontents, & self-vexations ? 
 Doth not the boiling heat 
 Of thy fell Bosome, make thy self its meat ? 
 
 O costly sin ; what thanks to Heavn We ow, 
 
 That Thou 
 Inevitablie art accurst 
 Thy self to feel thy furie first ! 
 
 Thus, in hir bringing forth, 
 The Vigor's punishd for that hellish birth. 
 
 4 
 
 What Riddle's this, That Man should pleased be 
 
 To see 
 298 
 
Humane Revenge 299 
 
 What Tempests He can raise, & what 
 Harme He to others can create ! 
 
 That He his Gains should cast 
 Up by no Rule, but what his Neighbor lost ! 
 
 5 
 
 The worst of Tigres never on his Prey 
 
 Did lay 
 His irefull Teeth & Paws, that He 
 Might onely read his Butcherie : 
 
 'Twas Hunger wrought the feat, 
 And He did onelie Tear, that He might Eat. 
 
 But Thou, foule Hagg, canst doe no more then slay, 
 
 Thy Prey : 
 Thy Barbarisme can for its End 
 Nothing but Barbarisme intend : 
 For simple Mischeifs sake 
 Thou allways thy mischeivous Pains dost take. 
 
 But stay thine hand, revengefull Gallant, stay, 
 
 And say 
 Whither thy Scores with God be clear ; 
 For yf th' ast any Recknings there, 
 Learn to be kinde below, 
 And unto Heavn that gentle Copie show. 
 
 8 
 
 Doe not by thy seveer Example force 
 
 The Course 
 Of heavnly Furie : doe not stop 
 The golden gate of Mercie up. 
 O doe not Thou deny 
 Forgivenes, whoe without it needs must dy. 
 
300 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 9 
 
 Trust God to vindicate thy Injurie, 
 
 Since He 
 Monopolizeth Vengance, and 
 Ties it to His almighty Hand. 
 
 Or yf thy Case Thou durst 
 Not trust with Him, thy self how canst thou trust ? 
 
Suspirium ad Amorem 
 
 (For a Base & a Treble.) 
 
 OLOVE 
 Come prove 
 Thy Dart 
 On Me; 
 And deigne 
 To gaine 
 My Hart 
 To Thee ! 
 Thy Dart 
 
 Can part 
 
 A Breast 
 
 Of Stone ; 
 O why 
 Must my 
 Resist 
 Alone ? 
 The Flint 
 
 That's in't 
 Will rive 
 
 When Thou 
 Vouchafst 
 A Shaft 
 To give 
 The Blow. 
 
 301 
 
302 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 'Twill rive 
 And live 
 
 And show 
 
 Some spark 
 To light 
 My Night 
 Whoe now 
 Am dark. 
 Then I 
 
 Shall spy 
 
 The door 
 
 And Way 
 To Thee, 
 And be 
 No more 
 Astray. 
 
The Sheepherd 
 
 (Sett to 5 pts for voices & violls . by . R. C.) 
 
 w 
 
 HEN great Love 
 Did remove 
 From above 
 Heer to prove 
 His delicious Art ; 
 He took 
 A Crook 
 And in's look 
 Was as plain 
 A Swain 
 In grain, 
 And did play his part 
 With as harmlesse genuine Grace 
 
 As Sheepherd e'r did trace 
 Sichems feilds all flowrie face. 
 
 In a Meed 
 Where no Weed 
 E'r did breed, 
 He did feed 
 His unspotted sheep : 
 No meat 
 So sweet 
 
 303 
 
304 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 E'r did greet 
 Lips which kisst 
 The Nest 
 Of best 
 Dainties which did sleep 
 On the bedds of Paradise 
 
 So rich in sprightfull spice 
 And inlivening Rareties. 
 
 For the Fare 
 His sweet Care 
 Did prepare, 
 Was his dear 
 And allpretious Flesh, 
 Which He 
 Made free 
 Equalitie 
 To each guest 
 And drest 
 The Feast 
 In a mystik Dish : 
 Thus his sheep to entertain, 
 
 And their poor love to gain, 
 He himself Heavns Lamb is slain. 
 
 He is slain 
 And doth strain 
 Might & main 
 Everie vein 
 To yeild up each drop ; 
 
 Which flood 
 
 Of Blood 
 Might make good 
 Heavn & Bliss 
 
 To dress 
 
 Up his 
 Lambs abundant Cup : 
 
The Sheepherd 305 
 
 All about whose noble Brimm 
 
 Pure liquid Life doth swimm 
 Sweetly to eternize Them. 
 
 Then to keep 
 These his sheep 
 Safe asleep 
 From the deep 
 Rage of Wolfe & Bear, 
 Each Hand 
 Doth stand 
 Open, and 
 Feet & Side 
 Gape wide 
 To hide 
 All whoe nestle there : 
 These five rubie folds alone 
 
 Give safe protection 
 To the Flocks that thither run. 
 
Hopt 
 
 Y 
 
 'ET still bear up : No Bark did e'r 
 By stooping to the storm of fear 
 Scape that Tempests Wrath which rent 
 Two into one Element ; 
 Whilst in one 
 Confusion 
 The groaning Air, & weeping Water run. 
 
 Bear up : & those proud Waves w ch dash thee, 
 Shall but onely fairer wash thee. 
 Bear up ; & Thou at length shall fynd 
 All these Blusterings are but Winde. 
 
 Trust Hope, & be 
 
 Assur'd that She 
 Will fynd thee out an hav'n amidst the Sea. 
 
 3 
 
 Suspect not any stoney Shelf; 
 No Rock can splitt Thee, but thy Self. 
 Hope casts hir Anchor upward, where 
 No Storm durst ever domineer. 
 Her Hand kinde Shee 
 Holds out to Thee, 
 To bid thee Wellcome to Securitie. 
 306 
 
Hope 
 
 307 
 
 4 
 
 O then take her abord, although 
 All other Wares Thou out dost throw ; 
 Thy Bark will onely lighter be 
 By Hopes cheerly Companie ; 
 
 Though She doth farr 
 
 Outweigh whate'r 
 To stopp the Waves wide Mouth's thou threw'st in there. 
 
 Hope's Ey is fix'd upon a Starr 
 Above the Polar fire as farr 
 As Thou art sunk into Dismay : 
 And She can thither steer thy Way, 
 
 Whoe nobly by 
 
 Her mystik Ey 
 Is what She seeth, & in Heavn doth ly. 
 
 Hope, though slow she be, & late, 
 Yet outrunns swift Time & Fate ; 
 And aforehand loves to be 
 With most remote Futuritie. 
 
 Hope though She dies 
 
 Immortal is 
 And in fruitions fruit doth fairer rise. 
 
 Hope, is Comfort in Distress : 
 Hope, is in Misfortune Bliss : 
 Hope, in Sorrow is Delight : 
 Hope, is Day in darkest Night. 
 Nor wonder at 
 This ridling Knot, 
 For Hope, is every Thing which She is not. 
 
o 
 
 Idleness 
 
 TEDIOUS Idleness 
 How irksome is 
 Thy foolish Nothing ! When all day 
 I strugled through the craggiedst Way 
 Of knottiest Learning to gett up 
 To the fair top 
 Of some deer Knowledge, I did never fynd 
 My Body half so tir'd, so damp'd my Mynd. 
 
 So tir'd, & damp'd as now : 
 For monstrous Thou 
 Thwart'st ev'n my Essence, & dost choke 
 My sprightfull Flame in drowsy smoke. 
 Surely a Soule which dwells among 
 A quick & strong 
 Consort of Organs, ne'r was seated there 
 To lend to Sloths dull Pipe her active Ear. 
 
 3 
 
 Were I to Curse my Foe, 
 I'd damne Him to 
 No Hell but Thee ; in whose blinde grott 
 He, though in health, might lie & rott, 
 And prove Deaths wretched Sacrifice 
 Before he dies ; 
 308 
 
Idleness 309 
 
 Whilst He himself doth to Himself become 
 Both y e dead Carcase, & the living Tombe. 
 
 4 
 
 May some Work ever keep 
 
 Mine Eyes from Sleep 
 Whilst they are wakeing ! though it be 
 But some poor Song to throw at Thee 
 Mischeivous Sloth. Alas, I grutch 
 That I so much 
 Of this my little Time expend, whilst I 
 All night seald up in lazie Slumbres lie. 
 
 5 
 
 The longest Summer Day 
 Strait posts away. 
 An honestly imployed Mynd 
 Doth shriveld-up December fynd 
 In wide-spred June ; & thinks black Night 
 Crowds out fair Light 
 As soon when Sol through lofty Cancer rides, 
 As when down to the Fishes depth he slides. 
 
The Complaint 
 
 MIGHTY Love, oh how dost Thou 
 By not fighting, overthrow ; 
 Come, whilst Thou away art flying ; 
 Grant Petitions, by Denying ; 
 Burn Us, whilst Thou letst Us freize 
 In our dull Aridities ; 
 Wound, yet never shoot a dart 
 At the wounded bleeding Hart ! 
 
 For thy Wound I reigning finde 
 In my sauciated Minde, 
 Which is pierced deep by Thee 
 'Cause Thou hast not pierced Me. 
 'Cause my stony Hart I feel 
 By thy Powers unwounded still. 
 Woe is me whoe thus must by 
 Want of Wounds, allwounded dy ! 
 
 Dy I must, yf thus I live ; 
 Life to Me no Life can give ; 
 Wounds & Death bought Life for Me, 
 Wounds & Death my life must be : 
 Wounds of present Love ; not such 
 As pierce deep, but never touch 
 Death which liveth in Loves Darts, 
 Into Life to murder Harts ; 
 Wounds, & Death, which never from 
 Absence's cold spring did come. 
 
 Gentle Love, oh neerer still, 
 Neerer yet, that I may feel 
 310 
 
The Complaint 311 
 
 What thou art, by feeling Thee ; 
 Not by Contrarietie, 
 Sure ten thousand Worlds could not 
 Hire me from thy love : yet what 
 Is this Glowing, but Desire ? 
 Which falls short of generous Fire : 
 Thy dear Fire, which might to Thee 
 Make an Holocaust of Me I 
 
The Wound 
 
 DEAR Love, thou needst not send a Dart 
 To finde the bottome of my Hart : 
 Tis found allready by that Spear 
 Whose barbarous Point thine own did tear. 
 It tore ope thine ; 
 And therefore mine, 
 In which Thou, since Thou mad'st & bought'st it, by 
 That double Title hast more right then I. 
 
 To thy Hearts woefull Outcry, my 
 Wounds gapeing Mouth makes its reply : 
 Thy Clamor streameth in a flood 
 Of rueful Water & of Blood j 
 
 And much like this 
 My answer is ; 
 For through mine Eys the dutefull Waters gush, 
 The burning Blood flows in my guilty Blush. 
 
 3 
 
 My guilty Blush ; for I am He 
 Who helpd to thrust that Spear at Thee : 
 I helpd to thrust it, & the Blow 
 Upon my Self reboundeth now. 
 Yet must I joy 
 In this Annoy ; 
 For though thy Death be proved by that Wound, 
 Thy Life is ratified by the Rebound. 
 
 312 
 
The Cheat 
 
 SWEET Beguilings, 
 Cruel Smileings, 
 Tickling Soules to death ; 
 Tedious Leisures, 
 Bitter Pleasures, 
 Smooth yet cragged Path ; 
 
 Heavy lightnes, 
 Whose sad Sleightnes 
 
 Cheers, yet breaks the Bearer j 
 Dainty Treasons 
 Whose quaint Reasons 
 
 Teach yet fool the Hearer : 
 
 Glorious Troubles, 
 Mighty Bubbles, 
 
 Horror fairly brimmed, 
 Bane in Honey, 
 Brass in Money, 
 
 Nothing neatly timmed : 
 
 3i3 
 
314 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Are the Prizes 
 
 Life devizes 
 To warm fond Desires ; 
 
 Which by growing 
 
 Hot, are blowing 
 Their own funeral Fires. 
 
The Combat 
 
 LOVE, though thou great & dreadfull art, 
 With Boldnes Thou hast fir'd my Hart, 
 Which trembles not to aim at Thee 
 Ev'n with that Dart Thou shott'st at Me : 
 Twas Love Thou shott'st ; & that art Thou j 
 And at thy Self thy Self I throw. 
 I throw thy Self; but loe my Hart 
 Still sticking is upon thy Dart. 
 
 2. PART 
 
 And dost Thou shoot, dear LORD, again 
 At him whome Thou before hadst slain ? 
 This Deaths Life kills me so, that I 
 Must shoot again, or else I dy. 
 I dy, unless I live to see 
 This Hart & Life quite lost in Thee. 
 Fair is my Aim, & high my Trust ; 
 Thy Side's wide ope, & shoot I must. 
 Lo : Bid it welcome unto Thine, 
 Else can my Hart no more be mine. 
 
 3i5 
 
The Pretence 
 
 V 
 
 AIN Hart, why wouldst Thou try 
 The Bag of every Bee that buzzeth by ? 
 With any didst Thou ever meet 
 Amidst whose Honey was not sett 
 A Sting to warn thine Hand 
 The Danger of Delight to understand ? 
 
 Nay, leave thy Preaching : I 
 Beleve that Pleasure Lawfull is, which thy 
 
 Fond Tooth, desires to taste. But since 
 The Lawfulnes is thy Pretence, 
 
 Come, I will let Thee loose 
 To Lawful things, where Thou mayst noblier choose. 
 
 First, know, tis Lawful to 
 Abstein from that Thou pantest after so. 
 
 'Tis Lawful quite to quench the fire 
 Of any secular Desire : 
 
 Tis Lawful to refuse 
 What Law itself alloweth Thee to use. 
 
 4 
 
 'Tis Lawful to deny 
 Whate'r doth feuel to thy Flame supply. 
 
 3i6 
 
The Pretence 317 
 
 Tis Lawful to maintain a Warr 
 Against thy Self, & not to spare 
 That Body, which unless 
 Thou mortifie'st it, will thy Life suppress. 
 
 To Weep, to Fast, to Pray ; 
 To walk the hardy & heroik Way 
 
 Of Saints & Martyrs, whoe in fear 
 Of nothing more then Pleasures were ; 
 To bowe thy venturous back 
 And any Cross on thy brave Shoulders take ; 
 
 By his deer Blood to trace 
 The gallant Footstepps of thy Lord ; to Place 
 Thy Self above thy Self, & live 
 In Lifes own Fount, whil'st Thou dost give 
 All thy Desires to His 
 Incomparable Will in Sacrifice. 
 
 All these are Lawful ; and 
 Much more then so. — Why dost Thou trembling stand ? 
 That Tremor shakes off from thy face 
 The Mask in which it sheltred was ; 
 And makes Thee now confess 
 Thou fearest thine own Weapon, LA WFULNES. 
 
The Pilgrim 
 
 T 
 
 'HANKS, still encreasing Turmoils j I 
 
 Mistook you heertofore : 
 
 But now I learn no more 
 
 To chide with that Uncertainty 
 
 Which hunts Me out in every Place, & tosses 
 
 My settling Hopes through new disturbances & crosses. 
 
 I am content Life should with me 
 Not play the Hypocrite 
 By Baits of vain Delight 
 And treacherous Stabilitie. 
 Since all the Heavns are restless, why should I 
 Desire with sordid Earth, in Quiet heer to ly ? 
 
 3 
 
 Had I a fixed Home below, 
 
 That stiff Temptation might 
 My foolish Hart invite 
 To hanker heer, & study how 
 To plant my Self right deep & sure ; whoe must 
 Whither I will or no, alas, fall into Dust. 
 
 4 
 
 What though my Books & I be parted ? 
 I know all Freinds at last 
 The parting Cup must taste. 
 3i8 
 
The Pilgrim 319 
 
 And now to me the World's converted 
 Into one Library where I may read 
 The mighty Leavs of Providence wide open spred. 
 
 Terrestrial Quiet I shall have 
 More then enough, when I 
 Sure & fast sealed ly 
 In my deep silent Grave : 
 Why should I plott & project how to be 
 Aforehand buried in earthly Securitie ? 
 
 Why should I wish to be at home, 
 
 So long as I'm abroad ? 
 
 For what's Life but the Road 
 
 By journying through which We come 
 
 Unto our Fathers house : & happy We, 
 
 Yf after all this journe We at home may be ! 
 
 The Birds have Nests, the Foxes holes, 
 But Heavns great Sonn had neither : 
 And, tell me, hadst thou rather 
 Live like the Foxes, & the Foules, 
 Then like thy God ; espetialy when He 
 By's Providence to this brave Hardship lureth Thee. 
 
 8 
 
 Born in a borrowd house, & in 
 A borrowd Cave interred, 
 He first & last preferred 
 What lazie Flesh & Blood doth shunn : 
 He might have for his Palace heer had room, 
 But scorned any Place but Heavn, to own for Home. 
 
320 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Blow then the worst of Blasts, & beat 
 My Bark about the World ; 
 Still can I not be hurld 
 Beyond ken of my Hav'n, nor meet 
 One Place more distant then another, from 
 The heavnly Port, to which alone I pant to come. 
 
 10 
 
 I pant to come ; for what, what am 
 
 I but a Stranger heer 
 
 As all my Fathers were ? 
 
 Nor would I stay to learn & frame 
 
 My Toung or Manners to this Countries guise, 
 
 Which ne'r will suit with what's in fashion in the Skies. 
 
 ii 
 
 But yf I must be thrown into 
 Some seeming fixed Seat ; 
 So may I dwell in it, 
 That it ne'r dwells in Me ! O no ; 
 I rather heer would no Possessions have, 
 Then be Possest by what I needs at length must leave. 
 
BioB&voijToq 
 
 o 
 
 VILE ingratefull Me, 
 
 That I should Live, & not in Thee ! 
 Not to thy 
 Praise, from whome 
 All this my 
 Life doth come ! 
 What Riddle's this, that I should strive 
 Onely against my Life to Live ! 
 
 Against Thee, gentle LOVE, 
 Life of my Life, long have I strove, 
 
 Still misusing 
 
 Thy sweet Grace, 
 
 Still refusing 
 
 To give place 
 To mine own Bliss, which Thou with thy 
 Milde Yoke about my neck wouldst ty. 
 
 3 
 
 And thus, alas I have 
 All this wide World but for my grave ; 
 Where the Stone 
 Which doth ly 
 Heavy on 
 Me and my 
 Earth-hamperd Thoughts, is onely this 
 Unhappy Hearts Obdurateness. 
 321 
 
The Crie 
 
 SPEAK, everlasting WORD, oh speak, 
 That I may break 
 These Bonds of Death, & by 
 My Resurrection make Reply. 
 
 Thy potent Voice wak'd that vast Deep 
 Which lay asleep 
 In deadly Darknes, and 
 Rowz'd a World by its stout Command. 
 
 Thy Prophet Thou didst summon from 
 His living Tombe, 
 Where twice-devoured He 
 Lay drownd both in the Whale, & Sea. 
 
 What though this Death wherein poor I 
 Deep-plunged ly, 
 Be more profound then all 
 The Sea, more monstrous then the Whale ? 
 322 
 
The Crie 323 
 
 What though the Worlds dark Wombe was not 
 So foule a Grott 
 As this in which I grope ? 
 Yet I am still in ken of Hope. 
 
 The deepest Deeps are shallow found 
 
 When Thou dost sound : 
 And I shall Rise, deer LORD, 
 Yf Thou but soundst with thy sweet Word. 
 
Whiteness ', or C has title 
 
 Set to 4 pts. by T. T. 
 
 TELL me, where doth Whiteness grow, 
 Not on Bedds of Scythian Snow ; 
 Nor on Alabaster Hills ; 
 Nor in Canaans milkie Rills ; 
 Nor the dainty living Land 
 Of a young Queen's Breast or Hand ; 
 Nor on Cygnets lovely necks ; 
 Nor in Lap of Virgin Wax ; 
 Nor upon the soft & sleek 
 Pillows of the Lillies Cheek ; 
 Nor the pretious smileing Heirs 
 Of the Mornings Perlie tears ; 
 Nor the silver-shaming Grace 
 Of the Moons unclowded Face : 
 
 No ; All these Candors 
 Are but the handsome Slanders 
 Cast on the Name of genuine WHITENES, which 
 Doth Thee alone, fair CHASTITIE, inrich. 
 
 324 
 
A Morning Hymn 
 
 WHAT'S this Morns bright Eye to Me, 
 Yf I see not thine, & Thee, 
 Fairer JESU j in whose Face . 
 All my Heavn is spred ! Alas 
 Still I grovel in dead Night, 
 Whilst I want thy living Light ; 
 Still I sleep, although I wake, 
 And in this vain Sleep I Talk, 
 Dreaming with wide open eyes, 
 Fond fantastik Vanities. 
 
 Shine, my onely Daystarr, shine : 
 So mine Eyes shall wake by Thine ; 
 So the Dreams I grope in now 
 To clear Visions shall grow ; 
 So my Day shall measured be 
 By thy Graces Claritie ; 
 So shall I discern the Path 
 Thy sweet Law prescribed hath ; 
 For thy Wayes cannot be shown 
 By any Light, but by thine own. 
 
 325 
 
An Evening Hymn 
 
 NEVER yet could careless Sleep 
 On LOVES watchfull Eylid creep ; 
 Never yet could gloomy Night 
 Damp his Ey's immortal Light : 
 LOVE is his own Day, & sees 
 Whatsoe'r himself doth please. 
 LOVE his piercing Look can dart 
 Through the Shades of my dark Heart, 
 And read plainer farr then I 
 All the Spotts which there do lie. 
 
 Pardon then what Thou dost see, 
 Mighty LOVE, in wretched Me. 
 Let the sweet Wrath of thy Ray 
 Chide my sinfull Night to Day ; 
 To the blessed Day of Grace 
 Whose deer East smiles in thy Face. 
 So no Powers of Darknes shall 
 In this Night my Soule appall j 
 So shall I the soundlier Sleep, 
 Cause my Heart awake I keep, 
 Meekly waiting upon Thee, 
 Whilst Thou deignst to watch for Me. 
 
 326 
 
Hytnnus ad Christum^ proxime 
 cooptandi in S. Presbyteratus Ordinem 
 
 SWEET LOVE, loe at thy gentle Feet 
 My trembling Soule I throw j 
 Which doth full sadly know 
 How great 
 The Sanctitie of this high Function is, 
 And how extreem my own unworthynes. 
 
 Were my foule Spotts clean washed out ; 
 Were I refin'd, till I 
 Could with pure Seraphs vie 
 In stout 
 And genuine Rays ; still must my Heart complain 
 'Twere too impure this Office to sustein. 
 
 This Office, which with Clay & Dust 
 Doth Heavn it self, & more, 
 Thee, whom all Heavns adore, 
 Intrust. 
 How, how shall most polluted I endure 
 The mighty burden of a Charge so pure ! 
 327 
 
328 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 4 
 
 But though I durst not shutt mine ear 
 Against this Call, which from 
 Thy Self doth seem to come ; 
 Yet fear 
 Of mine own Vilenes, & of glorious Thee, 
 Spurrs to this bold Request all-quaking Me : 
 
 5 
 
 Yf Thou foreseest that I shall not 
 Advance thine Honor by 
 My climbing up so high j 
 O putt 
 Some Barr between, yea though't be Death, that so 
 I may not Rise to mine own Overthrow. 
 
Paulo post Ordinationem 
 
 SINCE then Thou pleased art, deer Lord, 
 To afford 
 To most unworthy ME 
 This sacred Dignitie ; 
 In endless Thanks to Thee, oh may 
 That Goodnes force my Heart it self to pay. 
 
 When to thy dreadfull Altar I 
 Shall draw nigh 
 To wait on Thee, & thence 
 Loves wonders to dispense ; 
 Forgive my Sinns, & teach me how 
 To raise my thoughts above all things below. 
 
 When I thy Lambs to pasture lead ; 
 Let me feed 
 Their pretious Soules with sweet 
 And holy wholesome Meat. 
 But cheifly let my Pattern teach 
 Them, what my Toung shall else but faintly preach. 
 
 4 
 
 When I that Balm to Soules shall deal 
 Which to heal 
 
 329 
 
33° Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Meek wounded Bosomes, Thou 
 Leftst with thy Church below ; 
 O guide my Hand with holy Skill, 
 Least rash in others cures, my self I kill. 
 
 When Life, or Death, when Honors, Pleasures, 
 Times, & Treasures, 
 Shall tempt me to betray 
 My Functions duty, may 
 Thy Grace my Buckler be, & so 
 No Powers thy feeble Priest shall overthrow. 
 
 Febr. 27. 
 
H 
 
 Natalitium 
 
 Martj. 13. 1647. 
 
 EAVN bless mine Eys ! What do I see 
 Behinde me there ? 
 And can this be 
 A Life ! & Mine ! where every Year 
 Is but a Circle fraught 
 
 With nought 
 But frothie Emptines, or what 
 
 Is vainer farr then that, 
 Earth-groveling Thoughts, fond Wishes, foolish Fears, 
 Foule Sloth, proud Wilfulnes, distrustfull Cares. 
 
 And what's that sweet & pretious Band 
 Of heavnly Things 
 Which by it stand ? 
 What's He who spreads his ready Wings 
 A downie Shield to be 
 For Me 
 And my unworthy Life ? Alas 
 
 Those are the Powers of Grace ; 
 And this, my everwatchful Guardian, whoe 
 Strove, not to let me mine own Self undoe. 
 
 33i 
 
332 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 O me ! their blessed Sight confounds 
 My guilty breast, 
 Bycause those Wounds 
 Of Love & Life I did resist 
 
 By which sweetcruel They 
 To slay 
 That sinful Death did strongly strive 
 
 Which in my Soule did live. 
 And now the sweeter are their Looks, the more 
 Floods of Dismay upon my Heart they poure. 
 
 And have I liv'd for this, that I 
 
 At length should be 
 Frighted with my 
 Own Life's strange Looks ! O pittie Me 
 All yee who ever felt 
 
 What Guilt 
 Can do, when all its hideous Dread 
 In stern array is spred 
 Before a trembling Soule, which doth perceive 
 How all her Life long She did never Live. 
 
 How shall I do to look i' th' face 
 
 This dawning Year, 
 Who careless was 
 Of those in which Heavns Love did spare 
 My dareing Impudence. 
 O whence 
 Shall I snatch Comfort, who so long 
 
 On Patience heaped wrong ! 
 On thy deer Patience, JESU, which hath fought 
 With all the Sinns vile I against it brought. 
 
Natalitium 333 
 
 Whence, but from Thee, sweet King of Grace 
 Who never yet 
 Hid'st thy milde Face 
 From any which Thou sawest wett 
 
 With penitent floods ? Yf Thou 
 Wilt now 
 But with thy Beams of Mercie shine 
 
 On this dead Heart of mine, 
 With holy Vigour 'twill at length revive, 
 And I again, this year at least, shall live. 
 
 O give Me leave to think, that thy 
 
 Blest Will alone 
 Did dignify 
 Me with that mighty Function 
 
 In which Thou didst instate 
 Of late 
 Thy worthless Worm : And shall thy Priest 
 Go Sacrifice the rest 
 Of his (how pretious) Time at any shrine, 
 O most deserving JESU, but at thine ? 
 
 8 
 
 Forbid it most almighty Lord, 
 
 Upon whose great 
 Authentik Word 
 All Wonders give attendance ! Let 
 Me either live to Thee ; 
 Or see 
 No more unprofitable days : 
 
 For what, what have the ways 
 And works of Darknes, & infernal Night 
 To do with pure & sin-upbrayding Light ? 
 
Anniversarium Baptismi 
 
 Martj. 21, — 47. 
 
 STILL, still deer LOVE, must I 
 In spight of HERESY, 
 My thanks on this Days Altar heap ; 
 Thy Goodnes still I must adore, 
 Which washd a poor 
 And sin-besmeard Thing, in that deep 
 And spotless Fount of Purity 
 Which thy 
 Compassion broachd to dense that fatal Stain 
 Which from old Adam, o'r all Soules did reign. 
 
 Let cruel Hearts deny 
 Thy mighty Courtesy 
 To infant Soules, & boldly plead 
 That Baptisms due to none but those 
 
 Whome Years dispose 
 Unto thy Faith to bowe their head : 
 Let sacrilegious Impudence 
 Go rinse 
 And wash away that blessed Washing Thou 
 Didst on thy tender newborn Lambs bestow. 
 
 334 
 
Anniversarium Baptismi 335 
 
 It is enough, (& more ;) 
 Sweet Lord, that I, before 
 I could desire that Boon of Thee, 
 Was in Lifes blessed Fountain drownd ; 
 
 Which cur'd my Wound 
 Before I felt my Miserie. 
 Ne'r will I wrong thy Goodnes so 
 As to 
 Suspect the Soundnes of that Cure which from 
 The mighty Saviour of the World did come. 
 
 But a new wound doth slay 
 My guilty Heart to Day, 
 Whilst Recollection tells me how 
 I have by many a Sinn in grain 
 
 Distained again 
 That Soule which most propitious Thou 
 Wert pleasd at first to wash so white, 
 And bright. 
 O me ! my inward Blotts now damp that Grace 
 And Joy, w ch else would gild this Mornings face. 
 
 Had not thy Hands, & Side, 
 And Feet, sett open wide 
 Another Flood ; my squalid Soule 
 Would prove fitt fuel for those Flames 
 
 Whose burning Streams 
 With everlasting Sulphure roll 
 Into that purple Sea of thine, 
 Let mine 
 Afflicted Vessel launch, that I may scape 
 The most irreparable Wracks Mishapp. 
 
336 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 O make my Heart disdain 
 Henceforth to entertain 
 The least of Thoughts, which may invite 
 Me to dissolve that Faith which I 
 
 To Thee & thy 
 Pure Service, on this Day did plight. 
 What is this Worlds brave Vanitie 
 To Me; 
 What are the Devils, & the Fleshe's Charms ? 
 Since I am thrown into thy nobler Arms. 
 
 Thine & thy Churche's Arms : 
 O blessed Nest ! No Harms 
 Can reache Me there, unless I be 
 Conspirator with them, & fight 
 
 Against that Might 
 Which Thou afford'st to shelter Me. 
 JESU, forbid it then, that I 
 Should by 
 Selftreachery be slain, & onely live 
 An endless Life unto my Death to give. 
 
Submission 
 
 OFT has my prostrate Soule to Thee 
 Great Lord of Love, commended this 
 DESIGNE 
 Whose restless importunitie 
 
 Burns in this Heart of mine : 
 And at thy gracious Feet full low 
 It & my Self, again I throw. 
 
 Thou se'st how many pretious Houres 
 
 Of my short Time it spends : Thou seest how 
 
 It reigns in all my Thoughts, & pours 
 
 Storms of Disquiet through 
 My deerest Meditations, which 
 Fain at thy Heavn & Thee would reach. 
 
 Most bitter-sweet DESLGNE which hants 
 My Bosome with such Tyrannous Delight, 
 
 That though my Hearts Indeavour pants 
 
 To flie this tedious Night 
 Of gloomy & uncertain Hope, 
 Still in these doubtfull Mists I grope. 
 
 337 
 
338 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Oft have I thought, that I had drawn 
 Neer unto Quiets blessed Shore ; but strait 
 By flattering Fancy I was thrown 
 
 Into some new Deceit : 
 Still-joying to Sail in this Sea 
 Which shipwrackd all my Joies, & Me. 
 
 And thus deliciously perplext, 
 Close in my Breast I huggd my sweet Distress ; 
 Which, though it always knawd & vext 
 
 With pleasing Restlesness, 
 I durst not turn my Foe away 
 Whoe me so daintily did slay. 
 
 6 
 
 My Wounds to any tender Ey 
 I durst not shew, nor gain a Freinds releif : 
 I durst not mine own Help supply 
 
 To cure ev'n mine own Greif : 
 I unwishd mine own Wishes, and 
 With one beat down my other Hand. 
 
 7 
 A thousand times my Thoughts I chode, 
 And then as oft those Chideings did recant : 
 Against my Self I boldly stood, 
 And when I firmly ment 
 This Side should Victor be, the other 
 Soon trampled down his dareing Brother. 
 
 8 
 
 Did any Riddle e'r present 
 So valiant a Coward, as poor I ; 
 
 Who by the Wings of strange Consent 
 Pursue ev'n what I fly : 
 
Submission 339 
 
 Whoe hate these anxious Thoughts, yet am 
 So mad to Think none else but them. 
 
 9 
 
 O mighty LORD of GOODNES, my 
 Most aenigmatik Greif appeals to Thee : 
 Use, Use thine own Authority 
 
 Both upon it, & Me. 
 No more will I own this DESIGNE 
 Unless it may comply with Thine. 
 
 10 
 
 Pure Sweets dwell in thy Will alone, 
 But mine, when sweetest, with rank Gall doth flow 
 O then, may Thine, may Thine be done, 
 
 Though mine it overthrow ! 
 The onely way I have to quiet 
 My troubled Will, is, to Deny it. 
 
A Preparatory Hymne to the Week of 
 Meditations upon, & Devout Exercise 
 in the Historie of Christ ; composed 
 for my Friend 
 
 N 
 
 O Days, nor Weeks, must I 
 Account, but by 
 
 The Revolutions of LOVE : 
 
 LOVE is the Sunn 
 Whose Flame alone 
 
 In My Soules loyal Orb shall move. 
 
 Rebellious is each Houre 
 
 Which doth not poure 
 
 The homage of its highest Praise 
 In a full Stream 
 On LOVES dear Name ; 
 
 That Name, w ch Heavn with Bliss arrays. 
 
 3 
 
 LOVE is my King, & I 
 Hold onely by 
 His Grace's royal Charter : He 
 Right nobly gave 
 Me all I have ; 
 And, what is more, gave Me to Me. 
 340 
 
A Preparatory Hymne 341 
 
 4 
 
 Me ! What am I ! vile I ! 
 
 LOVE scorneth by 
 So poor a Gift, to bound his Grace : 
 
 Himself on Me 
 
 Illustrious He 
 By his brave Self bestowed was. 
 
 5 
 
 And is not my poor Time 
 All due to Him ? 
 
 To bounteous Him, who offers Me 
 
 The soverain treasures, 
 And boundless pleasures 
 
 Of his supreem Eternitie ? 
 
 Due, more then due it is : 
 
 And I by his 
 Exploits of Grace henceforth will raise 
 
 My Soule to frame 
 
 A better Name 
 For all my consecrated Days. 
 
 7 
 
 No other Gods I'l seek 
 
 To fill my Week : 
 LOVE, nothing else but LOVE alone, 
 
 Is of extent 
 
 Sufficient 
 To swell my Weeks dimension. 
 
 8 
 
 From Morn to Evening I 
 The History 
 Of LOVE through all my houres will spread ; 
 
342 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 That I may prove 
 My Trade is LOVE, 
 With LOVE Tl Rise, & Goe to bed. 
 
 From LOVE'S poor Cratch, my Race 
 
 ri gin, & trace 
 His noble Acts, untill I see 
 
 Him mounted on 
 
 His erned Throne 
 Of Glorie's bright Sublimitie. 
 
 10 
 
 And when I thus have brought 
 My Week about ; 
 
 Fl to his Cratch again, & move 
 With restless Rest 
 From East to West 
 
 In none but in the Sphear of LOVE. 
 
 ii 
 
 So I in Him, & He 
 Deliciouslie 
 
 Shall move in Me : So shall not I, 
 
 Though heer I breathe 
 On Earth beneath, 
 
 Think Heavn above my head doth ly. 
 
A Conclusorie Hymne to the same Week; 
 & for my friend 
 
 T 
 
 k HUS, thus my Soule perceiveth now 
 To what my longest Days I ow ; 
 And I recant the Praises I 
 
 Have often tun'd so high 
 To goodly June's most florid Powers, 
 And lofty Cancers sixteen golden Houres. 
 
 It is not June, nor Cancer which 
 
 The Ev'n so farr from Morn doth stretch, 
 
 Charming Heavns Flame to loyter heer 
 
 About our hemisphear. 
 O no ! the courteous summer Sun 
 Which gives the Days true length is LOVE alone. 
 
 Witness this blessed Week, which, though 
 The Days now shrinck & shorter grow, 
 Disdaineth to be measured by 
 
 That Moneth or Year, which I 
 Spun out before, &, having done, 
 Found my vain Thred was into Nothing run. 
 
 343 
 
344 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 The further Vanitie doth spread, 
 The less, & shorter is its Thred ; 
 And Emptines, the more it grows, 
 Onely the more doth loose. 
 Such were my Moneths & Years, till I 
 Began to trade in LOVES deer History. 
 
 5 
 
 But now my Days so long appear, 
 That in each Week, I live a Year : 
 My better Years I reckon by 
 
 LOVES Motions j & I 
 Have found a way each Week to run 
 Through the whole Circle of my deerest SUN. 
 
 And yet that dainty Bliss, by w T hich 
 
 My Days to such sweet lengths do stretch ; 
 
 So strangely shrinks them up again, 
 
 That in the shriveld reign 
 Of Capricorn, clung Winter is 
 Pent up in Days less scant & short than these : 
 
 7 
 Than these, these Summer Days of mine ; 
 In which now LOVE alone doth shine, 
 His mighty Beam's delicious Tide 
 
 Pours out it self so wide, 
 That every Day would take its flight 
 To bed too soon, though 'twere an Age to Night. 
 
 8 
 
 For, what's an Age to those deer Sweets 
 Whose boundless Ocean duely meets 
 My Meditations, whersoe'r 
 
 My Soule her bark doth steer ? 
 
A Conclusorie Hymne 345 
 
 That bark, which though for evermore 
 It sails, yet cannot reach this Oceans shore. 
 
 My Days look but like Minutes now. 
 My Houres like wretched Nothings show 
 Whilst yet me thinks I but Begin 
 The Evening rusheth in ; 
 And over all the world 'tis night 
 Whilst in my Soule 'tis yet but New daylight. 
 
 This is LOVES sweet & heavnly sport, 
 To make my Days so long, & short j 
 That so they may a Shaddow be 
 
 Of his Eternitie, 
 Which, though beyond all Time it swell, 
 Yet is an Instant its best Parallel. 
 
 n 
 
 And straitned in this Vastnes may 
 
 I ever be ! Let every Day 
 
 Less than a Minute seem ; yet such 
 
 As no Age can outreach : 
 Whilst my Devotions sweetly rove 
 In this deer Riddle of divinest LOVE. 
 
 For, what's this empty W T orld to Me, 
 Who finde no Fullnes, butt in Thee ? 
 In Thee, great LOVE, who onely art 
 
 The Soverain of my Heart : 
 My Heart, which Thou so strongly by 
 Thy Sweetnes flr'st, that it must LOVE, or dy. 
 
Content 
 
 Philip. 4. ii. 
 
 D 
 
 IVINE Content ! 
 
 O could the World resent 
 How much of Bliss doth lie 
 
 Wrapp'd up in thy 
 Delicious Name ; & at 
 How low a Rate 
 Thou mightst be bought ; No Trade would driven be 
 To purchase any Welth, but onely Thee. 
 
 Thee, pretious Thee, 
 Who canst make Povertie 
 As rich as th' Eastern Shore, 
 
 Or Western Ore ; 
 And furnish Job a Seat 
 
 More fair & sweet 
 Upon the Dunghill, than the glistering Throne 
 Of Glories Darling, pompous Solomon. 
 
 For He, in all 
 The whole Worlds mighty Ball, 
 Which up & down he tost 
 
 In's thoughtfull breast, 
 346 
 
Content 347 
 
 No solid Sport could finde 
 To pay his Minde 
 For his deep studious Pains ; being flouted by 
 Th' affronts of spirit-vexing Vanity. 
 
 4 
 
 But noble Job, 
 (Though clad in Torments roab, 
 And sadly seated on 
 
 Shame's wretched Throne 
 Having no Sceptre, but 
 A Potsherd put 
 Into his woefull Hand, with which he reigns 
 O'r nought but his rebellious Boils & Pains ;) 
 
 5 
 
 Is pleas d so well, 
 That he his mouth can fill 
 With Blessing & with Praise 
 
 Of Him who lays 
 That mighty load of crosses 
 And matchless Losses 
 Upon his naked back j & doth persist 
 Ev'n still, the greatest Man of all the East. 
 
 And why may I 
 Not valiantly defie 
 The face of any Storm 
 
 Mischance can arm 
 Against my Bark ? Why may 
 I not obey 
 HIS WILL, which, though a Flood of Gall it seems, 
 Will by Submission, turn to Honey Streams ? 
 
 7 
 
 What will it cost, 
 When I by Storms am tost, 
 
348 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Not, by repineing, to 
 
 Augment my Woe ? 
 Let all the Windes worst Ire 
 Proudly conspire ; 
 Yet, yf I durst but say, I AM CONTENT ; 
 Those Windes may whistle, for their furie's spent. 
 
 8 
 
 CONTENT'S the Thing 
 Which makes a Slave a King, 
 Whilst in all fortunes, still 
 
 He has his will : 
 Nor do his Gives to him 
 More heavy seem 
 Bycause of Brass, than yf they were of Gold ; 
 For, his own Slavery he in chains doth hold. 
 
 CONTENT can laugh 
 At all Mishapps, and scoff 
 Ev'n Scoffings and Disgraces. 
 CONTENT outfaces 
 All Impudence, ev'n by 
 Meek Modesty : 
 And the Carreer of Opposition breaks 
 Only bycause she no resistance makes. 
 
 10 
 
 CONTENT can be 
 Full, & good Companie 
 In Solitude : CONTENT'S 
 Christmass in Lent; 
 In Wracks & Losses, Gain ; 
 Sunshine in Rain ; 
 A Cropp of Sonns & Daughters springing from 
 A single Bed, or Barrennesses Wombe. 
 
Content 349 
 
 11 
 
 CONTENT is Peace 
 Amidst Warr's Miseries, 
 CONTENT is Rest, although 
 
 Sleep flies the brow. 
 CONTENT, in Plunder's wealth, 
 In Sicknes Health, 
 Fruition in Hope, Plenty in Dearth, 
 In Night Day, Life in Death, & Heaven on Earth. 
 
 12 
 
 O deer CONTENT 
 Thou onely Firmament 
 Where Starrs can fixed shine ; 
 
 May I in thine 
 Illustrious Orb, above 
 
 All Motions Move ! 
 So shall my panting Heart, with restless Rest 
 Wherever I am whirld about, be Blest. 
 
A Secret Sigh 
 
 G 
 
 UILTY, guilty, must I crie j 
 Or give the Lie 
 Both to my Self, & Thee 
 O LOVE, mine onely Deitie. 
 Thou knowst how I the pretious Bargain stroke : 
 But now my Vows, & therefore I, am broke. 
 
 Vow'd I not, that this my Heart 
 
 Should bear no part 
 In any Joies, but them 
 Which from thy Fount of Sweetnes stream ? 
 Yet has my foolish Soule been dabbling in 
 The flattering Delicates of sugerd Brine. 
 
 For what else is this Delight 
 
 Which day & night 
 Enchants my Thoughts to dance 
 In a Vexatious-pleasing Trance 
 About a Thing which must not, cannot, be ; 
 A Bratt of my fantastick Vanitie ? 
 
 4 
 
 O I hate the Bratt, bycause 
 
 My Love it draws 
 
 350 
 
A Secret Sigh 351 
 
 To its unworthy Self; 
 And on the lovely-hatefull Elf 
 My Indignation could I freely poure, 
 That Spight with genuine Love my heart would store. 
 
 5 
 
 Once again, deer LOVE, sett up 
 
 My bankrupt Hope, 
 And broken Heart : that I 
 With dear & sober ardency 
 Unto my most inestimable Freind 
 My wiser Flames may patiently extend. 
 
 Thee, who in that Freind of mine 
 So full dost shine, 
 May I gaze on alone 
 With amorous intention : 
 And not upon that fond & worldly Paint 
 My vain thoughts temper to adorn my Saint 
 
 So my Vows shall stand, though I 
 Still magnify 
 That gentle pretious Sou/e, 
 Letting my Meditations roule 
 In that deer Sphear, where Thou thy Self great LOVE 
 With such enamouring Grace art pleasd to move. 
 
The Relapse 
 
 w 
 
 ERT Thou not what Thou art, 
 
 O Lord of most unbounded LOVE ; 
 This my rebellious Heart 
 
 Durst never prove 
 So bold as to implore 
 Thy Pardon any more, 
 Bycause my Boldnes hath so rampant been 
 Against thy mighty Mercy to my Sinn. 
 
 For have not I again 
 Resum'd that odious Vomit, which 
 Of late I did disdain ? 
 Has not the Itch 
 Of fond Imaginations, 
 And fruitless Contemplations 
 Spred its unquiet Taint's unhappy powers 
 Over my calm & consecrated houres ? 
 
 Has not my foolish Minde 
 Foulie misplac'd its Sorrow, and 
 Been troubled more to finde 
 Thine angry Hand 
 352 
 
The Relapse 353 
 
 Pouring out Vengeance j then 
 
 To see my Flood of Sinn, 
 Whose roaring Waves awak'd thy Wrath, which now 
 In woefull Streams of Blood about doth flow. 
 
 Has not my lavish Breast 
 Embrac'd my pretious Friend too close : 
 The thoughts of whome possest 
 
 Me so, that those 
 Which I design'd to be 
 Attending upon Thee 
 Were often justled out, whilst thus my faint 
 Devotions, from my God fell to my Saint. 
 
 O mighty Soverain 
 Of Pittie, Loe my prostrate Heart 
 Lies trembling once again 
 
 Under thy Dart : 
 Strike, strike, & pierce it by 
 LOVES healing cruelty ; 
 That by that blessed Wound my Soule may be 
 Sett ope, & bleed out every thing but Thee. 
 
Jealousy 
 
 STILL, still I finde my Heart too much below 
 Which makes me tremble in sad fear 
 
 That something heer 
 Has stoln upon that heart, which now 
 Pineing in strange Ariditie 
 Forgets, deer LOVE, to pant, & heave to Thee. 
 
 Do I not hate this World ? Me thinks I do. 
 
 For what has rotten Earth that can 
 The Soule of Man 
 
 With any lovely Motions woe ? 
 
 But in thy Heavn, & fairer Thee, 
 All glorious Attractions reigning be. 
 
 And yet I cannot trust this Heart, which hath 
 So oft deceiv'd unhappy Me. 
 To Thee, to Thee 
 I fly, to shew me by what Path 
 From my Soules Labyrinth I may 
 Escape into thy fair Commandments Way 
 354 
 
Jealousy 355 
 
 I care not though that Path be thick besett 
 
 With Shame, & Pain, & Wrongs, & Losses, 
 
 And thousand Crosses ; 
 Things which will work me less regret, 
 Than these importunate Thoughts which bait 
 
 My restless Heart with fondly-sweet Deceit. 
 
A Dialogue 
 
 (Set to be sung to the Viol, by a Base, & a Treble.) 
 S. Luc. 1 6. 
 
 Dives 
 
 24. /^\ LET thy Pitty, gracious Sire, 
 
 \^_y Drop down on my tormenting Fire ! 
 
 Though in profoundest Death I frie, 
 
 Alas, I have not leave to die. 
 
 Lo how, with my Complaint, the Flame 
 
 Forth from my scorched Lipps doth stream : 
 
 One Dropp of Water will to me 
 
 An Ocean of Comfort be. 
 
 Send Lazarus then to Me beneath 
 
 To quench my Toung, & cool my Death. 
 
 Abraham 
 
 x. 25. When Thou & He on earth did dwell, 
 Thou hadst thy Heavn, & He his Hell : 
 But changed Bothe, you now do reign, 
 In Pleasure He, & Thou in Pain. 
 
 x. 26. Besides, between our Realm, & yours, 
 
 A mighty Gulfe the Way devours, 
 And frights all Feet from venturing through 
 From You to Us or Us to You. 
 356 
 
A Dialogue 357 
 
 Dives 
 
 x. 2 7. Then let Him warn my Brethren how 
 28. To scape this Sink of Deaths below : 
 'Tis Loss more than enough, that thus 
 Hell has gaind One of Six of Us. 
 
 Abraham 
 
 x. 29. What other Preachers need They, who 
 May to the Law & Prophets go ? 
 
 Dives 
 
 x. 30. Yf One from Death to Life repent, 
 'Twill make them also Paenitent : 
 A Dead Toung moves the quickliest, and 
 No Pulpits can like Graves command. 
 
 Abraham 
 
 x. 31. When Moyses, & the Prophets can 
 
 Not rouse th' impaenitent Heart of Man ; 
 
 No Resurrection of the Dead 
 
 Will Raise Him from his sinfull Bed. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
A Dialogue 
 
 (For a Base, & two Trebles.) 
 
 S.Joh. ii. x. 21. (set by T. T. & R. M.) 
 
 Martha 
 
 DEATH had not venturd to draw neer, 
 Hadst Thou, great Lord of Life been heer : 
 But in thine Absence bold He grew, 
 And Us in our deer Brother slew. 
 
 Jesus 
 
 x. 23. Thy Brother fell, when He was slain, 
 But to rebound to Life again. 
 
 Martha 
 
 x. 24. I know that He shall raise his head 
 Again, when Time is put to bed : 
 When thy great Trump shall summon forth 
 The World, & wake up Dust from Earth. 
 
 Jesus 
 
 x. 25. Already Faith's cleer Ey in Me 
 May Life & Resurrection see. 
 Who puts in Me his faithful Trust, 
 Shall Live ev'n in his Buried Dust : 
 358 
 
A Dialogue 359 
 
 Nor ever shall Deaths proudest Darts 
 Feed on Beleeving living Hearts. 
 Beleev'st Thou this ? 
 
 Martha 
 
 x. 27. Sweet Lord, no more : 
 
 My Faith doth Thee, as God adore, 
 Who from thy Father's bosome forth 
 Didst come, to bring down Heavn to Earth. 
 
 Mary 
 
 x. 32. Deer Lord, who once vouchafst to lett 
 My Ointment dew thy blessed feet, 
 O give Me leave that I before 
 These Altars now my Tears may poure : 
 That for Thy Burial was ; but this 
 Effusion for my Brother's is : 
 For He, bycause Thou wert not heer, 
 Is flown to heavn to seek Thee there. 
 
 Jesus 
 x. 34. Where is He layd? 
 
 Mary 
 
 Sweet Lord, oh come, 
 See our Greifs Monument, & His Tombe. 
 
 Jesus 
 x. 39. Remove the Stone. 
 
 Martha 
 
 Corruption now 
 Has had foure days mature to grow : 
 Alas what Comfort can We think 
 Such Graves Mouthes breathe, but deadly Stink ! 
 
360 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Jesus 
 
 x. 40. Told I not Thee, Thy faithfull Eye 
 Gods glorious Power should descry ? 
 Alas, thy Faith, (as Thou shalt see,) 
 More dead & rotten is than He. 
 LAZARUS COME FORTH. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 x. 44. He comes, He comes. 
 
 O mighty Word, which can from Tombes' 
 Fright Death, & Fate ; & make Him who 
 Is ty'd & bound, have power to goe ! 
 
Once &? Ever 
 
 SURE LOVE is nothing less than Love, 
 Yf it immortal doth not prove : 
 Yet mighty LOVE to Justine 
 Himself to be Himself, did dy. 
 
 Sweet Mystery, which thus can be 
 
 Immortal by Mortalitie ! 
 LOVE dy'd indeed, but by that Art 
 Struck Death it self through Deaths own heart. 
 LOVE dy'd ; but rose again, to prove 
 That though LOVE dy's, still LOVE is LOVE. 
 
 Thus gains the glorious Phaenix by 
 
 His sweet death, Immortality. 
 O never then let the foule shame 
 Of Change, blott Loves eternal name ; 
 Nor fancy that in love thou wert 
 With LOVE, yf from his love thou start : 
 
 But since LOVE liv'd, & dy'd for Thee, 
 
 Learn what thy love to LOVE must be. 
 
 36i 
 
Epiphanie Carol 
 
 (Set to 3 parts.) 
 
 Chor. /AUR Starr its pious Task has done, 
 
 \ s _^/ Now it has brought Us to the Sun ; 
 To Thee, by whose sweet Light may We 
 The Ways of thy Commandments see. 
 
 Thou, who this Stable mak'st thine East, 
 Wilt stoop to Rise in our foule breast. 
 
 Vs. i. Behold 
 
 This Gold 
 Pale at the Splendor 
 By which thy tender 
 Eyes its vilenes open sett 
 Doth crave 
 Thy leave 
 To be beholden 
 For truly golden 
 Worth, to thy Accepting it. 
 
 Cho. This Gold it self will crowned be 
 
 Fairest of Kings, by crowning Thee. 
 
 Vs. 2. And now 
 
 See how 
 362 
 
Epiph 
 
 anie Carol 363 
 
 Our Incense soreth 
 Not up, but towreth 
 Down, to reach the loftier skie ; 
 For since 
 Heavns Prince 
 Hath stooped hether, 
 With Him together 
 Heer dwells all Sublimity : 
 
 Cho. O may thy Feets perfuming Kiss 
 
 This Incense teach what Sweetnes is. 
 
 Vs. 3. Lo heer 
 
 This Myrrh 
 Its spicey duty 
 T' Attend the Beuty 
 Of thy humane Nature offers : 
 In this 
 Express 
 To Thee her royal 
 Soverain, thy loyal 
 Arabia all her Gardins profers. 
 
 Cho. Yf Thou own'st Thou wilt thereby 
 Her Stile of HAPPY ratine. :||: 
 
 Vs. 1. But to my OrTring I did join 
 
 My heart. (Vs. 2.) As I. (Vs. 3.) And I did mine. 
 Vs. 1. No longer mine, but Thine. (Vs. 2.) For He 
 
 Has none, who has it not in Thee. 
 Vs. 3. Yet I am more of mine possest, 
 
 Than when 'twas lost in mine own breast. 
 
 Cho. And though our Gifts all worthless are, 
 Accept, sweet Lord, what We preferr. 
 So in thy debt We more shall be, 
 Receiving, whilst We give to Thee. 
 
feveBXiaKOv 
 
 Martj. 13. 1648. 
 
 WHILST I behinde Me cast my annual Ey, 
 What do I but my Sodome spy ! 
 O lamentable Sight 
 
 Which justly might 
 Not fix Me in a pile of Salt, 
 But all my guilty Essence melt 
 Into a Flood of Paenitence, whose Tide 
 
 Might drown that which is gone, 
 And let me safely on 
 Its back unto the shore of this Year ride ! 
 
 Alas ! that I must these twelve Moneths discount, 
 In which my Life did not amount 
 
 To more than Death : For though 
 I made a show 
 Of breathing, & still walkd about 
 As yf in Lifes trade I had wrought ; 
 Yet, sure my Paths were but the ways of Sinn, 
 I did but cheat my Breath, 
 And wretchedly taught Death 
 Its Victory before its time to win. 
 
 364 
 
fevedXiaKOv 3^5 
 
 For is not now my Soule worse by a year 
 
 Than 'twas before ? Am I not heer 
 Much further from my God, 
 Than when I trode 
 My two & thirtieth Round ? And by 
 This distance of Impiety 
 I grovel in a deadly Sink j For though 
 
 Fond Men beleve where e'r 
 They breathe, they Living are, 
 Yet sure in Heavn alone true Life doth grow. 
 
 Those Judgements which now in our Island reign, 
 Might well have weand me to abstein 
 From the bewitching Breast 
 Of Worldly Rest j 
 And rather to Heavns Bottles send 
 My hearts inflamed Thirst, than spend 
 My pretious Time to suck that Milk which can 
 Perhaps right-sweetly mock, 
 Or delicately choke, 
 But never nourish the faint Soule of Man. 
 
 Yet foolish I heer needs would linger still, 
 To get of Emptines my fill : 
 
 As yf Heavns Pleasure must 
 On my vain Lust 
 Have danc'd attendance ; & I might 
 Heerafter time enough have light 
 My lamp of Piety ; yea though I knew 
 Mortalities least blast 
 Might Deaths sad curtains cast 
 O'r my Lifes candle, e'r I older grew. 
 
366 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Alas, yf any Act appeard in Me 
 
 Which might with credit owned be, 
 I finde no ground to call 
 It mine ; for all 
 Its beauty flowd from His fair Love 
 Whose Mercy with my Vilenes strove. 
 Nor must the stinking Puddle think that she 
 Is beauteous, 'cause the Sun 
 By kinde effusion 
 Makes Her the Glass of his bright Majestic 
 
 But sure, too sure, I am that Shame alone 
 Belongs to all that I have done : 
 Nor can my Blushes die 
 So deep & high 
 My guilty Cheeks, but tinctur'd in 
 A redder grain I finde my Sin ; 
 A grain so obstinate, that were the Blood 
 Of JESUS less than what 
 It is, my woefull Blot 
 Could not be washd away by any Flood. 
 
 Yet Heavns (& none but Heavns) allserching Ey 
 Did this Years mystik Pangs descry, 
 With which my Heart, alas, 
 In travel was : 
 For close I huggd my sweet Distress^ 
 And feasted on its bitterness. 
 I feasted j but my cruel Banquet still 
 Reveng'd my appetite, 
 By torturing Delight, 
 And bred more hunger as it more did fill. 
 
feveSXiaKOP 3&7 
 
 That noble Soule whose Sweetnes made this Feast, 
 And deignd to let Me be the Guest, 
 
 Though much it knew, yet saw 
 Not upon how 
 Seveer & mercyless a Rack 
 My Thoughts & all my Spirits were broke. 
 No ! Had it known, its generous Love would by 
 Some speedy Art have found 
 A way to close that Wound 
 Which all this tedious Year did open ly. 
 
 Not all the Seas Wealth could with Me prevail 
 Through such another Year to sail, 
 In which the soule of Gall 
 Was mixd with all 
 My dearest Tides of Joy, whilst I 
 By Absences strange cruelty 
 A thousand present Shipwracks felt, & though 
 I was in ken (& more,) 
 Of my desired shore, 
 Yet might (I know not why,) not thether row. 
 
 ii 
 
 How often has my working Minde been tost, 
 And in Amazements billows lost ! 
 Against the insultations 
 
 Of mutinous Passions 
 As often as I pitchd the feild 
 So often was I forc'd to yeild : 
 For in my bosomes Arcenal did ly 
 
 My pretious Conqueror^ and 
 How then could I withstand 
 Those volleys which from my own heart did fly ? 
 
368 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 12 
 
 What can I do, great LOVE, but sue to Thee, 
 The Master of my heart & Me ? 
 Yf this my deer Designe 
 
 Run cross to thine ; 
 Yf it inferrs, (what I abhorr,) 
 My noblest Freinds true damage ; or 
 My own Soules Loss : oh rather in the Sea 
 Of all those Woes which can 
 Wrack this poor Life of Man 
 May I be plung'd, than it should compassd be. 
 
 13 
 
 But yf this Joy of mine suits with thy Pleasure, 
 Give me possession of my Treasure. 
 Fain would I, this Request 
 Should be the Best ; 
 Yet still I would not, yf it be 
 Not most intirely such to Thee. 
 O JESU, Thou who se'st my Heart, & all 
 
 The Pangs which revell there, 
 Give thy propitious Ear 
 Unto thy prostrate Worms lamenting Call. 
 
 14 
 
 So shall this new uncertain Year, to Me 
 Assure it self a Jubile ; 
 
 So shall my wearied Breast 
 Attain such Rest 
 As for thy Work may fitt Me ; So 
 No longer I perplexd shall go 
 In Doubts & Fears wilde Maze ; So shall I strive 
 To gain those Years which I 
 Have lost before, & by 
 Thy Graces Aid, at least now gin to Live. 
 
Annivers : Baptismi 
 
 Martj. 21. 1648. 
 
 H 
 
 OW much worse than in vain 
 Had I been Born 
 That other Mom, 
 Had I not now been Born again ! 
 For that was but my Death's, but this 
 Alone of my true Life the Birthday is. 
 
 The Wormes own crawling Brother 
 I then was Born, 
 Vile & forlorn 
 Corruptio?i being my foule Mother ; 
 From whome I could no Title have 
 Of Heir to any Land, but to my Grave. 
 
 But by this second Birth 
 I Kinred had 
 With Heavn & God; 
 For She who now did bring Me forth 
 Was Gods own Spouse, that Holy She 
 Whose Catholik Wombe breeds Christianitie. 
 
 369 2 B 
 
37° Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 4 
 
 She brought Me forth ; & I 
 Was now the Heir 
 Unto the fair 
 Inheritance prepar'd on high 
 For those who study to maintain 
 That Title They did by their Baptisme gain. 
 
 But has my study bin 
 
 Thus provident ; 
 Or rather bent 
 My own hearts Bliss to undermine ? 
 Like some wilde Heir, spurrd on by Hell 
 Did I not Heavns Reversion madly sell ? 
 
 Alas, I did : & all 
 
 The wretched price 
 I took, did rise 
 To nothing but a flood of Gall : 
 For what can all this World to Me 
 Afford, but most vexatious Vanitie ? 
 
 O King of my poor Heart, 
 Whose gratious ear 
 Delights to hear 
 A Sinners Crie : O Thou who art 
 The Same forevermore, though I 
 Alas, be chang'd into Deformity, 
 
 8 
 
 Remember thine own Love, 
 And so forget 
 How I on it 
 
Annivers : Baptismi 371 
 
 Have heapd Ingratitude, & strove 
 To be, what yet I would not be 
 Were the Worlds total Value offerd Me. 
 
 9 
 
 O no, sweet Lord, I would 
 Be Thine, & none 
 But Thine alone : 
 And though fond I my Bliss have sold 
 To Vanity ; I will not sell 
 My Hope, since Thou art my Redeemer still. 
 
 10 
 
 Baptise Me then again 
 
 In Mercies Flood, 
 Which is thy Blood : 
 And so no longer shall a Stain 
 My woefull Difinition be, 
 Nor Guilt the onely Clothes which cover Me. 
 
 11 
 
 So shall thy Glory shine 
 Afresh in my 
 New Purity ; 
 So, though the Happines be Mine, 
 Yet still it shall belong to Thee, 
 When Thou, not I, sole Owner art of Me. 
 
Easter Dialoge 
 
 S. Joh. 20. 13- 
 
 (Set to 4. pts by T. T.) 
 
 i st Angel. / nn v HOSE funeral Tears why dost Thou shed 
 On 
 
 Life's & Resurrection's Bed ? 
 
 2nd Angel. Why must those lowring Clowds of Sadness 
 Defloure this virgin Morn of Gladness ? 
 
 Magdalene. 
 
 What Morn of G/adnes, now the Sun 
 Of all my fairest Joyes is gone ; 
 He, whome my Soule did hope to meet 
 Heer in this West in which He sett ? 
 But oh ! That more than deadly Spight 
 Which robb'd Him of his Life's sweet Light, 
 Lives heer You see in Death's own Cave, 
 And plunders Him ev'n of his Grave. 
 Nor know I where our Foes have put 
 His Body, & my Soule with it. 
 
 Jesus. Woman, to what Loss do thine Eyes 
 
 Such full drink-orT'rings sacrifice ? 
 
 Magdalene. Sweet Gard'ner, yf thy Hand it were 
 
 Which did transplant Him ; Tell me where 
 Thou sett'dst that pretious Root on whome 
 Grow all my Hopes ; & I will from 
 That Soile remove him to a Bed 
 With Balme & Myrrh & Spices spred, 
 372 
 
Easter Dialoge 373 
 
 Where by mine Eyes two Fountains He 
 For evermore shall waterd be. 
 
 Jesus. Mary. 
 
 Magdal : O Master ! 
 
 Angel. 1 st. and 2d. With what sweet 
 
 Fury she flies at His deer Feet, 
 To weep & kiss out what She by 
 Her Toung could never signify ! 
 
 Chorus 
 
 O no ! the Powers of sweetest Toungs, 
 Of string-or-pipe-attended Songs, 
 Can raise no pitch of Joy so high 
 As Easter s Riseing Majestie. 
 O glorious Resurrection^ which dost Rise 
 Above the reach of loftiest Ecstasies ! 
 
The Surrender 
 
 OFT have I calm'd Misfortunes Deep, 
 And sung my storming Greifs asleep 
 But now the Tempests Roar is swelld 
 Too high to Muse's Voice to yeild : 
 Or yf it bowes to any Verse, 
 It must be that w ch shall befriend my Herse. 
 
 Alas, my Sorrows were no more 
 Then could be scanned heertofore ! 
 But Measures now & Numbers be 
 Themselves no longer unto Me ; 
 Nor can their terminated Might 
 Deal with those Torments which are Infinite. 
 
 The Soule of this Complaint, to none 
 Is known, deer Lord, but Thee alone 
 Thou seest how lamentable I 
 In a strange Hell of Sweetness frie : 
 Thou se'st my Heart & Me all rent 
 Upon a Rack of Torturing Content. 
 
 374 
 
The Surrender 375 
 
 Not all this World could hire Me to 
 Flie from this delectable Woe. 
 Yet yf thy Pleasure be to ease 
 My deer & pretious Miseries ; 
 Do, mighty Lord ; thy Will is best : 
 I yeild, & will endure to be at Rest. 
 
 I think I yeild : O Jesu trie 
 The bottome of thy Victory : 
 O search, & sift this heart, & see 
 It cheats not Me, nor injur's Thee. 
 O yf it bends not, break it quite : 
 That Heart is soundest, w ch is most Contrite. 
 
Upon my Fathers Sudden & 
 Dangerous Sickness 
 
 Oct. ii. — 49. 
 
 THOUGH sad this Lesson be to Me, 
 Bycause I love the Book wherein 'tis writ 
 Yet shall no Greif so potent be 
 As to forbid my Industrie to get 
 
 It thoroughly by heart : For why 
 Should I my Father loose, although He dy ? 
 
 In mine own Blood, alas, I see 
 This Lesson painted ; & I needs must read : 
 
 Neer, wondrous neer of kin to Me 
 His very Sickness is ; nor could I plead 
 
 Against my Fate, although I were 
 Made his Pains Sonn, & his Distempers Heir. 
 
 What though by all the World before, 
 Whose Dust & Graves, Deaths Victory confess, 
 
 Our Times will take no Warning, nor 
 Expect what full against them flying is 
 
 On every Minutes Wings, but by 
 Their Lives, their Lives uncertainty deny ? 
 376 
 
My Fathers Dangerous Sickness 377 
 
 I see no ground to fancy how 
 This Moment can secure the next to Me : 
 
 O no ! Mortality, w ch now 
 Knocks at my Fathers door, right neighbourlie 
 
 To mine gives Warning, & may heer 
 Enter, for aught I know, as soon as there. 
 
 And let it enter, JESU, when 
 Soe'r thy Pleasure is its way to ope ; 
 
 But first, oh first, do Thou come in, 
 That by thy gracious Presence Thou mayst stopp 
 
 What Thou admittest ; for by Thee 
 Deaths Ev'n shall be the Dawn of Life to Me, 
 
feveBXtdKov 
 
 March 13. 1649. 
 
 TWELVE Moneths agoe, what rate would I too dear 
 Have thought, to buy me but another Year-, 
 In which I Virtues Quarrell might 
 Revenge with Poenitence's fist. 
 And stoutly wreak my holy Spight 
 Upon my most rebellious Breast : 
 That so the Sight of my own Life might not 
 Before I dy'd, death through my heart have shott ! 
 
 Yet, though great LOVE hath reined Justice in 
 From my bold Three-and-thirty Years of Sin ; 
 And giv'n me Mercy's generous leave 
 This other annual Round to tread : 
 Alas what use of this Repreive 
 Has my ingratefull Madnes made, 
 Who have but raisd my Guilts vast Mountain more 
 By a Years height than it was swelld before ! 
 
 Though I have seen our wretched Britain made 
 The Isle of Monsters ; though the onely Trade 
 378 
 
revedXictjKOv 379 
 
 Our England drives be Frensy, and 
 Rebellious Desperation ; Yet 
 I finde a more enormous Band 
 Of Rebells in my Bosome mett : 
 Rebells, whose furious stomach dares disdain 
 Not Britains Monarch, but Heavns Soverain. 
 
 The lower House, the Commons of my Breast, 
 My traiterous Passions, speciously drest 
 In Liberties bewitching cloke ; 
 First trampling down my Will & Reason 
 As useless Peers, in triumph broke 
 Into the gulfe of deepest Treason, 
 And murdered their royal Lord again, 
 Whose guilt was nothing but his Gentle Reign. 
 
 Afresh thus having JESUS crucifi'd, 
 In Sinns anarchical carreer they ride : 
 And I, alas, unhappy I, 
 In woefull Vassalage enchaind, 
 A Prey to my own Madnes ly ; 
 That Madnes, which for me hath gaind 
 A decent Vengance on my proud Offence, 
 A Rout of Tyrants for one gracious Prince. 
 
 With what sore Taxes did they pill & poll 
 The holy Score of my once thriveing Soule ! 
 How has their Fury stormd me from 
 My own Free Hold, not leaving Me 
 So much to dwell in, as the Home 
 Of my own Self ! how cruelie 
 Have they by Sequestration seized even 
 On that Reversion which I had of Heaven 1 
 
380 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 7 
 
 A King, a King, again, say I ; & none 
 But Him who is our rightfull King alone ! 
 JESU, oh JESU, lend thine ear, 
 Thine ever-gracious ear to Me, 
 Whose broken Soule desires to bear 
 No Yoke, no King, but thine & Thee ! 
 I have this cheating Liberty, & fain 
 In thy deer Service would be free again. 
 
 8 
 
 For yf I be not ; Why, why should I be 
 At all ! Or what is this New Year to Me, 
 But a New Orb of Woe, upon 
 Whose wheel I must be rackd again, 
 And through Lifes longer Torments run 
 To longest Deaths more heavy Pain ? 
 The thought of further Life slay's Me with Dread, 
 Yf living still, must make me ever Dead. 
 
 9 
 O never never let my Vessell steer 
 Through such another treason-foaming Year ! 
 My Passions no such Armies have, 
 Nor Navies, to maintain their Pride ; 
 But Thou into Destructions Grave 
 Canst easily tread their strongest Tide. 
 Why shouldst not Thou, sweet Lord of Power & Love, 
 Who art MOST HIGH, be every where above} 
 
 10 
 
 O JESU be above, & Reign in Me : 
 So shall these Rebells melt to Loyaltie : 
 
 So shall that other Perturbation 
 
 Which all this Year hath toss'd my Breast 
 
 And wov'n mysterious Vexation 
 
 Into my deerest Joyes, molest 
 My Soule no more with strange Anxietie, 
 Nor tear it farr farr from it self, & Thee. 
 
revedXiuKOv 3°* 
 
 Thine Ey alone is privie to the Smart 
 
 Of those long Pangs which revelld in my heart ; 
 
 When my Desires from That were shutt 
 
 From Which they could not severd be ; 
 
 When I was most where I was not ; 
 
 When onely Absence dwelt with me j 
 When every houre hurri'd & flung me to 
 Those pretious Sweets to which I might not go j 
 
 12 
 
 When I could scorn all Danger, Toil, & Pain, 
 That most inestimable Gemm to gain, 
 Yet by poor slender Nothings saw 
 My way quite intercepted ; and 
 In spight of Loves allconquering Law, 
 Ev'n brave Ascension at a stand ; 
 When the resolved Flame still wider spread, 
 Yet on its noble Feuel might not feed : 
 
 13 
 When I, though on the brink of fulltide Joy, 
 Liv'd in the squalid Desert of Dismay ; 
 When Unity it self might not 
 Be one ; When Times learnd to controll 
 Beyond their Sphear, & bridle what 
 Was now eternal in my Soule ; 
 When I might not free Owner be of that 
 Whereof I had intire possession gott. 
 
 14 
 Just reason of a guilty Blush could I 
 In that my vehement Designe descry, 
 An hecatombe of Thanks & Praise 
 I at that Fortunes foot would lay 
 Which barracado'd all the ways 
 That led to my desired Joy : 
 But since my aim was pure, oh why must I 
 So long obstructed be, / know not Why ? 
 
382 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 / know not Why : unless the Worth of that 
 
 Invaluable Gemm, a barr did putt 
 
 Against my Worthlessnes : & then 
 Jesu, I yeild, & must confess 
 I have no further plea, nor can 
 Pretend desert of That which is 
 
 So sweetly pretious : No, I know I must 
 
 Miss my too-loftie Aim, yf Thou beest Just. 
 
 16 
 
 Yet since thy Justice-conquering Goodnes now 
 
 Incourageth my Hopes afresh to grow ; 
 O never let them fade again, 
 Nor sown into sad Intermission, 
 But their mature Success obtain 
 And flourish into sweet Fruition ! 
 
 O let them flourish ! Or quite root them up. 
 
 Dispair is better farr, than fruitless Hope. 
 
Anniversarium Baptismi 
 
 Mar: 21, 1649. 
 
 ODEER & memorable Day to Me, 
 From which I count my Christianitie ! 
 Eight Days I breath'd, but did not live, 
 Bycause I onely was what I was Born ; 
 
 But Thou a blessed check didst give 
 To my sad Fate, & me with Life adorn. 
 
 That mighty Deluge which its fury hurld 
 
 Beyond all Shores, & wrack'd the anchient World, 
 
 Bury'd not Mortals in so deep 
 A Death, but the Baptismal Flood in more 
 
 Assured Life their Soules doth steep, 
 And roll them to Eternities high Shore. 
 
 Thus at this truelyest-living Fountains Head 
 I into holy Life was Buryed : 
 
 And had I kept that Purity 
 Which in that liquid Sepulchre I found, 
 
 Not Death it self could make me dy 
 Who was Eternal by thus being Drownd. 
 
 383 
 
384 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 But foolish I would needs be padling in 
 The lazie filthly Lakes of nasty Sin ; 
 
 Till I had staind my careless Heart 
 With poisnous Spotts, which like Plague-tokens seald 
 
 Me for my Grave : Nor could the Art 
 Of Man or Angel cure or comfort yeild. 
 
 5 
 
 O no ! a LORD HA VE MERCY ON ME, was 
 The onely Charm in that infected case : 
 
 And so is still ; for nothing but 
 The soverain Power of MERCY can asswage 
 
 Sinns strong Contagion, & put 
 Eases soft chains on my Diseases rage. 
 
T 
 
 feveOXKLKOv 
 
 March. 13. 1650. 
 
 HIS Morning five & thirty years 
 
 Which op'd mine Eyes, did broach my tears 
 When, though I wept I knew not why, 
 Each tear distilld a Prophecy ; 
 
 Liquid & clear were they, 
 But these in darknes lay, 
 Where, like all others, they this Maxime held, 
 Not to be understood untill fullfilld. 
 
 For what Diviners piercing Ey, 
 Though help'd with those of heavn, in my 
 Then-newborn-soule could read, That She 
 Would foulest of all Monsters be : 
 And, by mad venturing in 
 The desperate Trade of Sin, 
 Gain so much Loss, that these poor Eyes of mine 
 Should need aforehand to acquaint with Brine ? 
 
 Say, treacherous Heart, say with what reason 
 Thou darest still abhorr that Treason 
 Whose uncontrolld Contagion reigns 
 In miserable Britains veins ? 
 
 385 2 c 
 
386 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Has it yet tutord Thee 
 
 Into thy Loyaltie ? 
 Or has this new-past Year had power to bring 
 Thee to Allegiance to thy heavnly King ? 
 
 Where are those Promises which thy 
 Sad-seeming Tongue did heap so high ! 
 Ask these Twelve Months yf ever Thou 
 Didst keep with God thy Word or Vow. 
 Why start'st Thou now away ? 
 Say, shameless Trayter, say, 
 Could'st Thou indure thy Slave should break his Word 
 So oft with Thee, as Thou hast with thy God ? 
 
 Yet this Allmighty Lord of thine 
 Still reins his long-due Vengance in : 
 His Love with longer Time He baits, 
 And strangely thus thy Leisure waits : 
 Thy Death He doth command 
 At distance yet to stand ; 
 And by this other Year he tempteth Thee 
 Into the arms of sweet Eternitie. 
 
 And can the Flesh, the World, or He 
 Who vaunts him self its Prince to be, 
 Bid fairer for thee, or invite 
 With richer arguments thy sight ? 
 Feel then, & weigh, & see 
 What thus inamours thee : 
 Alas thy Prize beguiles thy touch, & all 
 Thy Bliss, to empty Vanity doth fall. 
 
fevedXiaKOv 3 8 7 
 
 7 
 Fool ! wilt thou mock thy God ? oh know 
 The longer He doth draw his Bow, 
 He shoots the surer, & his Arrow 
 Feirce Speed ev'n from Delay doth borrow. 
 He at this Seige in vain 
 Long long enough hath layn : 
 Compell Him not to storm thee now, 'cause He 
 Woo's thy Surrender with such Suavitie. 
 
 8 
 
 O do but yeild, & thine shall be 
 The truer happier Victorie : 
 Yeild, yeild, & win a Kingdom ; even 
 The Realm of Joy of Life of Heavn. 
 To what can thy Desire 
 More happily aspire, 
 Than unto that, which not to reach, will be 
 Calamities profound extremitie ! 
 
 9 
 
 Nor canst Thou plead, That all thy Bliss 
 A great way off suspended is, 
 And totaly eclipsed by 
 Lying in dark Futurity : 
 
 What was that Heavn which thou 
 Alone desirdst below? 
 Is it not now into thy bosome thrown, 
 Makeing most happy Thee double thine own ? 
 
 io 
 
 How wert Thou torn the other Year 
 Upon the rack of Hope & Fear ! 
 How did thy Tears dropp through thy Quill 
 And so into thy Verses steal ; 
 
 Whilst every Line prov'd true 
 To their Inks mourning hue ; 
 And every Syllable sigh'd Sorrows tone, 
 Each Word did weep, & every Rime did grone ! 
 
388 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 11 
 
 But now that Night of thy Dismay 
 Is broke up into Comforts Day : 
 The Harvest of thy panting Hope 
 Is ripe & reap'd & gatherd up : 
 Thy dear Ambition now 
 Wears on its crowned brow 
 That most invaluable Jewell which 
 Can robb both Indies of the name of RICH. 
 
 12 
 
 And what, what wouldst thou more than so, 
 Thee into Virtues Schole to woo ! 
 View but the beauties of that Gemm 
 By the pure light of its own beam : 
 Read read, & study there, 
 And then confess yf e'r 
 Thy bookish eyes in any leaves such sweet 
 And lively fruits of pious Worth did meet. 
 
 13 
 What though Ascensions lofty pitch 
 Surmounted thy unworthy reach ! 
 Yet may'st thou in a lower sphear 
 Due motion keep, & bright appear. 
 
 Move then, oh Move, & Shine, 
 Whilst yet thy Time is thine : 
 Take heed thine idle self thou dost not cheat, 
 By plotting then to Rise, when thou must sett. 
 
 14 
 
 Rise, rise my Soule, & sleep no more 
 In sluggish sin, as heertofore. 
 All Heavn stands ope, & willt thou miss 
 A mark so full & fair as this ? 
 
 Fear not its height, allthough 
 Thou crawlst a Worm below : 
 'Twill meet thy reaching Arms, & draw thee up, 
 Unless thy Bliss thou willfully dost stopp. 
 
Anniversarium Baptism! 
 
 Marti 21. 1650. 
 
 L 
 
 OVE, I am thine : for yf I be 
 Not so ; Self is not Self to me. 
 No Title to my Self have I, 
 But in thy deer Propriety ; 
 For this most memorable Day 
 Polluted Me washd clean away, 
 And I, who was before a dead 
 And still-born Thing, was quickened 
 Into a nobler Essence than 
 Springs from the rotten loyns of Man : 
 I of my mortal Parents wretched Sonn 
 To be thy blessed Childe to Day begun. 
 
 O truest Father, how did thy 
 Bounty inrich my Poverty ! 
 How large a Portion didst Thou 
 On me, a younger Sonn, bestow ! 
 A Portion of Strength & Health, 
 Of Arts & Natures usefull wealth, 
 Of gratious Motions, holy Heats, 
 Heart-cheering Joyes, spiritual Sweets, 
 Of high & noble Things, which none 
 But such a Sire could give a Sonn : 
 
 389 
 
390 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 A Portion upon whose ample Store 
 
 I might have bravely liv'd for evermore ! 
 
 I might have liv'd ; had foolish I 
 To deadly Prodigality 
 Not sold my self, & turned Slave 
 Before I dy'd, unto my grave : 
 Had I that fair Estate not spent 
 Fond Lusts & Passions to content ; 
 Nor on the score with Vengance run, 
 To be the surer twise undone. 
 O ! should my Creditors awake 
 Their indignation, & take 
 Due course of Law against me, What would bayl 
 Me from the bottom of Hells deepest Jayl ! 
 
 Meanwhile, alas, all that I finde 
 
 To feed my justly-starved Minde, 
 
 Are sappless skinns of Vanitie, 
 
 Husks drie & starv'd as well as She : 
 
 A Diet fitt enough for Swine 
 
 And Me ; since both of us combine 
 
 With feet profane in dirt to tread 
 
 Those Perles which would adorn our head, 
 
 Or purchase nobler Cates which might 
 
 Our palates court with pure delight. 
 
 Ah cheating World, how hast thou mockd my taste, 
 
 Obtruding onely Famin for a Feast ! 
 
 But Thou, great Lord of endless love, 
 Hast raised thy Patience farr above 
 The mountain of my Guilt : & I 
 Onely from that thy Victory 
 Pluck hopes of giving this my great 
 Unhappiness a sure defeat. 
 
Anniversarium Baptismi 391 
 
 Behold thy pined Prodigall 
 
 Doth at thy lowest footstool fall, 
 
 Where I the prey of Pity ly ; 
 
 Quarter, oh, quarter, or I dy ! 
 I dy ; for all my Living's spent & gone ; 
 And none can raise the Dead but Thou alone. 
 
 I envy not thine Heirs, who be 
 Sonns of devout Frugalitie ; 
 Nor reach I at a place in their 
 Felicities exalted Sphear : 
 Bold bold enough is my ambition, 
 Into thy Pay to begg admission, 
 And have my Name inroll'd & blest 
 Ev'n in thy meanest Hirelings list. 
 Alas 'tis not for famish d Me 
 To article with mighty Thee, 
 For 'tis to Mercy I surrender now : 
 O may I but be Thine, I care not how ! 
 
A ! 
 
 revedXidKOV 
 
 Marti 13. 1651. 
 
 S when a beauteous Morn brings forth 
 An answerably-splendid birth, 
 And Titan with a smileing face 
 Gets up & gins his golden race ; 
 Sereen & cheerly Houres attend 
 His wheels which up Noons mount ascend, 
 Suffring no envious Clowd 
 To crowd 
 Into the glorious throne of Day 
 Which now through all heavn doth her realm display. 
 
 Yet when faint & decrepit grown 
 Into the West she stumbles down ; 
 Some treacherous Windes have taken arms 
 And musterd up rebellious Storms 
 To damp her peace's gorgeous grace 
 And tear her monarchies bright face ; 
 Whilst the defeated Sun 
 Doth run 
 From his fair colours, & is wett 
 Before he can into th' Atlantik gett. 
 392 
 
fevedXiaKOV 393 
 
 How true that Day paints out to me 
 This Years sweet-soure repugnancie ! 
 A Year in which my Joyes grew up 
 Into the blade of cheerly Hope : 
 But blasted then, did onely yeild 
 A Crop of Greif from Comforts Feild 
 A Year which taught me how 
 To grow 
 Into a sad beleif that heer 
 Delight's bright Perl's but a mistaken Tear. 
 
 Fair dawnd this Year, when I & I, 
 (All Turtles know this mystery,) 
 Incouraged by pleasant health, 
 Vie'd loves, & multiply'd the Wealth 
 Of that most pretious Union, which 
 Denies that gold or gemms are rich : 
 Nor did his progress fail 
 To seal 
 Upon our hopes fresh Joyes, when we 
 Saw in that Spring nuptial Fertilitie. 
 
 How large a promise did he give 
 That I should more than double live, 
 Whilst in my pregnant Deerest I 
 Seem'd rooted to posterity. 
 How honestly at length he made 
 Shew of performing what he had 
 So fairly promis'd me, 
 When he 
 Payd me the pretious Daughter from 
 The lovely Mother-perl's ingaged wombe ! 
 
394 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 How blooming now did I appear, 
 Grown young & fresh again in Her ! 
 Especaly when happy She 
 Corrected her nativitie, 
 And by a second birth became 
 God's childe as well as mine : Her Name 
 Was allso now no less 
 Express 
 An echo of her Mother, than 
 Were those sweet lines which through her feature ran. 
 
 Thus this Eliza deerer was 
 By being that Eliza's Glass. 
 In this epitomie I read 
 (Yet not at all diminished) 
 The Mothers Sweets ; in that full book 
 Th' expansion of the Daughters Look. 
 Thus did I feast my Joy, 
 And lay 
 My heart to take her deer repose 
 Now on the Bud, now on the full blown Rose. 
 
 8 
 
 But ah ! the flattering treacherous Year 
 Which rose & shin'd till now so cleer ; 
 With sudden frowns plough'd up his brow, 
 And violently study'd how 
 To mock my Joy's precocitie 
 By levelling his storm at me. 
 
 For by an envious stroke 
 He broke 
 My dainty Bud, which in that gust 
 Was quite blown down & buried in the dust. 
 
fevedXiaKW 395 
 
 Yet why do I accuse the Year, 
 Which taught me (though by a seveer 
 And nature-tearing lesson) not 
 To build my hopes & joys on what 
 The easy gaine & prize can be 
 Of tottering Mortalitie. 
 
 This Lesson & hard Art 
 By heart 
 O may I get, & run to thee 
 Sweet JESU for true Rest's Stabilitie. 
 
Annivers : Baptismt 
 
 Mart. 21. 
 
 COURAGE my Soule ! what though thy foes combine 
 Their might & spight to undermine 
 Thy Peaces fort, & throw 
 That Safety low 
 
 Which thou 
 Hast long in building been, & fain 
 That Fabrik's, & thy Wishes, topp, wouldst gain ? 
 
 Courage ! This very Day must Item Thee 
 Into an holy Braverie : 
 
 This happy Day, wherein 
 Thou didst begin 
 To win 
 A place in Valour's Army, and 
 Under the LORD of HOSTS didst listed stand. 
 
 3 
 
 Thou knowst what Colours mighty He doth give 
 And what fair badge thou didst receive : 
 His bloody Crosse's Sighn 
 Whose shape divine 
 On thine 
 Initiated face was sett, 
 To valiant Patience consecrated it. 
 396 
 
Annivers : Baptismi 397 
 
 He, though arm'd with Omnipotence, did choose 
 By Suffring to subdue his Foes : 
 
 That Thou, who couldst not reach 
 His Powers pitch 
 
 Mightst stretch 
 Thy hardy patient arms (for this, 
 Weaknes may do,) to pull down Bayes and Bliss. 
 
 O cross not then that Cross, which marks thee out 
 For meekly patiently stout. 
 
 Wear not God's Badge in vain, 
 But bravely strain 
 To gain 
 Those Palmes thou canst not loose, yf thou 
 Wilt but endure a Conquerour to grow. 
 
M 
 
 The Journe 
 
 May 17. 1652 
 
 Y Parents deer to see to day 
 My Duty summons me away 
 Yt must my heart first wait on Thee 
 Great Father both of them & me. 
 To guide my journe that I may 
 Remember still Thou art my Way ! 
 Thou art my Way, & yf of Thee I miss, 
 My playnest path will prove a Precipice. 
 
 To crave my Parents Blessing I 
 This journe take : yet first to thy 
 Dear Benediction must I sue 
 To bless their Blessing into true 
 And full effect : least in the breath 
 Which gives it life, it findes its death. 
 Great King of Bliss ! in that sweet soveraintie 
 Of thine, O may poor I a Subject be. 
 
 3 
 So shall I gain brave strength to stretch 
 Through that laborious journe, which 
 I going am ; (& needs must go) 
 Ev'n whilst I stay at home ; for to 
 The unknown Land of Death am I 
 Hurried by Sinn & Destiny. 
 Vain hopes of Rest, adieu : my birth I scorn 
 To cross, since I a Traveller am born. 
 398 
 
The Winter-Spring 
 
 May 1 8. 
 
 OHOW the Worlds Amazement now doth stare 
 Upon this contradiction of the Year ; 
 Whilst frowning Januaries frost 
 Doth smileing Maja's beauties blast ; 
 Whilst Winter his chaste bounds forgets 
 And on the virgin Spring a rape committs. 
 
 Poor ravishd Spring ! how every Leaf confesses 
 The violence done to her goodly tresses ! 
 Her woefull head how sadly She 
 Hangs down in every floure ! No tree, 
 No feild, no gardin, where she went 
 But doth her piteous injury lament. 
 
 Mark well, my Heart, too plainly painted heer 
 An embleme of thy self in this sad Year : 
 The raies of Righteousnesses Sun 
 By gracious neerness had begun. 
 With vernal beauties thee to grace, 
 And heavns sweet dew had washd & cheerd thy face. 
 
 399 
 
4-00 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 But blasted now by Indevotions cold 
 
 Thy yeauthfull Spring turns withered & old ; 
 
 The bedds where thy fair floures did grow, 
 Alas are but their death-bedds now : 
 Nipp'd in their budd thy firstfruits are ; 
 And thou canst onely say, Such Sweets grew heer. 
 
 5 
 
 And has some sudden anger snatch d away 
 My courteous Sun ? O no, thyself didst stray 
 
 From thine own Bliss : He, constant He 
 
 Desires not retrograde to be. 
 
 It is not this, but th' other Sunn 
 Who of himself doth back to Winter run. 
 
The Gentle Check 
 
 o 
 
 May 19. 
 
 NE half of me was up &: drest, 
 The other still in lazy rest ; 
 For yet my prayers I had not sayd ; 
 When I close at her Mattens heard 
 A dainty-tongued Bird, 
 Who little thought how she did me upbrayd. 
 
 But Guilt caught hold of every Note, 
 And through my breast the anthem shott : 
 My breast heard more than did my ear, 
 For now the tune grew sharp & chode 
 Me into thoughts of God, 
 To whome most due my earlyer Accents were. 
 
 How shall I blush enough to see 
 Poor Birds prevent my praise to thee ! 
 Dear Lord my Muse for pardon pants, 
 And every Tardy guilty Tone 
 
 Doth languish to a Grone : 
 Alas to day she sings not, but recants. 
 
 401 2 D 
 
402 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Forgive, forgive my lazie Rhyme 
 Which in its musik keeps not time. 
 Yf thy sweet Patience lets me borrow 
 Another Morn of Life, I give 
 
 My promise heer to strive 
 Before the Lark to be at heavn to morrow. 
 
T 
 
 The Sentinel 
 
 To my Friend. 
 
 May 20. 
 
 HANKS sweetest friend, who deckest me 
 In shewing me mine own Deformitie. 
 Alas, the eys ev'n of my Minde 
 Though plac'd within, to things within are blinde ; 
 
 And, like those of my Body, on 
 Externals spend their gazing selvs alone. 
 
 Ay me, who thus become 
 Abroad quicksighted, but stark blinde at home. 
 
 My faithfull eyes are those whereby 
 The darkest bottom of my self I spy. 
 
 What fools were Poets, who could finde 
 No way but to conclude that Love is blinde ! 
 
 He who himself would right discover, 
 The eys must borrow of a trusty Lover ; 
 
 Eys whence indeed those darts 
 Of piercing fire flash forth which serch through hearts. 
 
 3 
 
 Dear Spie of me, thanks thanks again 
 For this discovery ; now me thinks 'tis plain 
 
 403 
 
404 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 How ougly I did muffled go 
 In Melancholies veil. I know no Foe 
 
 Whom more I hate than that black Witch, 
 Yet much I love her too : Alas in such 
 
 A snarled maze I move 
 That heer I love my hate, & hate my love. 
 
 Inestimable Sentinel, 
 Upon thy loving guard oh stand thou still : 
 
 Give the alarm whenever thou 
 These clowds discoverest gathering on my brow ; 
 
 And help me in the charge, that I 
 May conquer by thy cheerfull bravery. 
 
 This way, my better Heart, 
 Be thou my Second, though my Self thou art. 
 
The Farm 
 
 May 21. 
 
 TENANT at will indeed lam; & yet 
 Wish for no Lease of this my life, since I 
 Under so good a Lord do live, & sitt 
 At rent allmost as low as He is high : 
 
 The greatest summ that He expects from me 
 Is that which nothing costs, Humilitie. 
 
 Humility, with Homage, Fealty, and 
 
 Some easy Services ; for mighty He, 
 
 Least I should shrink, lays to his own kinde hand 
 
 And helps me to obey himself, oh free 
 
 And gentle Lord, who to his Tenant gives, 
 Aforehand, all the Rent that he receives ! 
 
 As for the Farms increase, though I improve 
 It to a thousand fold, yet still I pay 
 No more to Him, but only more of love : 
 And what gains heavns great King, yf Dust & Clay 
 Heap his affections on him ! Thus, in fine 
 The Farm's Rent's his, but all the Profits mine. 
 405 
 
406 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 Besides, to keep my house in good repair, 
 With all Materials He doth me supply. 
 Yf to decay it falleth, I must bear 
 The blame alone : yea when Mortality 
 
 Shall tumble't into dust, that Ruine from 
 My Fall & first offence, at last, will come. 
 
 But now to leave so good a Farm, can I 
 Contented be ? oh yes I can, whene'r 
 My Lord shall please to turn me out, since by 
 His boundless Love eternal Mansions are 
 
 Prepar'd above, of short-termd Tenants heer 
 Who would not chuse to be Freeholders there ? 
 
News 
 
 May 22. 
 
 WHAT haste, fond Jock ! Nay thou shalt longer stay, 
 Bycause thou thirstest thus to snatch 
 The first buzz of the News, & catch 
 Thou knowst not what : The Story may 
 Be sad, & punish greedy thee ; 
 What harm then in deferring Miserie ! 
 
 Stay but a while, & thou the News shalt see 
 
 Come, uninvited, to thy door, 
 
 And honester that 'twas before : 
 
 That Paint & lying Braverie 
 
 Which makes her young wilde face so gay, 
 Will by truth-cleering Time be washt away. 
 
 Fear not Delay ; the News, though tardy, yet 
 Can be her self to Thee, one day, 
 Or twenty hence : That which doth slay 
 Her slight life, is not Absence, but 
 Presence alone : the News is new 
 
 When first she comes (though then she dyes) in view. 
 407 
 
408 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 But hark, my Heart, the happiest News to thee 
 Will be to finde it truely in 
 Thy self : Is that old Man of Sin 
 Banishd & gone, & canst thou see 
 New holy youth bud in thy breast ? 
 
 This is the only News can make thee blest. 
 
 If after other News thou lingerest still, 
 
 Look out, & see where thou canst spy 
 Devotion, Meeknes, Loyalty, 
 Peace, Justice, & sinceer good-will : 
 Judge truly, & thou canst not chuse 
 
 But grant these old things are the greatest News. 
 
The Due/1 
 
 May 23. 
 
 SAD fruit of misapplyed Valour ! Here 
 Lies Shandoys wounded, & there Compton slayn. 
 O goodly gain 
 Of gallant Duells ! are 
 Not Wounds & Death fine things, when they are bought 
 Humor and private Grudge to garnish out? 
 
 Surely there is another kinde of Duell 
 As hardy, smart & generously brave, 
 
 Though not so cruel : 
 A Duell which will save 
 One of the Champions from the miseries 
 Of Wounds & Death, though in the fight he dies. 
 
 Yea & so lawfull 'tis, that never Laws 
 Were kept, but by this Duells good success. 
 Nor is it less 
 Strange in the Lists it draws, 
 For though this fight through all the world be fought, 
 The feild is pitcht within & not without. 
 409 
 
4i o Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 The Duellers are none but onely I 
 Or onely You j for I & You, alone 
 
 Are more than One. 
 In every heart do ly 
 Two active Parties, Flesh & Spirit, whose 
 Immortal hate makes them most mortal foes. 
 
 5 
 
 How strangely solemne's this Incounter ! where 
 God, Men, & Angels, all Spectators be ; 
 Where Victorje 
 Doth no less prize conferr 
 Than Heavn or Hell : Where the fights consummation 
 On this side's Death, on that Mortification. 
 
 Since then no Quarter heer can given be, 
 Courage, my Spirit, as thou lovst thy life. 
 
 On this short strife 
 Depends eternitie 
 Of rest & peace, & how how canst thou merit 
 Yf thou in courage faylst, thy name of Spirit ? 
 
N 
 
 The World 
 
 May 24. 
 
 AY now I'm sure my judgement's sound, 
 Since ripe experience is its ground. 
 Why, I my self have felt & seen 
 
 Thy tedious Vanity ; 
 Fond shameless World, & canst thou ween 
 I -will for thee ev'n common sense deny? 
 
 Thou wear'st a beauteous skin, I grant ; 
 And do the deadly Serpents want 
 Those dangerous hypocrisies ? 
 Or is the Poisons soule 
 Less its curs'd self, bycause it lies 
 In the brave ambush of a golden boule ? 
 
 When Israels, & Wisdomes, King 
 Did stoutly to the touchstone bring 
 Thy fairest Peeces, did not they 
 
 Prove base-bred counterfets ; 
 Whose stamp though neat, & colour gay, 
 Their purest ore was but refined Cheats. 
 411 
 
412 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 4 
 
 And oh that I had been content 
 
 To rest on his Experiment ! 
 
 But since I at the cost have been 
 
 By thee deceivd to be, 
 Tis not another World could win 
 My heart to dote : or trust on empty thee. 
 
 Go fawn on those whose frothy minde 
 Can solace in a bubble finde, 
 And Juno in a Clowd imbrace ; 
 Who by the lying Paint 
 Which smiles upon their Idols face 
 Doubt not to count the beauties of their Saint. 
 
 And yet thy Paint's so silly too, 
 
 It can no warey Lover woo. 
 
 Indeed good Shaddows sprucely show 
 
 But where the Picture is 
 Nothing besides, (and such art thou) 
 It proves but artificial Ouglines. 
 
N 
 
 The Servant 
 
 May 25. 
 
 OW on my Conscience thou art right 
 My Heart, who tellst me, I 
 This morning full as justly might 
 Have let my anger fly 
 At my forgetfull sin full self, as at 
 My Servant who my strait Command forgot. 
 
 I have a Master too : nor is 
 
 My Servant bound to my 
 
 Commands, so much as I to His 
 
 In whose great family 
 
 Were I not entertained I could not live ; 
 
 'Tis He, who to myself myself doth give. 
 
 Ah patient Master of bold Me, 
 
 How oft hast thou renued 
 Thy soft Commands, & ernestlie 
 My fugitive heart persued ; 
 Yea, and (what I could hardly stoop to do) 
 Vouchafd thy Slaves obedience to woo ! 
 4i3 
 
414 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 4 
 
 How gross in my Injustice, who 
 
 Could not this fault digest 
 From mine own Servant, yet can so 
 Gentle a Lord resist ! 
 And now could I for shame expect that he 
 When I disloyal am, should faithfull be ! 
 
 O teach me holy policie, 
 
 Great Lord, & never let 
 Me copies of disloyaltie 
 
 To my own Servants set. 
 Subdue my stubborn Will, for then I shall 
 Best have it, when I have it not at all. 
 
Game 
 
 May 26. 
 
 N 
 
 OT from the stern 
 Portch did I lern 
 This Lesson, but from civil Reasons Temple : 
 
 Nor can thy fine example 
 Outbrave my sober grounds, or prove that I 
 A Heretik am in Gentility. 
 
 I needs must tell 
 Thee, Gallant, still 
 Thy hounds & hawks I never yet could see 
 
 Catch such delight to me, 
 As oft is caught by these two fingers when 
 After a flea in hott persute they runn. 
 
 Dost thou not know 
 It is not Thou 
 That hawk'st & huntest, but thy hound & hawk ? 
 
 And dost not blush to talk 
 Of generous Sport, when thou their Lord, at least 
 Art the Attendant on thy Bird and Beast ! 
 415 
 
4i 6 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 4 
 
 Nay more than so, 
 Their Vassal too 
 Thou art, & whether thorough fair or foule 
 
 Thy most inslaved Soule 
 Is glad to thrust thee, yf they lead the way : 
 Are these the paths to manly noble Joy ? 
 
 5 
 The Griffen, or 
 The Tygre, farr 
 Outvie such Joys, when they without the aid 
 Of hawk or hound have preyd 
 Upon their game, & needed not, like thee, 
 For their wilde pastimes borrowers to be. 
 
 6 
 
 Is it not fine 
 Delight to win 
 This rare applause when thou in weary sweat 
 
 Dost from thy sport retreat : 
 Behold, the Man, 6° hawks &* hounds are come 
 Ev'n with a conquer d hare or partridge home. 
 
 Then, yf you will, 
 Bate the mad hell 
 Of oathes which haunts this trade : yet can I not 
 
 Be charmd to toile in what 
 Pretendeth not to yeild me other gains 
 Then onely this, My Labour for my Pains. 
 
 8 
 
 That Sport is known 
 Best to thine own 
 Huntsmen & falkners ; yet will never they 
 Unless by ample Pay 
 
Game 
 
 Be charmd to follow it : 'tis not the Game, 
 No, 'tis thy Money which delighteth them. 
 
 But noblest things, 
 Princes & Kings 
 Are of these Games the granted Soverains too 
 
 And what yf I have no 
 Ambition to play like them ? though they 
 Perhaps seek nothing less in Sports than Play. 
 
 10 
 
 Yet please thy will 
 And play thy fill ; 
 But tie not me to this thy Loosnes, who 
 
 Perchance know what to do. 
 What yf I rather list to hunt, as high 
 As Nimrod in the feilds of History ? 
 
 ii 
 
 What yf I take 
 Delight to make 
 My Contemplations resolute wings outstretch 
 
 Thy hawks sublimest reach ? 
 On, on, for me : yf I above it am, 
 Let me alone, I shall not spoil thy game. 
 
 417 
 
 2 E 
 
Ascension 
 
 May 27. 
 
 A FEAST, & yet the very Day 
 Our Bridegrome bear our Joys away ? 
 Besides, the Comforter, who might 
 
 Supply us with Delight, 
 Is ten days off, & may not we 
 Now fast by sad authority ? 
 
 O no ! this happy day must be 
 The holy Feast of Sympathie : 
 'Tis to his Coronation 
 
 Our head to day is gone ; 
 Our reign commenceth heer, & we 
 Begin this morning Kings to be. 
 
 Heavns Kingdome now is open sett : 
 And yf we will not frustrate it, 
 Our Heads is our Ascension too ; 
 
 And though wee'r left below, 
 In Him to Us is truely given 
 Livery & seisin of all heaven. 
 418 
 
Ascension 419 
 
 Then take we state upon us now, 
 Disdaining all that is below 
 Our royaltie : our sphears above 
 
 And there, there let us move. 
 For what have they to do, who dwell 
 In heavn with earth, much more with hell ! 
 
T 
 
 Friends 
 
 May 28. 
 
 'HY Friends ! Nay spare the plural there ; 
 Such things as Friends are singular : 
 Thou of thy Phoenixes as well 
 Mayst tell 
 Thy tale, & be belev'd as soon 
 That thou hast many of what scarce is one. 
 
 Shines thy Sun fair ? that gorgeous light 
 To shew a Freind is too too bright : 
 The day with gloomy shades opprest 
 
 Will best 
 Discover Him, whose Worth by none 
 But its own glorious rays is seen alone. 
 
 Alas thy fawning Courtiers be 
 Friends of thy Fortune, not of Thee : 
 Let her but frown, & they will do 
 
 So too. 
 Be warey then, & just as farr 
 Rely on Them, as Thou canst trust to Her. 
 420 
 
Friends 421 
 
 4 
 
 But hast thou met a faithfull Heart ? 
 In spight of Fortune blest thou art. 
 Write others down Acquaintance, but yet 
 
 Admit 
 Sole him into thy Friends dear Roll ; 
 Them in thine arms imbrace, Him in thy Soule. 
 
 5 
 
 For who is thy souls Spouse but He ? 
 O then with him contented be. 
 Let chastity thy love commend 
 
 And lend 
 No ear to wanton Syrens, who 
 Would thee to breach of Friendships wedlock woo. 
 
The Bankrupt 
 
 May 29. 
 
 DESPISE him not, though he 
 A Bankrupt be : 
 To peeces broke he is indeed, 
 Yet not to nothing. Do not tread 
 Those fragments into dust, with which 
 He hopes a Composition to reach. 
 
 Thy Break is greater farr 
 Than his, nor are 
 Thy means sufficient to Compound 
 With thy great Creditor : look round 
 About thy Nothing now, & say 
 What thou hast left thy debts to God to pay. 
 
 Wouldst thou thy Body yeild 
 To prison ? build 
 No hopes on that sad plott j alas 
 The law on thee must further pass : 
 Thy Soul is allso forfeit, and 
 Th' eternal Jayl for both doth open stand. 
 422 
 
The Bankrupt 423 
 
 Cheat not thyself, nor say 
 I'l run away. 
 What world from Gods arrest can hide 
 His vainly-fugitive Worm ? beside, 
 No friend on earth can ever be 
 A Surety or sufficient Bayl for thee. 
 
 No way away to run 
 
 Hast thou but one : 
 FORGIVING'S thy sole way to woo 
 Thy Creditor the like to do. 
 Nay He'l outdo thee heer, for He 
 For pardning part, will all remitt to thee. 
 
Detraction 
 
 May 30. 
 
 THINKST thou to scape this Monsters teeth ? 
 Then hope to fly the jaws of Death : 
 Nay, things whose pitch 
 Is fan above the reach 
 Of any Death, are yet assaulted by 
 Detractions most unbounded Cruelty. 
 
 How oft has Blasphemies black Tongue 
 At God him self her venome flung ? 
 
 And wouldst thou fare 
 Better than things which are 
 The Best of all ? faint fool, that cannot be 
 Wherein thy God's a Sharer, Miserie. 
 
 'Tis rank Repugnancy at which 
 Thy fond ambition doth reach : 
 
 Canst thou tell how 
 Like every one to grow ? 
 Unless thou canst, thou must contented be 
 To let those things which differ, disagree. 
 424 
 
Detraction 425 
 
 To win the Proud Mans praise, canst thou 
 Plant insolence on thine own brow ; 
 Yet still, to reap 
 Fame with the Sordid, creep 
 Beneath fair Ingenuity ? oh no ! 
 What creature e'r was Worm & Eagle too ? 
 
 5 
 
 Since then Detraction must at thee 
 Be snarling, on necessitie ; 
 
 In the com pleat 
 Armour of Virtue meet 
 Thy peevish Foe, who then, the more she bite, 
 The more she'l break her teeth, & knaw her spight. 
 
Virtue 
 
 May 31. 
 
 VIRTUE ! why first she brings not in 
 Such gains, as gallant Sin. 
 Has not his squeamish conscience quite 
 
 Beggerd your Loyal Wight ? 
 Whilst the brave Rebell reigns upon 
 Your royal Martyrs throne. 
 
 And then, she's not gentile, pray shew 
 
 Me in the list of new 
 Sheer Fashions so much as but 
 
 The name of Virtue put. 
 And must we plod in the plain rode 
 
 Of our stale Grandsires Mode ? 
 
 Besides, She's baseborn, & below 
 A Gentleman : for how 
 
 Can she pretend to Gallantry 
 
 Who cannot be, yf high ? 
 
 What Exc'llance can in her be seen, 
 Whose essence is the Mean ? 
 426 
 
Virtue 427 
 
 Lastly, wherever she doth come 
 She's viley troublesome ; 
 
 Putting her deerest Friends to great 
 Expence of pains & sweat. 
 
 Troth let her go for me : a guest 
 
 Like her, when gone is best. 
 
 5 
 
 Thus dreams the Fool what pleases him, 
 And thus talks in his dream. 
 
 And let him talk : deer Virtue, he 
 By blaming praiseth thee. 
 
 Wise eyes would strait suspect thy rays 
 Should Fools thy Lustre praise. 
 
Thrift 
 
 June i. 1652. 
 
 SAY not, Tis base to spare, 
 Unless thou knew'st what spare- 
 ing were. 
 Hadst that been thy forefather's minde 
 More reason thou wouldst finde 
 To rayle on Spending : but thy scorn thou now 
 On thine own Prides Foundation doth throw. 
 
 Is't base? bold Prodigal, 
 Know'st thou whom heer thou dost miscall ? 
 Dares thy contemptuous Censure fling 
 Basenes on Bounties King? 
 He, noblest He, his own miraculous Gift 
 Was not ashamed to seal up with Thrift. 
 
 When he had thousands fed, 
 He set on every bit of bread 
 His saving care : Let nothing be 
 Squanderd & lost, sayd He, 
 But up with every crumb : yea though his word 
 To all the World a banquet could afford. 
 428 
 
Thrift 429 
 
 Will thy estate hold out 
 As well as his, that thou shouldst flout 
 The thought of Sparing ? or wouldst thou 
 More generousnes show 
 Than God himself? Ah fool, yf thou wouldst be 
 Noble indeed, thy Copy must be He. 
 
 5 
 
 'Tis thine who findst the fault 
 With Thrift ; for Thrift is Bounties Salt, 
 Which from corrupting keeps it free, 
 And makst it lasting be. 
 Belev't, he best knows how to spend (whate'r 
 Thy fancy weens,) who best knows how to spare. 
 
Avarice 
 
 A 
 
 June 2. 
 
 ND truly yesterday 
 
 I did suspect as much : away 
 Foule misgotten Elf, 
 Thou cheat'st thy silly self 
 In thinking I had any drift 
 To favor thee by praising Thrift. 
 
 Hence odious Avarice, 
 Thou mad & self-revenging Vice, 
 Who dost no toyl refuse 
 For that thou dar'st not use. 
 Thrift onely gathers, Thou dost scrape, 
 She to injoy, Thou but to keep. 
 
 Thou Jayler art, but She 
 The Steward of her gold : with thee 
 It rusts, with her it shines 
 Nor do its deepest Mines 
 Smother & lock it up so fast 
 As the vast gulph of thy dark chest. 
 43o 
 
Avarice 431 
 
 For that dark chest of thine 
 No pioner must hope to mine, 
 Since thy Necessitie 
 Cannot sufficient be 
 To digg thy treasure thence ; so deep 
 Thou, to thy loss, thy gains dost keep. 
 
 Less doth the Thunders crack 
 Than news of petty Charges, wake 
 
 Thy wretched fears ; & though 
 All thy religion's how 
 The best of money to possess, 
 Thy Money never current is. 
 
 Some Beast or other is 
 The embleme of each other Vice : 
 
 But never Brute was yet 
 
 So brutish as to get 
 The world a copie of foule Thee : 
 Midst Monsters, thou must Monster be. 
 
Honor 
 
 June 3. 
 
 AMBITIOUS Sir, take heed ; 
 For thou on Glass dost tread. 
 No Glass more beautifull & cleer 
 Than all the paths of Honor are ; 
 No Glass more slippery can be 
 Or brittle, than deceitfull She. 
 
 Ambitious Sir take heed, 
 Thou trustest to a Reed. 
 No Reed's more tost & scorned by 
 All Windes, than Honors bravery : 
 No Reed will wound more deeply Thee 
 Who leanst on it, than treacherous She. 
 
 Ambitious Sir take heed ; 
 
 Thou rid'st a dangerous Steed. 
 No Steed his crest doth more advance, 
 Or proudlyer than Honor prance : 
 No Steed did e'r so desperatlie 
 Stumble, as most uncertain She. 
 
 43 2 
 
Honor 
 
 Ambitious Sir, take heed ; 
 
 Thou dost on Poison feed. 
 No Poison in a goodlyer cup 
 Than that of Honor's served up : 
 No Poison e'r made drinker be 
 More swollen, than doth banefull She. 
 
 Ambitious Sir take heed ; 
 
 And in brave Haman read 
 A wholesome Lesson : who but He 
 Honor's own Darling was ! Yet see 
 His ruines monstrous mockery, 
 Who fell full fifty cubits high. 
 
 433 
 
 2 F 
 
Physik 
 
 June 4. 1652. 
 
 STRAIT for y e Doctor send : 
 That's thy first word, & hastiest 
 care; 
 When some Disease, or but y e fear 
 Of it, hath made thee sick. And I commend 
 
 Thy diligence, provided thou 
 What thou allow'st thy self wilt but thyself allow. 
 
 Thy Minde's as much & more 
 Thyself, than is thy Body : be 
 Impartial then, & equalie 
 
 At least dispense thy providences store ; 
 Especaly since thou mayst finde 
 
 More than a Spittle of Diseases in thy Minde. 
 
 The Aigue of cold Fear 
 Doth nip thee up ; or Lusts dogdays 
 A burning Fever in the rayse. 
 
 The Boulimie of Avarice doth tear 
 
 Thy restless ever-hungry heart, 
 
 Or thou in Prodagalities Consumption art. 
 
 434 
 
Physik 
 
 435 
 
 Pride's dangerous Tympanie 
 Thee to a monstrous bulk doth swell ; 
 Or Drunkenesses Dropsie fill 
 
 But not suffice thee : Curiositie 
 
 With a wilde Itch doth hant thee, or 
 
 The Gout of Lazines make thee unfitt to stirr. 
 
 5 
 
 Ah most diseased thing ! 
 And darst thou still forbear to fly 
 To Physiks Sanctuary ? Why, 
 
 Since Fear of Dying thee so deep doth sting, 
 Drawst thou securely thy short breath, 
 
 Who ly'st just at the point of everlasting Death ? 
 
Selfi, 
 
 ove 
 
 June 5. 
 
 TO Love thy neighbour as thy self, will prove 
 The Summ of Virtue ; yet Selflove 
 The total is of Vice. 
 Unhappy riddle this, 
 That thine own Rule should perfect be 
 To all the World besides, but not to thee. 
 
 When self-conceited Lucifer so high 
 
 Did soar on wings of Philauty, 
 The foolish Gallant fell 
 As low as lowest hell. 
 Corrupted Good's the worst of Evil : 
 As God is Love himself, Selflove's a Devil. 
 
 No Hate's so dangerous as Selflove, by which 
 We ask our own selvs to death bewitch. 
 Ask but Narcissus what 
 Inchanted him to that 
 Dainty, but deadly fate, & He 
 Will answer, 'Twas Selflove which drowned Me, 
 
 436 
 
Selflove 437 
 
 4 
 
 Do's not thy sober indignation rise 
 
 Against false-hearted Flatteries 
 Which only tickle thee 
 Into a Fallacie? 
 How dar'st thou then take such delight 
 In being thine own constant Parasite ? 
 
 Would'st love thyself indeed ? come then & throw 
 Thy hate at what thou lovest now. 
 Tis not thy Self, but thy 
 Passions & Lusts which ly 
 In thy loves arms ; all other Foes 
 God bids thee love, I grant, but never those. 
 
 Thy Soule's thy Self, & what thy God did make ; 
 Not what thy Sinns : Mend that Mistake, 
 And then Selflove will be 
 Ev'n Virtues self to thee. 
 Thy riddle then will cease, and thou 
 By Self-loves rule mayst charity bestow. 
 
Pentecost 
 
 o 
 
 June 6. 
 
 SEASONABLE Feast I 
 Never had We 
 More need of Thee : 
 So low these woefull Times had prest 
 Our heavy hearts, none but the Comforter 
 Himself, could our dark clowds of Sorrow cleer. 
 
 'Tis well he comes from heaven 
 For our poor earth 
 Cannot put forth 
 One sprout or bud of Comfort ; even 
 Our Joys lament, whilst a new Sea doth now 
 (Woes stormy Sea) about our Britain flow. 
 
 How sudden & how strange 
 A Legion We 
 Of Spirits see, 
 Which all about securely range ! 
 How desperately are wretched we possest : 
 And who but thou can be our Exorcist ? 
 438 
 
Pentecost 439 
 
 Thou, mighty Spirit, who 
 Confusion from 
 The Worlds first wombe 
 Didst sweetly chase : Our Waves of Woe 
 Now crave thy ayd ; oh gently move on them, 
 And Britains Chaos into order tame ! 
 
B 
 
 Witt 
 
 June 7. 
 
 UT who has Witt enough to tell 
 Me what it is ? 
 Thou mayst as well 
 Hope Proteus's visage to express 
 As her wilde face, since dubious she 
 Truly to be herself, any thing els must be. 
 
 Now old, now young again ; now low, 
 And now as high ; 
 Now corsive, now 
 
 Gratious with tickling Lenity ; 
 
 Proud Spanish now, now smug & sleek 
 French, portly Roman now, now most delicious Greek. 
 
 Sometimes her looser garb is Prose, 
 Sometimes in verse 
 Straitlac'd she goes ; 
 Now she as low as hell doth curse, 
 Now swear as high as heavn : her paint 
 Shews her sometimes a Devil, & few times a Saint. 
 440 
 
Witt 441 
 
 Well is she tutord how to rant, 
 
 Drink, drab, & play 
 And fear no want 
 
 Though more then all she casts away. 
 
 Me thinks tis worth the while to see 
 Whether she would not prove too chargable for me. 
 
 Why she may easly spend a Man 
 His soule & all. 
 Sure yf I can 
 Fl save that charge : Let the World call 
 Me as they list : whats that to me ? 
 Tis best, and I had rather Wise than Witty be. 
 
Entertainment 
 
 June 8. 
 
 WOULDST know what entertainment I expect ? 
 Why, nothing but Good cheer. 
 But, prithee let not this reflect 
 Thy hospitable care 
 Upon thy Cellar or thy Kitchin ; I 
 By cupps & dishes count not jollity. 
 
 Not from thy Cook or Butler, but from thee 
 I for my wellcome look : 
 Which will be best, yf thou wilt be 
 Butler thyself & Cook : 
 Let mine eys drink thy cheerfull countnance, ne'r 
 Shall I for bright & brisque Canary care. 
 
 A Mess of Smiles gentiley garnishd out 
 
 With spruce Discourse, will be 
 A daintyer Feast then ever ought 
 Its quaint nativitie 
 To the most learned kitchin ; specaly 
 When hearty Symptomes bear it company. 
 442 
 
Entertainment 443 
 
 Into the bargain would thy courtesy 
 
 Content the Belly too ; 
 Be sure, for what's but by the by 
 
 Thou mak'st not most adoe. 
 
 In thine own Sweetnes I the banquet place ; 
 
 As for thy Meat, I shall but count it Sauce. 
 
Riches 
 
 June 9. 
 
 OHAD I but ten thousand pounds a year ! 
 Fool, thou hast more, 
 Had'st thou that Wish, thy Wealth would make thee swear 
 That thou wert poor ; 
 And so thou art not now, who hast 
 Enough to spend : wouldst have enough to waste ? 
 
 Alas thou canst not ; had thou all the Ore 
 
 Both Indies breed 
 Twould quite starve Prodagalitie ; No store 
 
 Knows how to feed 
 The gulf of that strange Monster, whose 
 Vast stomach by abundance greater grows. 
 
 My Lord, with his ten thousand pounds a year 
 
 Doth clee'rly want 
 Full twice ten thousand Things which thou canst spare 
 His means is scant, 
 But ample thine, for 'tis confest 
 That he the richest is, who needeth least. 
 444 
 
Riches 445 
 
 Besides, thou knowest not the charge of such 
 
 A large estate : 
 Twill spend thee all thy Rest, & cost so much 
 
 Of Quiet, that 
 No honest Beggar thou wilt finde 
 So needy in Content, as thy poor Minde. 
 
 5 
 
 Thou must be put to finde so many Men 
 
 And Horses for 
 The service of that proud Estate ; and then 
 
 Maintain the Warr 
 At thine own charge ; that Warr whereby 
 Thou must defend & keep thy Credit high. 
 
 Selfcheated Slave, the more thy Servants are 
 The more hast thou 
 
 Thyself to serve : less costly is the care 
 Which they bestow 
 Than thine ; their Services sure end 
 
 Is erning, thine doth only make thee spend. 
 
T 
 
 The Alarm 
 
 June 10. 
 
 WAS fairly done, Mortalitie, 
 
 To give a warning peece before the fight. 
 And heer my Thanks I render thee 
 For that Alarm thou gavest me last night. 
 And yet thou cunning art, who by 
 Weaknes thy strength on me dost try. 
 
 By this light skirmish I am taught 
 What to expect when thou dost charge me home. 
 
 So kindely that distemper wrought 
 Upon my heart, that she hath reaped from 
 
 My bodies sicknes, such a crop 
 
 Of health, as cheers her into hope. 
 
 Into fair hope that I shall dare 
 To meet thy main battalia, & quit 
 
 The vain & most ignoble fear 
 Of Deaths assault ; whom I desire to set 
 
 Upon me in the open feild, 
 
 That so I may with honor yeild. 
 446 
 
The Alarm 44.7 
 
 For yeild I must, & will ; nor need 
 Death any subtile ambush lay for me : 
 
 I have no plot to run, & lead 
 That fate a dance which cannot shunned be. 
 
 Yet by Surrender, might I choose, 
 
 Not by Surprize, my Life I'd loose. 
 
S. Barnabie 
 
 June 1 1 . 
 
 M 
 
 ISTAKEN Priest 
 
 Thou mightily disparagest, 
 With those thy Oxen & thy Garlands, Him 
 
 Whom thou to deifie dost seem : 
 Thy calculation's still too low, for He 
 Is not thy Jupiter, but Barnabie. 
 
 Yet though above 
 
 Thy stupidly-adored Jove, 
 (That Jove who having been a famous Bull 
 
 Himself, for kindreds sake might well 
 Be to his cousen Oxen kinder than 
 To have them sacrific'd,) he's still a Man : 
 
 A Man like thee 
 In passionate infirmitie. 
 Which though thou doubtest now, thoud'st grant too true 
 
 Shouldst thou that Paraxysme view 
 Whose storm will their calm Union overbear 
 And Paul & Barnabie in sunder tear. 
 448 
 
S. Barnabie 449 
 
 Pluck courage then 
 From hence : since Saints themselves are Men, 
 Men may be Saints, & humane Passions be 
 
 Cohabitants with Sanctity. 
 Prate not, proud Stoik, that the onely high 
 Way to heavns Gate through Zeno's Portch doth ly. 
 
 2 G 
 
The Gardin 
 
 June 12. 
 
 THE Gardins quit with me : as yesterday 
 I walked in that, to day that walks in me 
 Through all my memorie 
 It sweetly wanders, & has found a way 
 To make me honestly possess 
 What still Anothers is. 
 
 Yet this Gains dainty sence doth gall my Minde 
 With the remembrance of a bitter Loss. 
 
 Alas, how odd & cross 
 Are earths Delights, in which the Soule can finde 
 No Honey, but withall some Sting 
 
 To check the pleasing thing ! 
 
 For now I'm hanted with the thought of that 
 Heavn-planted Gardin, where felicitie 
 
 Flourishd on every Tree. 
 Lost, lost it is ; for at the guarded gate 
 A flaming Sword forbiddeth Sin 
 (That's I,) to enter in. 
 45o 
 
The Gardin 451 
 
 4 
 
 O Paradise ! when I was turned out 
 
 Hadst thou but kept the Serpent still within, 
 
 My banishment had been 
 Less sad & dangerous : but round about 
 
 This wide world runneth rageing He 
 
 To banish me from me : 
 
 I feel that through my soule he death hath shott ; 
 And thou, alas, hast locked up Lifes Tree. 
 
 O Miserable Me, 
 What help were left, had JESUS'S Pity not 
 Shewd me another Tree, which can 
 
 Enliven dying Man. 
 
 That Tree, made Fertile by his own dear blood ; 
 And by his Death with quickning virtue fraught. 
 
 I now dread not the thought 
 Of barracado'd Eden, since as good 
 A Paradise I planted see 
 
 On open Calvarie. 
 
Palmestrie 
 
 June 13. 
 
 ART sure th'ast given so much to the Poor ? 
 Was't not thy meaning to bestow 
 Part on thine own Vain-glory ? Never score 
 
 Up that on Gods account, which thou 
 Spendst on the Devil ; nor make Charitie 
 Hell purveyor, who should Heavns steward be. 
 
 I'l not inquire thorough what trumpets throat 
 
 Thou spak'st the prologue to thy Gift ; 
 
 Nor in what carefull pomp thou gav'st thy groat ; 
 Nor what a hard & piteous shift 
 
 Thou mad'st to let Spectators know that thou 
 
 Didst three weeks since another groat bestow. 
 
 Indeed no such intelligence ; for I 
 
 By Palmestrie can read it plain : 
 
 Thy right hand to thy left did it descry, 
 
 And now thy left tells tales again. 
 
 What canst thou answer, who dost guilty stand 
 
 By the cleer evidence of thine own hand ? 
 
 452 
 
p. 
 
 i. 
 
 r. 
 
 2, 
 
 p. 
 
 3, 
 
 p. 
 
 4- 
 
 p. 
 
 c 
 5> 
 
 p. 
 
 o, 
 
 p. 
 
 o, 
 
 p. 
 
 7, 
 
 p. 
 
 7, 
 
 NOTES 
 
 Suspirium. Marked P, but not published in 1749 edition, 
 st. 4. Changed by Gee to read : 
 
 Sometimes I feel my pregnant eyes 
 Oftimes ivith streams of sorrow rise. 
 st. 4, line 2. But, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 Reasonable Melancholy. Marked P, and published in 1749 
 edition with omission of stanzas 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10. 
 last line. Dittie, changed by Gee to subject. 
 line 3. tempting, changed by Gee to gallant. 
 line 5. time, capitalized by Beaumont in marginal correction, 
 line 23. Jesu's, changed by Gee to that bright. 
 last line, skie, corrected by Gee from skies, an obvious slip. 
 P. 8. Death. Marked P, and published in 1749 edition with omission 
 of stanzas 5, 6, 7, 9. Stanza 3 marked for omission by Gee, later 
 insert written in margin. 
 P. 8, st. 2, line 7. 
 
 Or Sin more horrid then both they. Sure none. 
 Changed by Gee to read : 
 
 Or sin then both more horrid. Surely ?ione. 
 P. 9, st. 5, line 1. And, changed by Gee to But. 
 P- 9> st. 5, line 3. that, changed by Gee to one. 
 P. 14, bottom. The reading of the MS. is apparently ye hand, but the 
 
 meaning seems to require yt hand. 
 P. 16, title. Maria, sic in MS. , 
 
 P. 18. Davids Elegie upon Jonathan. Published in 1749 edition. 
 P. 19. Cantic. Chap. 2. Published in 1749 edition. 
 P. 20. Thou shalt call His Name Jesus. Published in 1749 edition. 
 P. 20, 2nd chorus, line I. soveraine, changed by Gee to fragrant. 
 P. 26, line 3. was, emended by Beaumont from is. 
 P. 27, st. 3, line I. Is it not f aire, etc., changed by Gee to ZrV not 
 
 enough, etc 
 P. 29, st. 1, line 2. my, emended by Beaumont from the. 
 P. 34, st. 2, line 2. Second /emended by Beaumont from &>. 
 P. 38. The Waters of H. Baptisme. st. 3, last line. Were clean, 
 
 etc., emended by Beaumont from would cleanse, etc. 
 P. 39, st. 1, line 3. Streams, an obvious slip, corrected by Gee to Stream. 
 
 453 
 
454 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 P. 43, last St., line 2. Pm, emended by Beaumont from Who am. 
 P. 44, line 1. Original reading : 
 
 If so, then in these Copies read: 
 then crossed out by Beaumont. 
 P. 44, line 2. salve, emended by Beaumont from physick. 
 P. 47, st. 1, last line, clothe, emended by Beaumont from close. 
 P. 49. The Little Ones Greatnes. Marked P, but not published 
 
 in 1749 edition. 
 P. 49, line 1. Brave, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 49, line 4. Ample, emended by Beaumont from Vast. 
 P. 49, st. 3, line 1. needeth, emended by Beaumont from needs. 
 P. 49, st. 5, line 1. all, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 49, st. 5, line 2. this, changed by Gee to their. 
 P. 50, last line. Soft, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 60. House & Home. Published in 1749 edition with title Home. 
 P. 60, line 16. to fight, changed by Gee to and might. 
 P. 61, line 8. Dwell in it, emended by Beaumont from Inhabit there. 
 P. 61, line 9. Original reading : 
 
 Heer be content to make abode. 
 Emended to present reading by Beaumont ; later, changed by Gee to : 
 Heer content make thy abode. 
 P. 61, line 14. 
 
 The Universes Fabrick fall. 
 Emended by Beaumont from : 
 
 The Fabrick ofy e World should fall. 
 P. 61, line 17. Original reading : 
 
 Let all war, let spight, let plunder come. 
 P. 61, line 20. Original reading : 
 
 Who to thy selfe an House canst be. 
 P. 61, line 22. Lodging, emended by Beaumont from Dwelling. 
 P. 61, line 24. Original reading : 
 
 Shall to an House re?noved be. 
 P. 61, line 25. eternall, emended by Beaumont from everlasting. 
 P. 61, line 28. Gallantly, emended by Beaumont from Restored 6r*. 
 P. 6 1 , line 29. Mortall Starrs : original reading, These Mortall Starrs. 
 P. 61, line 30. Original reading : In that new Heavn, etc. 
 P. 62. The Candle. Marked P, but not published in 1749 edition. 
 P. 62, line 2. wax, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 62, st. 2, line 2. Is Kindled each Mans, etc. : original reading, Kindled 
 
 is Mans, etc. 
 P. 62, st. 3, line 2. 
 
 How tender is its twinckling Morne. 
 Original reading : 
 
 how tender is its Morne. 
 P. 62, st. 3, line 3. When, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 62, st. 4, line 2. More boistrous, emended by Beaumont from Greater. 
 P. 62, st. 4, lines 4, 5. Original reading : 
 Doth begin 
 From within. 
 
Notes 455 
 
 P. 62, st. 4, last line, slie, emended by Beaumont from foule. 
 P. 63, line 1. But yet ', emended by Beaumont from And. 
 P. 63, line 2. Original reading : 
 
 And y* most pernicious Theefe. 
 P. 63, st. 2, line 2. sharps inserted by Beaumont. 
 P. 63, st. 2, line 6. Right, inserted by Beaumont. 
 P. 63, st. 5, line 4. False, inserted by Beaumont. 
 P. 63, st. 6, line 2. Original reading : 
 
 Faithfully it must restore. 
 P. 63, st. 6, lines 4, 5. Original reading : 
 What it was 
 Nothing alas. 
 P. 63, st. 6, line 6. And sallow, emended by Beaumont from But a few. 
 P. 64, st. 1, line 2. That, inserted by Beaumont. 
 P. 64, st. 2, line 1. Yet, inserted by Beaumont. 
 P. 64, last line. Converts, emended by Beaumont from Turnes. 
 P. 68. Melancholie. Marked P, but not published in 1749 edition. 
 P. 68, st. 4. Marked for omission by Gee. 
 P. 68, last St., line I. foule, inserted by Beaumont. 
 P. 76, st. 3, line 3. young, inserted by Beaumont. 
 P. 77, st. 1, line 1. twelve, inserted by Beaumont. 
 P. 78, st. 5, line 2. Original reading : 
 
 Not behold their Miserie . . . 
 P. 78, st. 6, line 5. Original reading : 
 
 What might Pittie, 
 might, an evident slip, corrected by Gee to mighty. 
 P. 79, st. 1, line 1. sad, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P- 79, st - 3> li ne *« Wild, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 79, st. 5, line 2. Canno wayes, etc. Original reading : 
 
 Cannot her own owner be. 
 P. 81, st. 1. From this point onward marked by Gee for omission. 
 P. 81, st. 1, line 2. Whose beams, changed by Gee to Which. 
 P. 88. The Fashion. Marked P, but not published in 1 749 edition. 
 P. 88, line 2. Colon inserted after see by Gee. 
 P. 88, st. 2, line I. But, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 88, st. 2, line 2. Original reading : 
 
 In an antik Taylors dreame. 
 P. 88, st. 4, line 2. Is Nothing else, etc. Original reading : 
 
 Nothing is but Variation. 
 P. 89, st. 2, line 2. All, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 89, st. 3, line 2. Thus, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 89, st. 4. Marked by Gee for omission. 
 P. 89, st. 4, line 1. Original reading retained though emended by 
 
 Beaumont to : Yt We could, etc. 
 P. 89, st. 5, line 2. But, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 90, st. 2, line 2. everie, emended by Beaumont from^y*. 
 P. 92, bottom. Wound, MS. reading Wounds, an evident slip. 
 P. 94, line 4. alone, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 103, st. 5, line 2. In the MS. there is a comma after y*. 
 
456 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 P. in, st. 4, line 4. In the MS. there is a period after content. 
 
 P. 122, st. 2, line I. Original reading : Surely this is a capital 
 
 Treason, etc. 
 P. 123, st. 4, line 2. In the MS. there is a semicolon after /. 
 P. 124, st. 3, line 5. In the MS. there is an apostrophe after Penitence. 
 P. 127. Wishes. Published in 1749 edition. 
 P. 127, lines 13, 14. Marked for omission by Gee. 
 P. 128, lines 19, 20. Marked for omission by Gee. 
 P. 128, lines 29-36. Marked for omission by Gee. 
 
 P. 129, line II. From this point to the end marked for omission by Gee. 
 P. 133. S. Johan. ad Port. Latin. Marked P, and published in 
 
 1749 edition. 
 P. 133, st. 2, line 2. Changed by Gee to : Who then anoirist, etc. 
 P. 134. SS. Innocents Day. Marked P, and published in 1749 edition. 
 P. 135. Epiphanie Oblation. Published in 1749 edition. 
 P. 136, line 10. true, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 136, line 11. streams, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 136, line 14. Up, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 136, line 19. All, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 136, line 20. Most, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 137, line 7. There, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 137, line 17. black, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 137, line 20. 
 
 That none but this Authoritie. 
 
 Original reading : 
 
 That y* same Authoritie. 
 P. 137, line 28. Poor, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 138, line 24. Strict, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 138, line 35. both, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 138, line 36. that Priests, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 138, line 38. Both, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 138, line 40. Original reading : 
 
 Then y* full Aleridian Ray. 
 P. 1 39, line 1 6. Original reading : Ofy e Heart, etc. 
 P. 139, line 20. soft, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 139, lines 32, 33. Out of, emended by Beaumont from From. 
 P. 139, line 36. milde, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 140, line 6. farr, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 140, line 10. blessd, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 140, line 18. any, emended by Beaumont from a. 
 P. 140, line 24. Original reading : 
 
 Ever was more meek & tame. 
 P. 140. line 26. entertain, emended by Beaumont from receive. 
 P. 141, line 20. great, inserted by .Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 141, line 30. 
 
 And so for ever glitter there. 
 
 Original reading : 
 
 And for ever glittering there. 
 
Notes 457 
 
 First emended by Beaumont to : 
 
 And glittering be for ever there. 
 P. 142. Christmasse Day. Marked P, but not published in 1749 
 
 edition. 
 P. 143, st. I, 2, 3. Marked by Gee for omission. 
 P. 149, st. 4, line 1. And, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 149, st. 4, line 2. Original reading : Who will traffiquc, etc. 
 P. 151, st. 1, line 6. For, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 151, st. 2, line 1. And, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 151, st. 2, line 6. high, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 152, st. 1, line 3. own, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 152, st. I, line 6. all, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 155, st. 1, line 2. more ample, emended by Beaumont from double. 
 P. 155, st. I, line 3. its, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 155, st. 1, line 4. now, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 155, st. 2, line 4. whole, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 155, st. 2, line 5. now, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 155, st. 3, line 5. a well, emended by Beaumont from an. 
 P. 155, st. 4, line 3. Onely, emended by Beaumont from But. 
 P. 157. Nfavyear Day. Marked P, and published in 1749 edition; 
 
 in the margin is written Vid Page 19 (20 here). 
 P. 157, st. 2, line 1. cause, changed by Gee in margin to raise, and sic 
 
 in 1749 edition. 
 P. 157, st. 2 and 4. Marked for omission by Gee. 
 P. 160, line 5. Original reading : 
 
 What shall y 6 Gate of Day A do me. 
 P. 160, line 8. Original reading: 
 
 Let in a Sun of Majestic. 
 
 First emended by Beaumont to : Shew a Sun, etc. 
 P. 160, line 10. th\ emended by Beaumont from ye. 
 P. 161. Purification of y e B. Virgin. Poem crossed out by 
 
 Beaumont. 
 P. 163, st. 1, line 2. doth, emended by Beaumont from doe. 
 P. 163, st. 2, line 4. 
 
 Where Tray tors all have fitting room. 
 
 Original reading : 
 
 Where all Traytors have their room. 
 P. 163, st. 2, line 5. But still below, etc. Original reading: But all 
 
 below, etc. 
 P. 165. Ashwednesday. Marked P, but not published in 1749 edition. 
 P. 165, line 2. 
 
 Smiles never did so sweetly play. 
 
 Original reading : 
 
 Ne'r did smiles so sweetly play. 
 
 First emended to : Never did smiles, etc. 
 P. 166, st. 5. A Feast, where we may feed, etc., marked by Gee for 
 
 omission. 
 P. 166, st. 5, line 2. up, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
458 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 P. 168, st. 1, line 3. Original reading: 
 
 News most strange, <S° yet as true. 
 
 P. 169, st. 5, line 6. Original reading: 
 
 And a Virgin shall be joy ltd. 
 
 P. 170, st. 1, line 3. ye, emended by Beaumont from a. 
 
 P. 175. Easter. Marked P, but not published in 1749 edition. 
 
 P. 175, st. 1, line 3. Long since awake, etc. : original reading, Has be- 
 times, etc. 
 
 P. 175, st. 1, line 7. Betimes, emended by Beaumont from Long 
 since. 
 
 P. 175, st. 2, line 1. quite, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 176, st. 2. From here to end marked for omission by Gee. 
 
 P. 179, st. 2, line I. Two, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 179, st. 2, line 2. Original reading: Mirth, w ch cheers, etc. 
 
 P. 179, st. 3, line 2. now, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 179, st. 3, last line. Onely, emended by Beaumont from But. 
 
 P. 180, st. 1, line 1. For, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 180, st. 1, line 2. But, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 180, st. 2, line 1. Great, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 181, line 6. Loud, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 181, line 8. thence, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 181, line 9. rare, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 181, line 12. delicate, emended by Beaumont from y* pure. 
 
 P. 181, line 20. Fast, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 181, line 26. his, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 182, line 10. Farr, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 182, line 18. there, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 182, line 20. all, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 182, line 26. Etfn, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 182, line 32. new, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 183, line 4. Original reading: 
 
 Full as good a Die tie. 
 
 P. 183, line 6. tipstart, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 183, line 7. Contempt, emended by Beaumont from Scornes. 
 
 P. 183, line 22. brave, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 183, line 26. Loud, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 183, line 32. bright, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 186, line 32. No punctuation after Day in MS. 
 
 P. 189. Ascension. Published in 1749 edition. 
 
 P. 189, line 10. this, changed by Gee to the. 
 
 P. 189, line 12. From here on marked for omission by Gee, but included 
 in 1749 edition, with omission of first Hallelujah (line 11). 
 
 P. 192, st. 3, last line, bright, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 194. Whitsunday. Marked P, and published in 1749 edition. 
 
 P. 195, last line. Halalujah, crossed out by Gee. 
 
 P. 196. Whitsunday. Marked P, and published in 1749 edition, with 
 title On the Same. 
 
 P. 197. Marked P, and published in 1749 edition, with title On the 
 Same. 
 
Notes 459 
 
 P. 198, st. 1, last line. Seing, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 198, st. 2, line 5. Period inserted by editor. 
 P. 204, st. 1, line 4. Thou, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 204, st. 1, line 6. Original reading : 
 
 And y 6 humbler yeild to Thee. 
 P. 204, st. 3, line 4. conquering, emended by Beaumont from great. 
 P. 205, st. 1, line 1. they, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 205, st. 2, line 3. By, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 205, st. 3, line 4. everlasting, emended by Beaumont from elernall. 
 P. 205, st. 3, line 6. 
 
 That could be forg'd and hatched in Hell. 
 
 Original reading : 
 
 That could be contrived in Hell. 
 P. 206, st. 2, line 4. Ev'n, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 206, st. 4, line 2. unto, emended by Beaumont from to. 
 P. 206, st. 4, line 5. thus, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 206, st. 4, line 6. hard, emended by Beaumont from heard. 
 P. 207, last line. Great, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 208, st. I, line 4. 
 
 No longer dares its Enemie be. 
 
 Original reading : 
 
 Dares no more its Enemie be. 
 P. 208, st. 2, line 4. for, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 209, line 18. all, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 209, last line. Forthwith, emended by Beaumont from Strait. 
 P. 210, line 12. Our, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 210, line 16. Period inserted by editor. 
 P. 210, line 17. For, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 210, line 26. Great, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 210, line 37. 
 
 As onely God & greater far. 
 
 Original reading : 
 
 As A God more great by far. 
 P. 211, line 14. Ev'n, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 211, line 15. Thus, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 211, line 1 7. Forth, inserted by Beaumont in correction . 
 P. 211, line 18. That, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 212, line 2. still, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 212, line 9. 
 
 But quick Aurora sweetly faire. 
 
 Original reading : 
 
 But Aurora sweet 6° faire. 
 P. 212, line 10. in, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 213, st. 3, line 3. Fair, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 214, st. 2, line 2. blessed, emended by Beaumont from great. 
 P. 214, st. 3, line 9. Can conquerd be, etc. Original reading: Can be 
 
 taught, etc. 
 P. 215, st. 1, line 2. all-glorious, emended by Beaumont from glorious. 
 P. 215, st. 1, line 4. Good, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
460 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 P. 215, st. 2, line 2. that, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 216, st. 2, line 3. strait, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 216, st. 3, line 10. most, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 217, st. 1, line 2. Which did release, etc. Original reading : Which 
 
 released, etc. 
 P. 217, st. 3, line 4. Old, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 217, st. 3, line 9. come, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 218, st. 3, line 2. That, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 219, st. 1, line 5. so, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 219, st. 2, line 2. yet, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 219, st. 2, line 3. soft, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 219, st. 2, line 4. Your, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 
 P. 219, st. 2, line 9. 
 Original reading 
 
 As viands too too delicate. 
 As from Meats too delicate. 
 
 P. 220, st. 2, line 4. 
 
 Did thick & Foule obstructions lay. 
 
 Original reading : 
 
 Foule obstructions did lay. 
 P. 220, last line. Period inserted by editor. 
 P. 221, st. 2, line 3. fair, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 221, st. 2, line 4. All, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 222, st. 1, line 1. No, none of these, etc. Original reading: I'm none 
 
 of these, etc. 
 P. 222, st. 1, line 10. Ev'n, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 222, st. 2, line 2. Immediately, emended by Beaumont from By a?id by. 
 P. 222, st. 3, line 2. great, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 224, st. 1, line 2. The fullnes of y e zvorld, etc. Original reading : 
 
 Almost all y* world, etc. 
 P. 224, st. 1, line 10. that, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 224, st. 3, line 4. Sanctitie, emended by Beaumont from repute. 
 P. 224, st. 3, line 10. Unto, emended by Beaumont from To. 
 P. 225, st. 2, line 2. Period inserted by editor. 
 P. 225, st. 2, line 3. as if now. Original reading: if as now. 
 P. 225, st. 2, line 10. his, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 225, st. 3, line 10. all, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 226, st. 3, lines 3, 4. 
 
 That she as well as all y e rest 
 Might with her Mother goe 6° feast. 
 
 Original reading : 
 
 That as well as all y* rest 
 
 She &° her Mother might goe feast. 
 
 First emended to: That now as well as all y e rest, etc. 
 P. 226, st. 3, line 10. poor, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 227, st. 1, line 2. How He might put on, etc. Original reading : 
 
 How to put on, etc. 
 P. 227, st. 3, line 9. Farr, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 228, st. I, line 4. Bearing, emended by Beaumont from with. 
 
Notes 461 
 
 P. 233. S. James y e Apostle. Marked P, but not published in 
 
 1749 edition. 
 P. 233, line 24. Period inserted by editor. 
 P. 235, st. 1, last line. Interrogation point inserted by editor. 
 P. 235, st. 2, last line. Period inserted by editor. 
 P. 250, st. 5, line 1. Period inserted by editor. 
 
 P. 251, st. 1, line 4. Iter did move. Original reading: did her move. 
 P. 252, last line, holy, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 252, last line. Period inserted by editor. 
 
 P. 264, st. 3, line 10. more, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 268, st. 2, line 10. Duer, such is apparently the reading of the MS. 
 P. 271, st. 1, line 12. er, inserted by Beaumont in correction. 
 P. 272, last line, emulous. The reading of the MS. is apparently amulous, 
 
 but the sense seems to require the present reading. 
 P. 272, last line. Period inserted by editor. 
 P. 282, st. 7, line 2. think, emended by Beaumont from weep. 
 P. 283, st. 8, line 9. are, emended by Beaumont from doe. 
 P. 288, st. 1, line 5. They, 1749 edition, gay. 
 P. 289, st. 7, line 1. Original reading given, though emended by 
 
 Beaumont to . 
 
 Why dost Thou go in y e way about. 
 
 Changed by Gee to read : 
 
 Why dost Thou go viuch way about. 
 
 P. 289, st. 7, line 6. long, 1749 edition, firm. 
 
 P. 289, st. 8, line 1. Cutt, 1749 edition, way. 
 
 P. 292, st. 2, last line. Period inserted by editor. 
 
 P. 296, st. 1, line 5. Comma after Purses crossed out by Beaumont. 
 
 P. 298. Humane Revenge. Marked P, but not published in 1749 
 
 edition. 
 P. 3°5» st. 5, line 9. 
 
 Original reading : 
 
 His dear Side. 
 P. 305, st. 5, line 13. five, emended by Beaumont from three. 
 P. 306. Hope. Published in 1749 edition. 
 P. 307, st. 5. Marked for omission by Gee. 
 P. 308. Idleness. Published in 1749 edition. 
 
 P. 310, line 22. In the MS. there is a period after touch, an evident slip. 
 P. 324. Whiteness, or Chastitie. Marked P, and published in 
 
 1749 edition. 
 P. 325. A Morning Hymn. Marked P, and published in 1749 edition. 
 P. 325, lines 7, 8. Marked for omission by Gee. 
 P. 325, line 14. Changed by Gee to read : 
 
 To clear Visions all shall grow. 
 P. 326. An Evening Hymn. Marked P, and published in 1749 edition. 
 P. 326, line 16. deer, emended by Beaumont from roseal. 
 P. 326, line 19. soundlier, changed by Gee to sounder. 
 P« 334» st - 2 » li ne 3* plead, emended by Beaumont from preach. 
 
 Feet &• Side. 
 
462 Poems of Joseph Beaumont 
 
 P. 341, st. 7, last line. 
 
 To swell my Weeks dimension. 
 Original reading : 
 
 To swell up its dimension. 
 P« 345» s t. 9, line 2. show, emended by Beaumont from grow. 
 P. 346. Content. Marked P, and published in 1749 edition with 
 
 omission of stanzas 3, 4, 5. 
 P- 353, st. 5, line 7. that, emended by Beaumont from my. 
 P. 356. A Dialogue. Published in 1749 edition. 
 P. 359, line 24. Remove the Stone. Period inserted by editor. 
 P. 362, line 11. open sett, emended by Beaumont from do display. 
 P. 362, line 15. truly, emended by Beaumont from true. 
 P. 362, line 16. Original reading : 
 
 Worth, to glorious Thee to day. 
 P. 362-3, st. 2, 3. Original reading : 
 
 No more 
 My store 
 Of Incense soreth 
 Upward, but towreth 
 Down, to reach the loftiest skie ; 
 For now 
 Below 
 In this mean Manger 
 Its God's a Stranger, 
 ht this mean Manger 
 Dwelleth all Sublimitie : 
 Cho. Yet durst not think it self is sweet, 
 
 Till kissed 6° blessed by thy deer feet. 
 
 3 
 lo heer 
 This Myrrh 
 Its meekest duty 
 To that bright Beuty 
 Of thy humane Nature brings 
 By which 
 Our rich 
 Arabia sendeth 
 And recommendeth 
 Th' ernes t of its sweetest Things 
 Cho. Which Sweets, yf they thy favour gain 
 Shall Paradise it self disdain. 
 P. 363, line 2. First emended to Aloft, but towreth. 
 P. 363, line 3. First emended to : 
 
 Down to reach the higher skie. 
 P. 368, st. 12, line 7. Original reading : 
 
 My own Soules Loss : oh rather in the Sea. 
 P. 369, line 1. Original reading: 
 
 How much more worse than vain. 
 
Notes 463 
 
 P. 369, line 6. true, emended by Beaumont from best. 
 
 P. 372. Easter Dialoge. Published in 1749 edition. 
 
 P- 393> st - 3» line 3- Joyes, emended by Beaumont from Hopes. 
 
 P« 393> st - 3> li ne 3- U P> emended by Beaumont from high. 
 
 P. 398. The Journe. Original title : The Visit. Marked P, but 
 only the first stanza published in 1749 edition. 
 
 P* 399- The Winter -Spring. Marked P, and published in 1749 
 edition. 
 
 P- 399» st - 3> nne t* painted, emended by Beaumont from written. 
 
 P. 400, st. 5, line 2. didst, emended by Beaumont from dost. 
 
 P. 403, line 1. deckest, emended by Beaumont from trimest. 
 
 P. 409, line 5. Wounds 6° Death, emended by Beaumont from Death <5r- 
 Wounds. 
 
 P. 411, st. 2, line 2. deadly, emended by Beaumont from wretched. 
 
 P. 420. Friends. Marked P, and published in 1749 edition. 
 
 P. 421, st. 5. Marked for omission by Gee. 
 
 P. 424, st. 3, line 1. Repugnancy, emended by Beaumont from im- 
 possibility. 
 
 P. 426, st. 3, line 5. 
 
 What ExcHlance can in her be seen. 
 Original reading : 
 
 What excellance in her be seen. 
 
 P. 428, st. 2, line 1. bold, emended by Beaumont from fond. 
 
 P. 431, st. 6, line 3. Brute, emended by Beaumont from Beast. 
 
 P. 432. Honor. Marked P, and published in 1749 edition. 
 
 P. 432, st. 3, line 2. dangerous, emended by Beaumont from headstrong. 
 
 P. 433, st. 5. Marked for omission by Gee. 
 
 P. 434, st. 3, line 3. the, sic in MS. 
 
 P. 436. Selflove. Marked P, but not published in 1749 edition. 
 
 P. 440, st. 3, line 1. looser, emended by Beaumont from antik. 
 
 P. 442, st. 1, line 6. jollity, emended by Beaumont from a?nity. 
 
 THE END 
 
 Printed by R. & R. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh. 
 
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