Twenty-two Poems, chiefly Sacred, with Scripture Text.

Twenty-two Poems, chiefly Sacred, with Scripture Text.Domine labia mea aperiesDavid.Noe monument of me remaine,My mem'orie rustIn the same marble with my dust:Ere I the spreadingst Laurell gaine,By writing wanton or profane.Ye glorious wonders of the skies,Shine still bright starres,Th' Almighties mystick Characters!Ile not your beautious lights surpriseT' illuminate a womans eyes.Nor to perfume her veins, will IIn each one setThe purple of the violet.The untoucht flowre may grow and dyeSafe from my fancies injurie.Open my lippes, great God! and thenIle soare aboveThe humble flight of carnall love.Upward to thee Ile force my pen,And trace no path of vulgar men.For what can our unbounded soulesWorthy to beTheir object finde, excepting thee?Where can I fixe? since time controulesOur pride, whose motion all things roules.Should I my selfe ingratiateT' a Princes smile;How soone may death my hopes beguile?And should I farme the proudest state,I'me Tennant to uncertaine fate.If I court gold; will it not rust?And if my loveToward a female beauty move;How will that surfet of our lustDistast us, when resolv'd to dust?But thou Æternall banquet! whereFor ever weMay feede without satietie!Who harmonie art to the eare,Who art, while all things else appeare!While up to thee I shoote my flameThou dost dispenceA holy death, that murders sence,And makes me scorne all pompes, that aymeAll other triumphs than thy name.It crownes me with a victorySo heavenly, allThat's earth from me away doth fall.And I, from my corruption free,Grow in my vowes even part of thee.Versa est in luctum cythara mea.Job.Love! I no orgies singWhereby thy mercies to invoke:Nor from the East rich perfumes bringTo cloude the Altars with thy precious smoake.Nor while I did frequentThose fanes by lovers rais'd to thee:Did I loose heathenish rites invent,To force a blush from injur'd Chastitie.Religious was the charmeI used affection to intice:And thought none burnt more bright or warme,Yet chaste as winter was the Sacrifice.But now I thee bequeathTo the soft silken youths at Court:Who may their witty passions breath,To raise their Mistresse smile, or make her sport.They'le smooth thee into rime,Such as shall catch the wanton eare:And win opinion with the time,To make them a high sayle of honour beare.And may a powerfull smileCherish their flatteries of wit!While I my life of fame beguileAnd under my owne vine uncounted sit.For I have seene the PineFamed for its travels ore the Sea:Broken with stormes and age decline,And in some creeke unpittied rot away.I have seene Cædars fall,And in their roome a Mushrome grow:I have seene Comets, threatning all,Vanish themselves: I have seene Princes so.Vaine triviall dust! weake man!Where is that vertue of thy breath,That others save or ruine can,When thou thy selfe art cal'd t'account by death?When I consider theeThe scorne of Time, and sport of fate:How can I turne to jollitieMy ill-strung Harpe, and court the delicate?How can I but disdaineThe emptie fallacies of mirth;And in my midnight thoughts retaine,How high so ere I spread, my root's in earth?Fond youth! too long I playdThe wanton with a false delight.Which when I toucht, I found a shadeThat onely wrought on th' error of my sight.Then since pride doth betrayThe soule to flatter'd ignorance:I from the World will steale awayAnd by humility my thoughts advance.Perdam Sapientiam SapientumTo the Right Honorable the LordWindsor.My Lord,Forgive my envie to the World; while ICommend those sober thoughts, perswade youThe glorious troubles of the Court. For thoughThe vale lyes open to each overflow,And in the humble shade we gather illAnd aguish ayres: yet lightnings oftner killOth' naked heights of mountaines, whereon weMay have more prospect, not securitie.For when with losse of breath, we have orecomeSome steepe ascent of power, and forc'd a roomeOn the so envi'd hill; how doe our heartsPant with the labour, and how many artsMore subtle must we practise, to defendOur pride from sliding, then we did t' ascend?How doth successe delude the mysteriesAnd all th' involv'd designements of the wise?How doth that Power, our Pollitickes call chance,Racke them till they confesse the ignoranceOf humane wit? Which, when 'tis fortifiedSo strong with reason that it doth derideAll adverse force oth' sudden findes its headIntangled in a spiders slender thread.Cœlestiall Providence! How thou dost mockeThe boast of earthly wisdome? On some rockeWhen man hath a structure, with such art,It doth disdaine to tremble at the dartOf thunder, or to shrinke oppos'd by allThe angry winds, it of it selfe doth fall,Ev'n in a calme so gentle that no ayreBreaths loude enough to stirre a Virgins haire!But misery of judgement: Though past timeInstruct us by th' ill fortune of their crimes,And shew us how we may secure our stateFrom pittied ruine, by anothers fate;Yet we contemning all such sad advice,Pursue to build though on a precipice.But you (my Lord) prevented by foresightTo engage your selfe to such an unsafe height,And in your selfe both great and rich enoughRefused t'expose your vessell to the roughUncertaine sea of businesse: whence even theyWho make the best returne, are forc't to say:The wealth we by our worldly traffique gaine,Weighes light if ballanc'd with the feare or paine.Paucitatem dierum meorum nuncia mihi.David.Tell me O great All knowing God!What periodHast thou unto my dayes assign'd?Like some old leafelesse tree, shall IWither away: or violentlyFall by the axe, by lightning, or the Wind?Heere, where I first drew vitall breathShall I meete death?And finde in the same vault a roomeWhere my fore-fathers ashes sleepe?Or shall I dye, where none shall weepeMy timelesse fate, and my cold earth intombe?Shall I 'gainst the swiftParthiansfightAnd in their flightReceive my death? Or shall I seeThat envied peace, in which we areTriumphant yet, disturb'd by warre;And perish by th' invading enemie?Astrologers, who calculateUncertaine fateAffirme my scheme doth not presageAny abridgement of my dayes:And the Phisitian gravely sayes,I may enjoy a reverent length of age.But they are jugglers, and by slightOf art the sightOf faith delude: and in their schooleThey onely practise how to makeA mistery of each mistake,And teach strange words, credulity to foole.For thou who first didst motion give,Whereby things liveAnd Time hath being! to concealeFuture events didst thinke it fitTo checke th' ambition of our wit,And keepe in awe the curious search of zeale.Therefore so I prepar'd still be,My God for thee:Oth' sudden on my spirits maySome killing Apoplexie seize,Or let me by a dull diseaseOr weakened by a feeble age decay.And so I in thy favour dye,No memorieFor me a well-wrought tombe prepare,For if my soule be 'mong the blestThough my poore ashes want a chest,I shall forgive the trespasse of my heire.Non nobis Domine.David.No marble statue, nor highAspiring Piramid be rays'dTo lose its head within the skie!What claime have I to memory?God be thou onely prais'd!Thou in a moment canst defeateThe mighty conquests of the proude,And blast the laurels of the great.Thou canst make brightest glorie setOth' sudden in a cloude.How can the feeble workes of ArtHold out 'gainst the assault of stormes?Or how can brasse to him impartSence of surviving fame, whose heartIs now resolv'd to wormes?Blinde folly of triumphing pride!Æternitie why buildst thou here?Dost thou not see the highest tideIts humbled streame in th' Ocean hide,And nere the same appeare?That tide which did its banckes ore-flow,As sent abroad by the angry seaTo levell vastest buildings low,And all our Trophies overthrow;Ebbes like a theefe away.And thou who to preserve thy nameLeav'st statues in some conquer'd land!How will posterity scorne fame,When th' Idoll shall receive a maime,And loose a foote or hand?How wilt thou hate thy warres, when heWho onely for his hire did raiseThy counterfet in stone; with theeShall stand Competitor: and bePerhapes thought worthier praise?No Laurell wreath about my brow!To thee, my God, all praise, whose lawThe conquer'd doth and conqueror bow!For both dissolve to ayre, if thouThy influence but withdraw.Solum mihi superest sepulchrum.Job.Welcome thou safe retreate!Where th' injured man may fortifie'Gainst the invasions of the great:Where the leane slave, who th' Oare doth plye,Soft as his Admirall may lye.Great Statist! tis your doomeThough your designes swell high, and wideTo be contracted in a tombe!And all your happie cares provideBut for your heire authorized pride.Nor shall your shade delightIth' pompe of your proud obsequies.And should the present flatterie writeA glorious Epitaph, the wiseWill say, The Poets wit here lyes.How reconcil'd to fateWill grow the aged Villager,When he shall see your funerall state?Since death will him as warme interAs you in your gay sepulcher.The great decree of GodMakes every path of mortals leadTo this darke common period.For what by wayes so ere we tread,We end our journey 'mong the dead.Even I, while humble zealeMakes fancie a sad truth indite,Insensible a way doe steale:And when I'me lost in deaths cold night,Who will remember, now I write?Et fugit velut umbra.Job.To the Right Honourable the LordKintyre.My LordThat shadow your faire body madeSo full of sport it still the mimick playdeEv'n as you mov'd and look'd but yesterdaySo huge in stature; Night hath stolen away.And this is th' emblem of our life: To pleaseAnd flatter which, we sayle ore broken seasUnfaithfull in their rockes and tides; we dareAll the sicke humors of a forraine ayre.And mine so deepe in earth, as we would trieTo unlocke hell, should gold there hoarded lie.But when we have built up a ædeficeT' outwrastle Time, we have but built on ice:For firme however all our structures be,Polisht with smoothest Indian Ivory,Rais'd high on marble, our unthankfull heireWill scarce retaine in memory, that we were.Tracke through the ayre the footesteps of the wind,And search the print of ships sayl'd by; then findeWhere all the glories of those Monarchs beWho bore such sway in the worlds infancie.Time hath devour'd them all: and scarce can fameGive an account, that ere they had a name.How can he then who doth the world controleAnd strikes a terror now in either Pole,Th' insulting Turke secure himself that heShall not be lost to dull Posterity?And though the Superstition of those TimesWhich deified Kings to warrant their owne crimesTranslated Cæsar to a starre; yet they,Who every Region of the skie Survay;In their Cœlestiall travaile, that bright coastCould nere discover which containes his ghost.And after death to make that awe surviveWhich subjects owe their Princes yet alive,Though they build pallaces of brasse and jetAnd keepe them living in a counterfet;The curious looker on soone passes byAnd findes the tombe a sickenesse to his eye.Neither when once the soule is gone doth allThe solemne triumph of the funerallAdde to her glory or her paine release:Then all the pride of warre, and wealth of peaceFor which we toild, from us abstracted beAnd onely serve to swell the history.These are sad thoughts (my Lord) and such as frightThe easie soule made tender with delight,Who thinkes that he hath forfetted that houreWhich addes not to his pleasure or his powre.But by the friendship which your Lordship daignesYour Servant, I have found your judgement raignesAbove all passion in you: and that senceCould never yet demolish that strong fenceWhich Vertue guards you with: By which you areTriumphant in the best, the inward warre.Nox nocti indicat Scientiam.David.When I survay the brightCœlestiall spheare:So rich with jewels hung, that nightDoth like an Æthiop bride appeare.My soule her wings doth spreadAnd heaven-ward flies,Th' Almighty's Mysteries to readIn the large volumes of the skies.For the bright firmamentShootes forth no flameSo silent, but is eloquentIn speaking the Creators name.No unregarded starContracts its lightInto so small a Charactar,Remov'd far from our humane sight:But if we stedfast looke,We shall discerneIn it as in some holy booke,How man may heavenly knowledge learne.It tells the Conqueror,That farre-stretcht powreWhich his proud dangers traffique for,Is but the triumph of an houre.That from the farthest North;Some Nation mayYet undiscovered issue forth,And ore his new got conquest sway.Some Nation yet shut inWith hils of iceMay be let out to scourge his sinne'Till they shall equall him in vice.And then they likewise shallTheir ruine have,For as your selves your Empires fall,And every Kingdome hath a grave.Thus those Cœlestiall fires,Though seeming muteThe fallacie of our desiresAnd all the pride of life confute.For they have watcht since firstThe World had birth:And found sinne in it selfe accurst,And nothing permanent on earth.Et alta a longè cognoscit.David.To the cold humble hermitage(Not tenanted but by discoloured age,Or youth enfeebled by long prayerAnd tame with fasts) th' Almighty doth repaire.But from the lofty gilded roofeStain'd with some Pagan fiction, keepes a loofe.Nor the gay Landlord daignes to knowWhose buildings are like Monsters but for show.Ambition! whither wilt thee climbe,Knowing thy art, the mockery of time?Which by examples tells the highRich structures, they must as their owners dye:And while they stand, their tennants areDetraction, flattry, wantonnesse, and care,Pride, envie, arrogance, and doubt,Surfet, and ease still tortured by the gout.O rather may I patient dwellIn th' injuries of an ill-cover'd cell!'Gainst whose too weake defence the haile,The angry winds, and frequent showres prevaile.Where the swift measures of the day,Shall be distinguisht onely as I pray:And some starres solitary lightBe the sole taper to the tedious night.The neighbo'ring fountaine (not accurstLike wine with madnesse) shall allay my thirst:And the wilde fruites of Nature giveDyet enough, to let me feele I feele, I live.You wantons! who impoverish Seas,And th' ayre dispeople, your proud taste to please!A greedy tyrant you obeyWho varies still its tribute with the day.What interest doth all the vaineCunning of surfet to your sences gaine?Since it obscure the Spirit mustAnd bow the flesh to sleep disease or lust.While who forgetting rest and fare;Watcheth the fall and rising of each starre,Ponders how bright the orbes doe move,And thence how much more bright the heav'ns aboveWhere on the heads of CherubinsTh' Almightie sits disdaining our bold sinnes:Who while on th' earth we groveling lyeDare in our pride of building tempt the skie.Universum stratum ejus versasti in infirmitate ejus.David.My Soule! When thou and IShall on our frighted death-bed lye;Each moment watching when pale deathShall snatch away our latest breath,And 'tweene two long joyn'd Lovers forceAn endlesse sad divorce:How wilt thou then? that artMy rationall and nobler part,Distort thy thoughts? How wilt thou tryTo draw from weake PhilosophieSome strength: and flatter thy poor state,'Cause tis the common fate?How wilt thy spirits pantAnd tremble when they feele the wantOf th' usuall organs; and that allThe vitall powers begin to fall?When 'tis decreed, that thou must goe,Yet whither; who can know?How fond and idle thenWill seeme the misteries of men?How like some dull ill-acted partThe subtlest of proud humane art?How shallow ev'n the deepest sea,When thus we ebbe away?But how shall I (that isMy fainting earth) looke pale at this?Disjointed on the racke of paine.How shall I murmur, how complaine;And craving all the ayde of skill,Finde none, but what must kill?Which way so ere my griefeDoth throw my sight to court releese,I shall but meete despaire; for allWill prophesie my funerall:The very silence of the roomeWill represent a tombe.And while my Childrens teares,My Wives vaine hopes, but certaine feares,And councells of Divines advanceDeath in each dolefull circumstance:I shall even a sad mourner beAt my owne obsequie.For by examples IMust know that others sorrowes dyeSoone as our selves, and none surviveTo keepe our memories alive.Even our fals tombes, as loath to sayWe once had life, decay.Laudate Dominum de cœlis.David.You Spirits! who have throwne awayThat enveous weight of clayWhich your cælestiall flight denyed:Who by your glorious troopes supplyThe winged Hierarchie,So broken in the Angells pride!O you! whom your Creators sightInebriates with delight!Sing forth the triumphs of his nameAll you enamord soules! agreeIn a loud symphonie:To give expressions to your flame!To him, his owne great workes relate,Who daign'd to elevateYou 'bove the frailtie of your birth:Where you stand safe from that rude warre,With which we troubled areBy the rebellion of our earth.While a corrupted ayre beneathHere in this World we breathEach houre some passion us assailes:Now lust casts wild-fire in the blood,Or that it may seeme good,It selfe in wit or beauty vailes.Then envie circles us with hate,And lays a siege so streight,No heavenly succor enters in:But if Revenge admittance finde,For ever hath the mindMade forfeit of it selfe to sinne.Assaulted thus, how dare we raiseOur mindes to thinke his praise,Who is Æternall and immens?How dare we force our feeble witTo speake him infinite,So farre above the search of sence?O you! who are immaculateHis name may celebrateIn your soules bright expansion.You whom your venues did uniteTo his perpetuall light,That even with him you now shine one.While we who t' earth contract our hearts,And onely studie ArtsTo shorten the sad length of Time:In place of joyes bring humble feares:For hymnes, repentant tearesAnd a new sigh for every crime.Qui quasi flos egreditur.To the Right Honourable, the LadyCat. T.Faire Madame! YouMay see what's man in yond' bright rose.Though it the wealth of Nature owes,It is opprest, and bends with dew.Which shewes, though fateMay promise still to warme our lippes,And keepe our eyes from an ecclips;It will our pride with teares abate.Poor silly flowre!Though in thy beauty thou presume,And breath which doth the spring perfume;Thou may'st be cropt this very houre.And though it mayThen thy good fortune be, to restOth' pillow of some Ladies brest;Thou'lt whither, and be throwne away.For 'tis thy doomeHowever, that there shall appeareNo memory that thou grew'st heere,Ere the tempestuous winter come.But flesh is loathBy meditation to fore seeHow loath'd a nothing it must be:Proud in the triumphes of its growth.And tamely canBehold this mighty world decayAnd weare by th' age of time away:Yet not discourse the fall of man.But Madam theseAre thoughts to cure sicke humane pride.And med'cines are in vaine applyed.To bodies far 'bove all disease.For you so liveAs th' Angels in one perfect state;Safe from the ruines of our fate,By vertues great preservative.And though we seeBeautie enough to warme each heart;Yet you by a chaste Chimicke Art,Calcine fraile love to pietie.Quid gloriaris in malicia?David.Swell no more proud man, so high!For enthron'd where ere you sitRais'd by fortune, sinne and wit:In a vault thou dust must lye.He who's lifted up by viceHath a neighb'ring precipiceDazeling his distorted eye.Shallow is that unsafe seaOver which you spread your saile:And the Barke you trust to, fraileAs the Winds it must obey.Mischiefe, while it prospers, bringsFavour from the smile of Kings;Uselesse soone is throwne away.Profit, though sinne it extort,Princes even accounted good,Courting greatnesse nere withstood,Since it Empire doth support.But when death makes them repentThey condemne the instrument,And are thought Religious for 't.Pitch'd downe from that height you beare,How distracted will you lye;When your flattering Clients flyeAs your fate infectious were?When of all th' obsequious throngThat mov'd by your eye and tongue,None shall in the storme appeare?When that abject insolence(Which submits to the more great,And disdaines the weaker state,As misfortune were offence)Shall at Court be judged a crimeThough in practise, and the TimePurchase wit at your expence.Each small tempest shakes the proud;Whose large branches vainely sprout'Bove the measure of the roote.But let stormes speake nere so loud,And th' astonisht day benight;Yet the just shines in a lightFaire as noone without a cloud.Deus Deus Meus.David.Where is that foole Philosophie,That bedlam Reason, and that beast dull sence;Great God! when I consider theeOmnipotent, Æternall, and imens?Unmov'd thou didst behold the prideOf th' Angels, when they to defection fell?And without passion didst provideTo punish treason, rackes and death in hell.Thy Word created this great All,Ith' lower part whereof we wage such warres:The upper bright and sphæricallBy purer bodies tenanted, the starres.And though sixe dayes it thee did pleaseTo build this frame, the seventh for rest assigne;Yet was it not thy paine or ease,But to teach man the quantities of Time.This world so mighty and so faire,So 'bove the reach of all dimension:If to thee God we should compare,Is not the slenderst atome to the Sun.What then am I poore nothing man!That elevate my voyce and speake of thee?Since no imagination canDistinguish part of thy immensitie?What am I who dare call thee God!And raise my fancie to discourse thy power?To whom dust is the period,Who am not sure to farme this very houre?For how know I the latest sandIn my fraile glasse of life, doth not now fall?And while I thus astonisht standI but prepare for my own funerall?Death doth with man no order keepe:It reckons not by the expence of yeares,But makes the Queene and beggar weepe,And nere distinguishes betweene their teares.He who the victory doth gaineFalls as he him pursues, who from him flyes,And is by too good fortune slaine.The Lover in his amorous courtship dyes.The states-man suddenly expiresWhile he for others ruine doth prepare:And the gay Lady while sh' admiresHer pride, and curles in wanton nets her haire.No state of man is fortified'Gainst the assault of th' universall doome:But who th' Almightie feare, deridePale death, and meete with triumph in the tombe.Quonian ego in flagella paratus sum.David.Fix me on some bleake precipice,Where I ten thousand yeares may stand:Made now a statute of ice,Then by the summer scorcht and tan'd!Place me alone in some fraile boate'Mid th' horrors of an angry Sea:Where I while time shall move, may floateDespairing either land or day!Or under earth my youth confineTo th' night and silence of a cell:Where Scorpions may my limbes entwine.O God! So thou forgive me hell.Æternitie! when I think thee,(Which never any end must have,Nor knew'st beginning) and fore-seeHell is design'd for sinne a grave.My frighted flesh trembles to dust,My blood ebbes fearefully away:Both guilty that they did to lust,And vanity, my youth betray.My eyes, which from each beautious sightDrew Spider-like blacke venome in:Close like the marigold at nightOpprest with dew to bath my sin.My eares shut up that easie doreWhich did proud fallacies admit:And vow to heare no follies more;Deafe to the charmes of sinne and wit.My hands (which when they toucht some faireImagin'd such an excellence,As th' Ermines skin ungentle were)Contract themselves, and loose all sence.But you bold sinners! still pursueYour valiant wickednesse, and braveTh' Almighty Justice: hee'le subdueAnd make you cowards in the grave.Then when he as your judge appeares,In vaine you'le tremble and lament.And hope to soften him with teares,To no advantage penitent.Then will you scorne those treasures, whichSo fiercely now you doate upon:Then curse those pleasures did bewitchYou to this sad illusion.The neighb'ring mountaines which you shallWooe to oppresse you with their weight:Disdainefull will deny to fall,By a sad death to ease your fate.In vaine some midnight storme at seaTo swallow you, you will desire:In vaine upon the wheels you'le prayBroken with torments to expire.Death, at the sight of which you start,In a mad fury then you'le Court:Yet hate th' expressions of your heart,Which onely shall be sigh'd for sport.No sorrow then shall enter inWith pitty the great judges eares.This moment's ours. Once dead, his sinMan cannot expiate with teares.Militia est vita hominis.To SirHen. Per.SirWere it your appetite of glory, (whichIn noblest times, did bravest soules bewitchTo fall in love with danger,) that now drawesYou to the fate of warre; it claimes applause:And every worthy hand would plucke a boughFrom the best spreading bay, to shade your brow.Since you unforc'd part from your Ladies bedWarme with the purest love, to lay your headPerhaps on some rude turfe, and sadly feeleThe nights cold dampes wrapt in a sheete of steele.You leave your well grown woods; and meadows whichOurSevernedoth with fruitfull streames enrich.Your woods where we see such large heards of DeereYour meades whereon such goodly flockes appeare.You leave your Castle, safe both for defenceAnd sweetely wanton with magnificenceWith all the cost and cunning beautifiedThat addes to state, where nothing wants but pride.These charmes might have bin pow'rful to have staidGreat mindes resolv'd for action, and betraidYou to a glorious ease: since to the warreMen by desire of prey invited are,Whom either sinne or want makes desperate,Or else disdaine of their owne narrow fate.But you, nor hope of fame or a releaseOf the most sobergovernmentin peace,Did to the hazard of the armie bringOnely a pure devotion to the KingIn whose just cause whoever fights, must beTriumphant: since even death is victory.And what is life, that we to wither itTo a weake wrinckled age, should torture witTo finde out Natures secrets; what doth lengthOf time deserve, if we want heate and strength?When a brave quarrell doth to arms provokeWhy should we feare to venter this thin smokeThis emptie shadow, life? this which the wiseAs the fooles Idoll, soberly despise?Why should we not throw willingly awayA game we cannot save, now that we mayGaine honour by the gift? since haply whenWe onely shall be statue of menAnd our owne monuments, Peace will denyOur wretched age so brave a cause to dye.But these are thoughts! And action tis doth giveA soule to courage, and make vertue live:Which doth not dwell upon the valiant tongueOf bold Philosophie, but in the strongUndaunted spirit, which encounters thoseSad dangers, we to fancie scarce propose.Yet tis the true and highest fortitudeTo keepe our inward enemies subdued:Not to permit our passions over swayOur actions, not our wanton flesh betrayThe soules chaste Empire: for however weTo th' outward shew may gaine a victoryAnd proudly triumph: if to conquour sinneWe combate not, we are at warre within.Vias tuas Domine demonstra mihi.Where have I wandred? In what wayHorrid as nightIncreast by stormes did I delight?Though my sad soule did often sayTwas death and madnesse so to stray.On that false ground I joy'd to treadWhich seemed most faire,Though every path had a new snare,And every turning still did lead,To the darke Region of the dead.But with the surfet of delightI am so tyredThat now I loath what I admired,And my distasted appetiteSo 'bhors the meate, it hates the sight.For should we naked sinne discryNot beautifiedBy th' ayde of wantonnesse and prideLike some mishapen birth, 'twould lyeA torment to th' affrighted eye.But cloath'd in beauty and respect.Even ore the wise,How powerfull doth it tyrannize!Whose monstrous storme should they detractThey famine sooner would affect.And since those shadowes which oppresseMy sight beginTo cleere, and show the shape of sinne,A Scorpion sooner be my guest,And warme hisvenomein my brest.May I before I growe so vileBy sinne agen,Be throwne off as a scorne to men!May th' angry world decree, t' exileMe to some yet unpeopled Isle.Where while Istruggle, and in vaineLabor to findeSome creature that shall have a minde,What justice have I to complaineIf I thy inward grace retaine?My God if thou shalt not excludeThy comfort thence:What place can seeme to troubled senceSo melancholly darke and rude,To be esteem'd a solitude.Cast me upon some naked shoreWhere I may trackeOnely the print of some sad wracke;If thou be there, though the seas rore,I shall no gentler calme implore.Should theCymmerians, whom no rayDoth ere enlightBut gaine thy grace, th' have lost their night:Not sinners at high noone, but they'Mong their blind cloudes have found the day.Et Exultavit Humiles.How cheerefully th' unpartiall SunneGilds with his beamesThe narrow streamesOth' Brooke which silently doth runneWithout a name?And yet disdaines to lend his flameTo the wide channell of the Thames?The largest mountaines barren lyeAnd lightning feare,Though they appeareTo bid defiance to the skie;Which in one houreW' have seene the opening earth devoureWhen in their height they proudest were.But th' humble man heaves up his headLike some rich valeWhose fruites nere faileWith flowres, with corne, and vines ore-spread.Nor doth complaineOreflowed by an ill season'd raineOr batter'd by a storme of haile.Like a tall Barke with treasure fraughtHe the seas cleereDoth quiet steere:But when they are t' a tempest wrought;More gallantlyHe spreads his saile, and doth more highBy swelling of the waves, appeare.For the Almighty joyes to forceThe glorious tideOf humane prideTo th' lowest ebbe; that ore his course(Which rudely boreDowne what oppos'd it heretofore)His feeblest enemie may stride.But from his ill-thatcht roofe he bringsThe CottagerAnd doth preferreHim to th' adored state of Kings:He bids that handWhich labour hath made rough and tandThe all commanding Scepter beare.Let then the mighty cease to boastTheir boundlesse sway:Since in their SeaFew sayle, but by some storme are lost.Let them themselvesBeware, for they are their owne shelves.Man still himselfe hath cast away.Dominus Dominantium.Supreame Divinitie! Who yetCoulde ever findeBy the bold scrutinie of wit,The treasurie where thou lock'st up the wind?What Majesty of Princes canA tempest awe;When the distracted OceanSwells to Sedition, and obeyes no Law?How wretched doth the Tyrant standWithout a boast?When his rich fleete even touching landHe by some storme in his owne Port sees lost?Vaine pompe of life! what narrow boundAmbitionIs circled with? How false a groundHath humane pride to build its triumphs on.And Nature how dost thou deludeOur search to know?When the same windes which here intrudeOn us with frosts and onely winter blow:Breath temprate on th' adjoyning earth;And gently bringTo the glad field a fruitfull birthWith all the treasures of a wanton Spring.How diversly death doth assaile;How sporting kill?While one is scorcht up in the valeThe other is congeald oth' neighboring hill.While he with heates doth dying glowAbove he seesThe other hedg'd in with his snowAnd envies him his ice although he freeze.Proud folly of pretending Art,Be ever dumbe,And humble thy aspiring heart,When thou findest glorious Reason overcome.And you Astrologers, whose eyeSurvayes the starres!And offer thence to prophesieSuccesse in peace, and the event of warres.Throw downe your eyes upon that dustYou proudly tread!And know to that resolve you must!That is the scheme where all their fate may read.Cogitabo pro peccato meo.In what darke silent groveProfan'd by no unholy loveWhere witty melancholy nereDid carve the trees or wound the ayre,Shall I religious leasure winneTo weepe away my sinne?How fondly have I spentMy youthes unvalued treasure, lentTo traffique for Cœlestiall joyes?My unripe yeares pursuing toyes;Judging things best that were most gayFled unobserv'd away.Growne elder I admiredOur Poets as from heaven inspiredWhat Obeliskes decreed I fitForSpencersArt, andSydnyeswit?But waxing sober soone I foundFame but an Idle sound.Then I my blood obey'dAnd each bright face an Idoll made:Verse in an humble Sacrifice,I offer'd to my Mistresse eyes,But I no sooner grace did winBut met the devill within.But growne more pollitickeI tooke account of each state tricke:Observ'd each motion, judg'd him wise,Who had a conscience fit to rise.Whome soone I found but forme and ruleAnd the more serious foole.But now my soule prepareTo ponder what and where we areHow fraile is life, how vaine a breathOpinion, how uncertaine death:How onely a poore stone shall beareWitnesse that once we were.How a shrill Trumpet shallUs to the barre as traytors call.Then shall we see too late that prideHath hope with flattery bely'dAnd that the mighty in commandPale Cowards there must stand.Recogitabo tibi omnes annos meos.Isay.Time! where didst thou those years interWhich I have seene decease?My soules at war and truth bids herFinde out their hidden Sepulcher,To give her troubles peace.Pregnant with flowers doth not the SpringLike a late bride appeare?Whose fether'd Musicke onely bringCaresses, and no Requiem singOn the departed yeare?The Earth, like some rich wanton heire,Whose Parents coffin'd lye,Forgets it once lookt pale and bareAnd doth for vanities prepare,As the Spring nere should dye.The present houre, flattered by allReflects not on the last;But I, like a sad factor shallT' account my life each moment call,And onely weepe the past.My mem'ry trackes each severall waySince Reason did beginOver my actions her first sway:And teacheth me that each new dayDid onely vary sin.Poor banckrout Conscience! where are thoseRich houres but farm'd to thee?How carelessely I some did lose,And other to my lust disposeAs no rent day should be?I have infected with impureDisorders my past yeares.But Ile to penitence inureThose that succeed. There is no cureNor Antidote but teares.Cupio dissolvi.Paule.The soule which doth with God unite,Those gayities how doth she slightWhich ore opinion sway?Like sacred Virgin wax, which shinesOn Altars or on Martyrs shrinesHow doth she burne away?How violent are her throwes till sheFrom envious earth delivered be,Which doth her flight restraine?How doth she doate on whips and rackes,On fires and the so dreaded Axe,And every murd'ring paine?How soone she leaves the pride of wealth,The flatteries of youth and healthAnd fames more precious breath.And every gaudy circumstanceThat doth the pompe of life advanceAt the approach of death?The cunning of AstrologersObserves each motion of the starresPlacing all knowledge there:And Lovers in their Mistresse eyesContract those wonders of the skies,And seeke no higher sphere.The wandring Pilot sweates to findThe causes that produce the windStill gazing on the Pole.The Politician scornes all ArtBut what doth pride and power impart.And swells the ambitious soule.But he whom heavenly fire doth warme,And'gainst these powerful follies arme,Doth soberly disdaineAll these fond humane misteriesAs the deceitfull and unwiseDistempers of our braine.He as a burden beares his clay,Yet vainely throwes it not awayOn every idle cause:But with the same untroubled eyeCan resolve to live or dye,Regardlesse of th' applause.My God! If 'tis thy great decreeThat this must the last moment beWherein I breath this ayre;My heart obeyes joy'd to retreateFrom the false favours of the greatAnd treachery of the faire.When thou shalt please this soule t' enthrone,Above impure corruption;What shall I grieve or feare.To thinke this breathlesse body mustBecome a loathsome heape of dustAnd nere againe appeare.For in the fire when Ore is tryed,And by that torment purified:Doe we deplore the losse?And when thou shalt my soule refine,That it thereby may purer shineShall I grieve for the drosse?FINIS.

Domine labia mea aperiesDavid.Noe monument of me remaine,My mem'orie rustIn the same marble with my dust:Ere I the spreadingst Laurell gaine,By writing wanton or profane.Ye glorious wonders of the skies,Shine still bright starres,Th' Almighties mystick Characters!Ile not your beautious lights surpriseT' illuminate a womans eyes.Nor to perfume her veins, will IIn each one setThe purple of the violet.The untoucht flowre may grow and dyeSafe from my fancies injurie.Open my lippes, great God! and thenIle soare aboveThe humble flight of carnall love.Upward to thee Ile force my pen,And trace no path of vulgar men.For what can our unbounded soulesWorthy to beTheir object finde, excepting thee?Where can I fixe? since time controulesOur pride, whose motion all things roules.Should I my selfe ingratiateT' a Princes smile;How soone may death my hopes beguile?And should I farme the proudest state,I'me Tennant to uncertaine fate.If I court gold; will it not rust?And if my loveToward a female beauty move;How will that surfet of our lustDistast us, when resolv'd to dust?But thou Æternall banquet! whereFor ever weMay feede without satietie!Who harmonie art to the eare,Who art, while all things else appeare!While up to thee I shoote my flameThou dost dispenceA holy death, that murders sence,And makes me scorne all pompes, that aymeAll other triumphs than thy name.It crownes me with a victorySo heavenly, allThat's earth from me away doth fall.And I, from my corruption free,Grow in my vowes even part of thee.

Noe monument of me remaine,My mem'orie rustIn the same marble with my dust:Ere I the spreadingst Laurell gaine,By writing wanton or profane.

Noe monument of me remaine,

My mem'orie rust

In the same marble with my dust:

Ere I the spreadingst Laurell gaine,

By writing wanton or profane.

Ye glorious wonders of the skies,Shine still bright starres,Th' Almighties mystick Characters!Ile not your beautious lights surpriseT' illuminate a womans eyes.

Ye glorious wonders of the skies,

Shine still bright starres,

Th' Almighties mystick Characters!

Ile not your beautious lights surprise

T' illuminate a womans eyes.

Nor to perfume her veins, will IIn each one setThe purple of the violet.The untoucht flowre may grow and dyeSafe from my fancies injurie.

Nor to perfume her veins, will I

In each one set

The purple of the violet.

The untoucht flowre may grow and dye

Safe from my fancies injurie.

Open my lippes, great God! and thenIle soare aboveThe humble flight of carnall love.Upward to thee Ile force my pen,And trace no path of vulgar men.

Open my lippes, great God! and then

Ile soare above

The humble flight of carnall love.

Upward to thee Ile force my pen,

And trace no path of vulgar men.

For what can our unbounded soulesWorthy to beTheir object finde, excepting thee?Where can I fixe? since time controulesOur pride, whose motion all things roules.

For what can our unbounded soules

Worthy to be

Their object finde, excepting thee?

Where can I fixe? since time controules

Our pride, whose motion all things roules.

Should I my selfe ingratiateT' a Princes smile;How soone may death my hopes beguile?And should I farme the proudest state,I'me Tennant to uncertaine fate.

Should I my selfe ingratiate

T' a Princes smile;

How soone may death my hopes beguile?

And should I farme the proudest state,

I'me Tennant to uncertaine fate.

If I court gold; will it not rust?And if my loveToward a female beauty move;How will that surfet of our lustDistast us, when resolv'd to dust?

If I court gold; will it not rust?

And if my love

Toward a female beauty move;

How will that surfet of our lust

Distast us, when resolv'd to dust?

But thou Æternall banquet! whereFor ever weMay feede without satietie!Who harmonie art to the eare,Who art, while all things else appeare!

But thou Æternall banquet! where

For ever we

May feede without satietie!

Who harmonie art to the eare,

Who art, while all things else appeare!

While up to thee I shoote my flameThou dost dispenceA holy death, that murders sence,And makes me scorne all pompes, that aymeAll other triumphs than thy name.

While up to thee I shoote my flame

Thou dost dispence

A holy death, that murders sence,

And makes me scorne all pompes, that ayme

All other triumphs than thy name.

It crownes me with a victorySo heavenly, allThat's earth from me away doth fall.And I, from my corruption free,Grow in my vowes even part of thee.

It crownes me with a victory

So heavenly, all

That's earth from me away doth fall.

And I, from my corruption free,

Grow in my vowes even part of thee.

Versa est in luctum cythara mea.Job.Love! I no orgies singWhereby thy mercies to invoke:Nor from the East rich perfumes bringTo cloude the Altars with thy precious smoake.Nor while I did frequentThose fanes by lovers rais'd to thee:Did I loose heathenish rites invent,To force a blush from injur'd Chastitie.Religious was the charmeI used affection to intice:And thought none burnt more bright or warme,Yet chaste as winter was the Sacrifice.But now I thee bequeathTo the soft silken youths at Court:Who may their witty passions breath,To raise their Mistresse smile, or make her sport.They'le smooth thee into rime,Such as shall catch the wanton eare:And win opinion with the time,To make them a high sayle of honour beare.And may a powerfull smileCherish their flatteries of wit!While I my life of fame beguileAnd under my owne vine uncounted sit.For I have seene the PineFamed for its travels ore the Sea:Broken with stormes and age decline,And in some creeke unpittied rot away.I have seene Cædars fall,And in their roome a Mushrome grow:I have seene Comets, threatning all,Vanish themselves: I have seene Princes so.Vaine triviall dust! weake man!Where is that vertue of thy breath,That others save or ruine can,When thou thy selfe art cal'd t'account by death?When I consider theeThe scorne of Time, and sport of fate:How can I turne to jollitieMy ill-strung Harpe, and court the delicate?How can I but disdaineThe emptie fallacies of mirth;And in my midnight thoughts retaine,How high so ere I spread, my root's in earth?Fond youth! too long I playdThe wanton with a false delight.Which when I toucht, I found a shadeThat onely wrought on th' error of my sight.Then since pride doth betrayThe soule to flatter'd ignorance:I from the World will steale awayAnd by humility my thoughts advance.

Love! I no orgies singWhereby thy mercies to invoke:Nor from the East rich perfumes bringTo cloude the Altars with thy precious smoake.

Love! I no orgies sing

Whereby thy mercies to invoke:

Nor from the East rich perfumes bring

To cloude the Altars with thy precious smoake.

Nor while I did frequentThose fanes by lovers rais'd to thee:Did I loose heathenish rites invent,To force a blush from injur'd Chastitie.

Nor while I did frequent

Those fanes by lovers rais'd to thee:

Did I loose heathenish rites invent,

To force a blush from injur'd Chastitie.

Religious was the charmeI used affection to intice:And thought none burnt more bright or warme,Yet chaste as winter was the Sacrifice.

Religious was the charme

I used affection to intice:

And thought none burnt more bright or warme,

Yet chaste as winter was the Sacrifice.

But now I thee bequeathTo the soft silken youths at Court:Who may their witty passions breath,To raise their Mistresse smile, or make her sport.

But now I thee bequeath

To the soft silken youths at Court:

Who may their witty passions breath,

To raise their Mistresse smile, or make her sport.

They'le smooth thee into rime,Such as shall catch the wanton eare:And win opinion with the time,To make them a high sayle of honour beare.

They'le smooth thee into rime,

Such as shall catch the wanton eare:

And win opinion with the time,

To make them a high sayle of honour beare.

And may a powerfull smileCherish their flatteries of wit!While I my life of fame beguileAnd under my owne vine uncounted sit.

And may a powerfull smile

Cherish their flatteries of wit!

While I my life of fame beguile

And under my owne vine uncounted sit.

For I have seene the PineFamed for its travels ore the Sea:Broken with stormes and age decline,And in some creeke unpittied rot away.

For I have seene the Pine

Famed for its travels ore the Sea:

Broken with stormes and age decline,

And in some creeke unpittied rot away.

I have seene Cædars fall,And in their roome a Mushrome grow:I have seene Comets, threatning all,Vanish themselves: I have seene Princes so.

I have seene Cædars fall,

And in their roome a Mushrome grow:

I have seene Comets, threatning all,

Vanish themselves: I have seene Princes so.

Vaine triviall dust! weake man!Where is that vertue of thy breath,That others save or ruine can,When thou thy selfe art cal'd t'account by death?

Vaine triviall dust! weake man!

Where is that vertue of thy breath,

That others save or ruine can,

When thou thy selfe art cal'd t'account by death?

When I consider theeThe scorne of Time, and sport of fate:How can I turne to jollitieMy ill-strung Harpe, and court the delicate?

When I consider thee

The scorne of Time, and sport of fate:

How can I turne to jollitie

My ill-strung Harpe, and court the delicate?

How can I but disdaineThe emptie fallacies of mirth;And in my midnight thoughts retaine,How high so ere I spread, my root's in earth?

How can I but disdaine

The emptie fallacies of mirth;

And in my midnight thoughts retaine,

How high so ere I spread, my root's in earth?

Fond youth! too long I playdThe wanton with a false delight.Which when I toucht, I found a shadeThat onely wrought on th' error of my sight.

Fond youth! too long I playd

The wanton with a false delight.

Which when I toucht, I found a shade

That onely wrought on th' error of my sight.

Then since pride doth betrayThe soule to flatter'd ignorance:I from the World will steale awayAnd by humility my thoughts advance.

Then since pride doth betray

The soule to flatter'd ignorance:

I from the World will steale away

And by humility my thoughts advance.

Perdam Sapientiam SapientumTo the Right Honorable the LordWindsor.My Lord,Forgive my envie to the World; while ICommend those sober thoughts, perswade youThe glorious troubles of the Court. For thoughThe vale lyes open to each overflow,And in the humble shade we gather illAnd aguish ayres: yet lightnings oftner killOth' naked heights of mountaines, whereon weMay have more prospect, not securitie.For when with losse of breath, we have orecomeSome steepe ascent of power, and forc'd a roomeOn the so envi'd hill; how doe our heartsPant with the labour, and how many artsMore subtle must we practise, to defendOur pride from sliding, then we did t' ascend?How doth successe delude the mysteriesAnd all th' involv'd designements of the wise?How doth that Power, our Pollitickes call chance,Racke them till they confesse the ignoranceOf humane wit? Which, when 'tis fortifiedSo strong with reason that it doth derideAll adverse force oth' sudden findes its headIntangled in a spiders slender thread.Cœlestiall Providence! How thou dost mockeThe boast of earthly wisdome? On some rockeWhen man hath a structure, with such art,It doth disdaine to tremble at the dartOf thunder, or to shrinke oppos'd by allThe angry winds, it of it selfe doth fall,Ev'n in a calme so gentle that no ayreBreaths loude enough to stirre a Virgins haire!But misery of judgement: Though past timeInstruct us by th' ill fortune of their crimes,And shew us how we may secure our stateFrom pittied ruine, by anothers fate;Yet we contemning all such sad advice,Pursue to build though on a precipice.But you (my Lord) prevented by foresightTo engage your selfe to such an unsafe height,And in your selfe both great and rich enoughRefused t'expose your vessell to the roughUncertaine sea of businesse: whence even theyWho make the best returne, are forc't to say:The wealth we by our worldly traffique gaine,Weighes light if ballanc'd with the feare or paine.

My Lord,

Forgive my envie to the World; while ICommend those sober thoughts, perswade youThe glorious troubles of the Court. For thoughThe vale lyes open to each overflow,And in the humble shade we gather illAnd aguish ayres: yet lightnings oftner killOth' naked heights of mountaines, whereon weMay have more prospect, not securitie.For when with losse of breath, we have orecomeSome steepe ascent of power, and forc'd a roomeOn the so envi'd hill; how doe our heartsPant with the labour, and how many artsMore subtle must we practise, to defendOur pride from sliding, then we did t' ascend?How doth successe delude the mysteriesAnd all th' involv'd designements of the wise?How doth that Power, our Pollitickes call chance,Racke them till they confesse the ignoranceOf humane wit? Which, when 'tis fortifiedSo strong with reason that it doth derideAll adverse force oth' sudden findes its headIntangled in a spiders slender thread.Cœlestiall Providence! How thou dost mockeThe boast of earthly wisdome? On some rockeWhen man hath a structure, with such art,It doth disdaine to tremble at the dartOf thunder, or to shrinke oppos'd by allThe angry winds, it of it selfe doth fall,Ev'n in a calme so gentle that no ayreBreaths loude enough to stirre a Virgins haire!But misery of judgement: Though past timeInstruct us by th' ill fortune of their crimes,And shew us how we may secure our stateFrom pittied ruine, by anothers fate;Yet we contemning all such sad advice,Pursue to build though on a precipice.But you (my Lord) prevented by foresightTo engage your selfe to such an unsafe height,And in your selfe both great and rich enoughRefused t'expose your vessell to the roughUncertaine sea of businesse: whence even theyWho make the best returne, are forc't to say:The wealth we by our worldly traffique gaine,Weighes light if ballanc'd with the feare or paine.

Forgive my envie to the World; while I

Commend those sober thoughts, perswade you

The glorious troubles of the Court. For though

The vale lyes open to each overflow,

And in the humble shade we gather ill

And aguish ayres: yet lightnings oftner kill

Oth' naked heights of mountaines, whereon we

May have more prospect, not securitie.

For when with losse of breath, we have orecome

Some steepe ascent of power, and forc'd a roome

On the so envi'd hill; how doe our hearts

Pant with the labour, and how many arts

More subtle must we practise, to defend

Our pride from sliding, then we did t' ascend?

How doth successe delude the mysteries

And all th' involv'd designements of the wise?

How doth that Power, our Pollitickes call chance,

Racke them till they confesse the ignorance

Of humane wit? Which, when 'tis fortified

So strong with reason that it doth deride

All adverse force oth' sudden findes its head

Intangled in a spiders slender thread.

Cœlestiall Providence! How thou dost mocke

The boast of earthly wisdome? On some rocke

When man hath a structure, with such art,

It doth disdaine to tremble at the dart

Of thunder, or to shrinke oppos'd by all

The angry winds, it of it selfe doth fall,

Ev'n in a calme so gentle that no ayre

Breaths loude enough to stirre a Virgins haire!

But misery of judgement: Though past time

Instruct us by th' ill fortune of their crimes,

And shew us how we may secure our state

From pittied ruine, by anothers fate;

Yet we contemning all such sad advice,

Pursue to build though on a precipice.

But you (my Lord) prevented by foresight

To engage your selfe to such an unsafe height,

And in your selfe both great and rich enough

Refused t'expose your vessell to the rough

Uncertaine sea of businesse: whence even they

Who make the best returne, are forc't to say:

The wealth we by our worldly traffique gaine,

Weighes light if ballanc'd with the feare or paine.

Paucitatem dierum meorum nuncia mihi.David.Tell me O great All knowing God!What periodHast thou unto my dayes assign'd?Like some old leafelesse tree, shall IWither away: or violentlyFall by the axe, by lightning, or the Wind?Heere, where I first drew vitall breathShall I meete death?And finde in the same vault a roomeWhere my fore-fathers ashes sleepe?Or shall I dye, where none shall weepeMy timelesse fate, and my cold earth intombe?Shall I 'gainst the swiftParthiansfightAnd in their flightReceive my death? Or shall I seeThat envied peace, in which we areTriumphant yet, disturb'd by warre;And perish by th' invading enemie?Astrologers, who calculateUncertaine fateAffirme my scheme doth not presageAny abridgement of my dayes:And the Phisitian gravely sayes,I may enjoy a reverent length of age.But they are jugglers, and by slightOf art the sightOf faith delude: and in their schooleThey onely practise how to makeA mistery of each mistake,And teach strange words, credulity to foole.For thou who first didst motion give,Whereby things liveAnd Time hath being! to concealeFuture events didst thinke it fitTo checke th' ambition of our wit,And keepe in awe the curious search of zeale.Therefore so I prepar'd still be,My God for thee:Oth' sudden on my spirits maySome killing Apoplexie seize,Or let me by a dull diseaseOr weakened by a feeble age decay.And so I in thy favour dye,No memorieFor me a well-wrought tombe prepare,For if my soule be 'mong the blestThough my poore ashes want a chest,I shall forgive the trespasse of my heire.

Tell me O great All knowing God!What periodHast thou unto my dayes assign'd?Like some old leafelesse tree, shall IWither away: or violentlyFall by the axe, by lightning, or the Wind?

Tell me O great All knowing God!

What period

Hast thou unto my dayes assign'd?

Like some old leafelesse tree, shall I

Wither away: or violently

Fall by the axe, by lightning, or the Wind?

Heere, where I first drew vitall breathShall I meete death?And finde in the same vault a roomeWhere my fore-fathers ashes sleepe?Or shall I dye, where none shall weepeMy timelesse fate, and my cold earth intombe?

Heere, where I first drew vitall breath

Shall I meete death?

And finde in the same vault a roome

Where my fore-fathers ashes sleepe?

Or shall I dye, where none shall weepe

My timelesse fate, and my cold earth intombe?

Shall I 'gainst the swiftParthiansfightAnd in their flightReceive my death? Or shall I seeThat envied peace, in which we areTriumphant yet, disturb'd by warre;And perish by th' invading enemie?

Shall I 'gainst the swiftParthiansfight

And in their flight

Receive my death? Or shall I see

That envied peace, in which we are

Triumphant yet, disturb'd by warre;

And perish by th' invading enemie?

Astrologers, who calculateUncertaine fateAffirme my scheme doth not presageAny abridgement of my dayes:And the Phisitian gravely sayes,I may enjoy a reverent length of age.

Astrologers, who calculate

Uncertaine fate

Affirme my scheme doth not presage

Any abridgement of my dayes:

And the Phisitian gravely sayes,

I may enjoy a reverent length of age.

But they are jugglers, and by slightOf art the sightOf faith delude: and in their schooleThey onely practise how to makeA mistery of each mistake,And teach strange words, credulity to foole.

But they are jugglers, and by slight

Of art the sight

Of faith delude: and in their schoole

They onely practise how to make

A mistery of each mistake,

And teach strange words, credulity to foole.

For thou who first didst motion give,Whereby things liveAnd Time hath being! to concealeFuture events didst thinke it fitTo checke th' ambition of our wit,And keepe in awe the curious search of zeale.

For thou who first didst motion give,

Whereby things live

And Time hath being! to conceale

Future events didst thinke it fit

To checke th' ambition of our wit,

And keepe in awe the curious search of zeale.

Therefore so I prepar'd still be,My God for thee:Oth' sudden on my spirits maySome killing Apoplexie seize,Or let me by a dull diseaseOr weakened by a feeble age decay.

Therefore so I prepar'd still be,

My God for thee:

Oth' sudden on my spirits may

Some killing Apoplexie seize,

Or let me by a dull disease

Or weakened by a feeble age decay.

And so I in thy favour dye,No memorieFor me a well-wrought tombe prepare,For if my soule be 'mong the blestThough my poore ashes want a chest,I shall forgive the trespasse of my heire.

And so I in thy favour dye,

No memorie

For me a well-wrought tombe prepare,

For if my soule be 'mong the blest

Though my poore ashes want a chest,

I shall forgive the trespasse of my heire.

Non nobis Domine.David.No marble statue, nor highAspiring Piramid be rays'dTo lose its head within the skie!What claime have I to memory?God be thou onely prais'd!Thou in a moment canst defeateThe mighty conquests of the proude,And blast the laurels of the great.Thou canst make brightest glorie setOth' sudden in a cloude.How can the feeble workes of ArtHold out 'gainst the assault of stormes?Or how can brasse to him impartSence of surviving fame, whose heartIs now resolv'd to wormes?Blinde folly of triumphing pride!Æternitie why buildst thou here?Dost thou not see the highest tideIts humbled streame in th' Ocean hide,And nere the same appeare?That tide which did its banckes ore-flow,As sent abroad by the angry seaTo levell vastest buildings low,And all our Trophies overthrow;Ebbes like a theefe away.And thou who to preserve thy nameLeav'st statues in some conquer'd land!How will posterity scorne fame,When th' Idoll shall receive a maime,And loose a foote or hand?How wilt thou hate thy warres, when heWho onely for his hire did raiseThy counterfet in stone; with theeShall stand Competitor: and bePerhapes thought worthier praise?No Laurell wreath about my brow!To thee, my God, all praise, whose lawThe conquer'd doth and conqueror bow!For both dissolve to ayre, if thouThy influence but withdraw.

No marble statue, nor highAspiring Piramid be rays'dTo lose its head within the skie!What claime have I to memory?God be thou onely prais'd!

No marble statue, nor high

Aspiring Piramid be rays'd

To lose its head within the skie!

What claime have I to memory?

God be thou onely prais'd!

Thou in a moment canst defeateThe mighty conquests of the proude,And blast the laurels of the great.Thou canst make brightest glorie setOth' sudden in a cloude.

Thou in a moment canst defeate

The mighty conquests of the proude,

And blast the laurels of the great.

Thou canst make brightest glorie set

Oth' sudden in a cloude.

How can the feeble workes of ArtHold out 'gainst the assault of stormes?Or how can brasse to him impartSence of surviving fame, whose heartIs now resolv'd to wormes?

How can the feeble workes of Art

Hold out 'gainst the assault of stormes?

Or how can brasse to him impart

Sence of surviving fame, whose heart

Is now resolv'd to wormes?

Blinde folly of triumphing pride!Æternitie why buildst thou here?Dost thou not see the highest tideIts humbled streame in th' Ocean hide,And nere the same appeare?

Blinde folly of triumphing pride!

Æternitie why buildst thou here?

Dost thou not see the highest tide

Its humbled streame in th' Ocean hide,

And nere the same appeare?

That tide which did its banckes ore-flow,As sent abroad by the angry seaTo levell vastest buildings low,And all our Trophies overthrow;Ebbes like a theefe away.

That tide which did its banckes ore-flow,

As sent abroad by the angry sea

To levell vastest buildings low,

And all our Trophies overthrow;

Ebbes like a theefe away.

And thou who to preserve thy nameLeav'st statues in some conquer'd land!How will posterity scorne fame,When th' Idoll shall receive a maime,And loose a foote or hand?

And thou who to preserve thy name

Leav'st statues in some conquer'd land!

How will posterity scorne fame,

When th' Idoll shall receive a maime,

And loose a foote or hand?

How wilt thou hate thy warres, when heWho onely for his hire did raiseThy counterfet in stone; with theeShall stand Competitor: and bePerhapes thought worthier praise?

How wilt thou hate thy warres, when he

Who onely for his hire did raise

Thy counterfet in stone; with thee

Shall stand Competitor: and be

Perhapes thought worthier praise?

No Laurell wreath about my brow!To thee, my God, all praise, whose lawThe conquer'd doth and conqueror bow!For both dissolve to ayre, if thouThy influence but withdraw.

No Laurell wreath about my brow!

To thee, my God, all praise, whose law

The conquer'd doth and conqueror bow!

For both dissolve to ayre, if thou

Thy influence but withdraw.

Solum mihi superest sepulchrum.Job.Welcome thou safe retreate!Where th' injured man may fortifie'Gainst the invasions of the great:Where the leane slave, who th' Oare doth plye,Soft as his Admirall may lye.Great Statist! tis your doomeThough your designes swell high, and wideTo be contracted in a tombe!And all your happie cares provideBut for your heire authorized pride.Nor shall your shade delightIth' pompe of your proud obsequies.And should the present flatterie writeA glorious Epitaph, the wiseWill say, The Poets wit here lyes.How reconcil'd to fateWill grow the aged Villager,When he shall see your funerall state?Since death will him as warme interAs you in your gay sepulcher.The great decree of GodMakes every path of mortals leadTo this darke common period.For what by wayes so ere we tread,We end our journey 'mong the dead.Even I, while humble zealeMakes fancie a sad truth indite,Insensible a way doe steale:And when I'me lost in deaths cold night,Who will remember, now I write?

Welcome thou safe retreate!Where th' injured man may fortifie'Gainst the invasions of the great:Where the leane slave, who th' Oare doth plye,Soft as his Admirall may lye.

Welcome thou safe retreate!

Where th' injured man may fortifie

'Gainst the invasions of the great:

Where the leane slave, who th' Oare doth plye,

Soft as his Admirall may lye.

Great Statist! tis your doomeThough your designes swell high, and wideTo be contracted in a tombe!And all your happie cares provideBut for your heire authorized pride.

Great Statist! tis your doome

Though your designes swell high, and wide

To be contracted in a tombe!

And all your happie cares provide

But for your heire authorized pride.

Nor shall your shade delightIth' pompe of your proud obsequies.And should the present flatterie writeA glorious Epitaph, the wiseWill say, The Poets wit here lyes.

Nor shall your shade delight

Ith' pompe of your proud obsequies.

And should the present flatterie write

A glorious Epitaph, the wise

Will say, The Poets wit here lyes.

How reconcil'd to fateWill grow the aged Villager,When he shall see your funerall state?Since death will him as warme interAs you in your gay sepulcher.

How reconcil'd to fate

Will grow the aged Villager,

When he shall see your funerall state?

Since death will him as warme inter

As you in your gay sepulcher.

The great decree of GodMakes every path of mortals leadTo this darke common period.For what by wayes so ere we tread,We end our journey 'mong the dead.

The great decree of God

Makes every path of mortals lead

To this darke common period.

For what by wayes so ere we tread,

We end our journey 'mong the dead.

Even I, while humble zealeMakes fancie a sad truth indite,Insensible a way doe steale:And when I'me lost in deaths cold night,Who will remember, now I write?

Even I, while humble zeale

Makes fancie a sad truth indite,

Insensible a way doe steale:

And when I'me lost in deaths cold night,

Who will remember, now I write?

Et fugit velut umbra.Job.To the Right Honourable the LordKintyre.My LordThat shadow your faire body madeSo full of sport it still the mimick playdeEv'n as you mov'd and look'd but yesterdaySo huge in stature; Night hath stolen away.And this is th' emblem of our life: To pleaseAnd flatter which, we sayle ore broken seasUnfaithfull in their rockes and tides; we dareAll the sicke humors of a forraine ayre.And mine so deepe in earth, as we would trieTo unlocke hell, should gold there hoarded lie.But when we have built up a ædeficeT' outwrastle Time, we have but built on ice:For firme however all our structures be,Polisht with smoothest Indian Ivory,Rais'd high on marble, our unthankfull heireWill scarce retaine in memory, that we were.Tracke through the ayre the footesteps of the wind,And search the print of ships sayl'd by; then findeWhere all the glories of those Monarchs beWho bore such sway in the worlds infancie.Time hath devour'd them all: and scarce can fameGive an account, that ere they had a name.How can he then who doth the world controleAnd strikes a terror now in either Pole,Th' insulting Turke secure himself that heShall not be lost to dull Posterity?And though the Superstition of those TimesWhich deified Kings to warrant their owne crimesTranslated Cæsar to a starre; yet they,Who every Region of the skie Survay;In their Cœlestiall travaile, that bright coastCould nere discover which containes his ghost.And after death to make that awe surviveWhich subjects owe their Princes yet alive,Though they build pallaces of brasse and jetAnd keepe them living in a counterfet;The curious looker on soone passes byAnd findes the tombe a sickenesse to his eye.Neither when once the soule is gone doth allThe solemne triumph of the funerallAdde to her glory or her paine release:Then all the pride of warre, and wealth of peaceFor which we toild, from us abstracted beAnd onely serve to swell the history.These are sad thoughts (my Lord) and such as frightThe easie soule made tender with delight,Who thinkes that he hath forfetted that houreWhich addes not to his pleasure or his powre.But by the friendship which your Lordship daignesYour Servant, I have found your judgement raignesAbove all passion in you: and that senceCould never yet demolish that strong fenceWhich Vertue guards you with: By which you areTriumphant in the best, the inward warre.

My Lord

That shadow your faire body madeSo full of sport it still the mimick playdeEv'n as you mov'd and look'd but yesterdaySo huge in stature; Night hath stolen away.And this is th' emblem of our life: To pleaseAnd flatter which, we sayle ore broken seasUnfaithfull in their rockes and tides; we dareAll the sicke humors of a forraine ayre.And mine so deepe in earth, as we would trieTo unlocke hell, should gold there hoarded lie.But when we have built up a ædeficeT' outwrastle Time, we have but built on ice:For firme however all our structures be,Polisht with smoothest Indian Ivory,Rais'd high on marble, our unthankfull heireWill scarce retaine in memory, that we were.Tracke through the ayre the footesteps of the wind,And search the print of ships sayl'd by; then findeWhere all the glories of those Monarchs beWho bore such sway in the worlds infancie.Time hath devour'd them all: and scarce can fameGive an account, that ere they had a name.How can he then who doth the world controleAnd strikes a terror now in either Pole,Th' insulting Turke secure himself that heShall not be lost to dull Posterity?And though the Superstition of those TimesWhich deified Kings to warrant their owne crimesTranslated Cæsar to a starre; yet they,Who every Region of the skie Survay;In their Cœlestiall travaile, that bright coastCould nere discover which containes his ghost.And after death to make that awe surviveWhich subjects owe their Princes yet alive,Though they build pallaces of brasse and jetAnd keepe them living in a counterfet;The curious looker on soone passes byAnd findes the tombe a sickenesse to his eye.Neither when once the soule is gone doth allThe solemne triumph of the funerallAdde to her glory or her paine release:Then all the pride of warre, and wealth of peaceFor which we toild, from us abstracted beAnd onely serve to swell the history.These are sad thoughts (my Lord) and such as frightThe easie soule made tender with delight,Who thinkes that he hath forfetted that houreWhich addes not to his pleasure or his powre.But by the friendship which your Lordship daignesYour Servant, I have found your judgement raignesAbove all passion in you: and that senceCould never yet demolish that strong fenceWhich Vertue guards you with: By which you areTriumphant in the best, the inward warre.

That shadow your faire body made

So full of sport it still the mimick playde

Ev'n as you mov'd and look'd but yesterday

So huge in stature; Night hath stolen away.

And this is th' emblem of our life: To please

And flatter which, we sayle ore broken seas

Unfaithfull in their rockes and tides; we dare

All the sicke humors of a forraine ayre.

And mine so deepe in earth, as we would trie

To unlocke hell, should gold there hoarded lie.

But when we have built up a ædefice

T' outwrastle Time, we have but built on ice:

For firme however all our structures be,

Polisht with smoothest Indian Ivory,

Rais'd high on marble, our unthankfull heire

Will scarce retaine in memory, that we were.

Tracke through the ayre the footesteps of the wind,

And search the print of ships sayl'd by; then finde

Where all the glories of those Monarchs be

Who bore such sway in the worlds infancie.

Time hath devour'd them all: and scarce can fame

Give an account, that ere they had a name.

How can he then who doth the world controle

And strikes a terror now in either Pole,

Th' insulting Turke secure himself that he

Shall not be lost to dull Posterity?

And though the Superstition of those Times

Which deified Kings to warrant their owne crimes

Translated Cæsar to a starre; yet they,

Who every Region of the skie Survay;

In their Cœlestiall travaile, that bright coast

Could nere discover which containes his ghost.

And after death to make that awe survive

Which subjects owe their Princes yet alive,

Though they build pallaces of brasse and jet

And keepe them living in a counterfet;

The curious looker on soone passes by

And findes the tombe a sickenesse to his eye.

Neither when once the soule is gone doth all

The solemne triumph of the funerall

Adde to her glory or her paine release:

Then all the pride of warre, and wealth of peace

For which we toild, from us abstracted be

And onely serve to swell the history.

These are sad thoughts (my Lord) and such as fright

The easie soule made tender with delight,

Who thinkes that he hath forfetted that houre

Which addes not to his pleasure or his powre.

But by the friendship which your Lordship daignes

Your Servant, I have found your judgement raignes

Above all passion in you: and that sence

Could never yet demolish that strong fence

Which Vertue guards you with: By which you are

Triumphant in the best, the inward warre.

Nox nocti indicat Scientiam.David.When I survay the brightCœlestiall spheare:So rich with jewels hung, that nightDoth like an Æthiop bride appeare.My soule her wings doth spreadAnd heaven-ward flies,Th' Almighty's Mysteries to readIn the large volumes of the skies.For the bright firmamentShootes forth no flameSo silent, but is eloquentIn speaking the Creators name.No unregarded starContracts its lightInto so small a Charactar,Remov'd far from our humane sight:But if we stedfast looke,We shall discerneIn it as in some holy booke,How man may heavenly knowledge learne.It tells the Conqueror,That farre-stretcht powreWhich his proud dangers traffique for,Is but the triumph of an houre.That from the farthest North;Some Nation mayYet undiscovered issue forth,And ore his new got conquest sway.Some Nation yet shut inWith hils of iceMay be let out to scourge his sinne'Till they shall equall him in vice.And then they likewise shallTheir ruine have,For as your selves your Empires fall,And every Kingdome hath a grave.Thus those Cœlestiall fires,Though seeming muteThe fallacie of our desiresAnd all the pride of life confute.For they have watcht since firstThe World had birth:And found sinne in it selfe accurst,And nothing permanent on earth.

When I survay the brightCœlestiall spheare:So rich with jewels hung, that nightDoth like an Æthiop bride appeare.

When I survay the bright

Cœlestiall spheare:

So rich with jewels hung, that night

Doth like an Æthiop bride appeare.

My soule her wings doth spreadAnd heaven-ward flies,Th' Almighty's Mysteries to readIn the large volumes of the skies.

My soule her wings doth spread

And heaven-ward flies,

Th' Almighty's Mysteries to read

In the large volumes of the skies.

For the bright firmamentShootes forth no flameSo silent, but is eloquentIn speaking the Creators name.

For the bright firmament

Shootes forth no flame

So silent, but is eloquent

In speaking the Creators name.

No unregarded starContracts its lightInto so small a Charactar,Remov'd far from our humane sight:

No unregarded star

Contracts its light

Into so small a Charactar,

Remov'd far from our humane sight:

But if we stedfast looke,We shall discerneIn it as in some holy booke,How man may heavenly knowledge learne.

But if we stedfast looke,

We shall discerne

In it as in some holy booke,

How man may heavenly knowledge learne.

It tells the Conqueror,That farre-stretcht powreWhich his proud dangers traffique for,Is but the triumph of an houre.

It tells the Conqueror,

That farre-stretcht powre

Which his proud dangers traffique for,

Is but the triumph of an houre.

That from the farthest North;Some Nation mayYet undiscovered issue forth,And ore his new got conquest sway.

That from the farthest North;

Some Nation may

Yet undiscovered issue forth,

And ore his new got conquest sway.

Some Nation yet shut inWith hils of iceMay be let out to scourge his sinne'Till they shall equall him in vice.

Some Nation yet shut in

With hils of ice

May be let out to scourge his sinne

'Till they shall equall him in vice.

And then they likewise shallTheir ruine have,For as your selves your Empires fall,And every Kingdome hath a grave.

And then they likewise shall

Their ruine have,

For as your selves your Empires fall,

And every Kingdome hath a grave.

Thus those Cœlestiall fires,Though seeming muteThe fallacie of our desiresAnd all the pride of life confute.

Thus those Cœlestiall fires,

Though seeming mute

The fallacie of our desires

And all the pride of life confute.

For they have watcht since firstThe World had birth:And found sinne in it selfe accurst,And nothing permanent on earth.

For they have watcht since first

The World had birth:

And found sinne in it selfe accurst,

And nothing permanent on earth.

Et alta a longè cognoscit.David.To the cold humble hermitage(Not tenanted but by discoloured age,Or youth enfeebled by long prayerAnd tame with fasts) th' Almighty doth repaire.But from the lofty gilded roofeStain'd with some Pagan fiction, keepes a loofe.Nor the gay Landlord daignes to knowWhose buildings are like Monsters but for show.Ambition! whither wilt thee climbe,Knowing thy art, the mockery of time?Which by examples tells the highRich structures, they must as their owners dye:And while they stand, their tennants areDetraction, flattry, wantonnesse, and care,Pride, envie, arrogance, and doubt,Surfet, and ease still tortured by the gout.O rather may I patient dwellIn th' injuries of an ill-cover'd cell!'Gainst whose too weake defence the haile,The angry winds, and frequent showres prevaile.Where the swift measures of the day,Shall be distinguisht onely as I pray:And some starres solitary lightBe the sole taper to the tedious night.The neighbo'ring fountaine (not accurstLike wine with madnesse) shall allay my thirst:And the wilde fruites of Nature giveDyet enough, to let me feele I feele, I live.You wantons! who impoverish Seas,And th' ayre dispeople, your proud taste to please!A greedy tyrant you obeyWho varies still its tribute with the day.What interest doth all the vaineCunning of surfet to your sences gaine?Since it obscure the Spirit mustAnd bow the flesh to sleep disease or lust.While who forgetting rest and fare;Watcheth the fall and rising of each starre,Ponders how bright the orbes doe move,And thence how much more bright the heav'ns aboveWhere on the heads of CherubinsTh' Almightie sits disdaining our bold sinnes:Who while on th' earth we groveling lyeDare in our pride of building tempt the skie.

To the cold humble hermitage(Not tenanted but by discoloured age,Or youth enfeebled by long prayerAnd tame with fasts) th' Almighty doth repaire.But from the lofty gilded roofeStain'd with some Pagan fiction, keepes a loofe.Nor the gay Landlord daignes to knowWhose buildings are like Monsters but for show.Ambition! whither wilt thee climbe,Knowing thy art, the mockery of time?Which by examples tells the highRich structures, they must as their owners dye:And while they stand, their tennants areDetraction, flattry, wantonnesse, and care,Pride, envie, arrogance, and doubt,Surfet, and ease still tortured by the gout.O rather may I patient dwellIn th' injuries of an ill-cover'd cell!'Gainst whose too weake defence the haile,The angry winds, and frequent showres prevaile.Where the swift measures of the day,Shall be distinguisht onely as I pray:And some starres solitary lightBe the sole taper to the tedious night.The neighbo'ring fountaine (not accurstLike wine with madnesse) shall allay my thirst:And the wilde fruites of Nature giveDyet enough, to let me feele I feele, I live.You wantons! who impoverish Seas,And th' ayre dispeople, your proud taste to please!A greedy tyrant you obeyWho varies still its tribute with the day.What interest doth all the vaineCunning of surfet to your sences gaine?Since it obscure the Spirit mustAnd bow the flesh to sleep disease or lust.While who forgetting rest and fare;Watcheth the fall and rising of each starre,Ponders how bright the orbes doe move,And thence how much more bright the heav'ns aboveWhere on the heads of CherubinsTh' Almightie sits disdaining our bold sinnes:Who while on th' earth we groveling lyeDare in our pride of building tempt the skie.

To the cold humble hermitage

(Not tenanted but by discoloured age,

Or youth enfeebled by long prayer

And tame with fasts) th' Almighty doth repaire.

But from the lofty gilded roofe

Stain'd with some Pagan fiction, keepes a loofe.

Nor the gay Landlord daignes to know

Whose buildings are like Monsters but for show.

Ambition! whither wilt thee climbe,

Knowing thy art, the mockery of time?

Which by examples tells the high

Rich structures, they must as their owners dye:

And while they stand, their tennants are

Detraction, flattry, wantonnesse, and care,

Pride, envie, arrogance, and doubt,

Surfet, and ease still tortured by the gout.

O rather may I patient dwell

In th' injuries of an ill-cover'd cell!

'Gainst whose too weake defence the haile,

The angry winds, and frequent showres prevaile.

Where the swift measures of the day,

Shall be distinguisht onely as I pray:

And some starres solitary light

Be the sole taper to the tedious night.

The neighbo'ring fountaine (not accurst

Like wine with madnesse) shall allay my thirst:

And the wilde fruites of Nature give

Dyet enough, to let me feele I feele, I live.

You wantons! who impoverish Seas,

And th' ayre dispeople, your proud taste to please!

A greedy tyrant you obey

Who varies still its tribute with the day.

What interest doth all the vaine

Cunning of surfet to your sences gaine?

Since it obscure the Spirit must

And bow the flesh to sleep disease or lust.

While who forgetting rest and fare;

Watcheth the fall and rising of each starre,

Ponders how bright the orbes doe move,

And thence how much more bright the heav'ns above

Where on the heads of Cherubins

Th' Almightie sits disdaining our bold sinnes:

Who while on th' earth we groveling lye

Dare in our pride of building tempt the skie.

Universum stratum ejus versasti in infirmitate ejus.David.My Soule! When thou and IShall on our frighted death-bed lye;Each moment watching when pale deathShall snatch away our latest breath,And 'tweene two long joyn'd Lovers forceAn endlesse sad divorce:How wilt thou then? that artMy rationall and nobler part,Distort thy thoughts? How wilt thou tryTo draw from weake PhilosophieSome strength: and flatter thy poor state,'Cause tis the common fate?How wilt thy spirits pantAnd tremble when they feele the wantOf th' usuall organs; and that allThe vitall powers begin to fall?When 'tis decreed, that thou must goe,Yet whither; who can know?How fond and idle thenWill seeme the misteries of men?How like some dull ill-acted partThe subtlest of proud humane art?How shallow ev'n the deepest sea,When thus we ebbe away?But how shall I (that isMy fainting earth) looke pale at this?Disjointed on the racke of paine.How shall I murmur, how complaine;And craving all the ayde of skill,Finde none, but what must kill?Which way so ere my griefeDoth throw my sight to court releese,I shall but meete despaire; for allWill prophesie my funerall:The very silence of the roomeWill represent a tombe.And while my Childrens teares,My Wives vaine hopes, but certaine feares,And councells of Divines advanceDeath in each dolefull circumstance:I shall even a sad mourner beAt my owne obsequie.For by examples IMust know that others sorrowes dyeSoone as our selves, and none surviveTo keepe our memories alive.Even our fals tombes, as loath to sayWe once had life, decay.

My Soule! When thou and IShall on our frighted death-bed lye;Each moment watching when pale deathShall snatch away our latest breath,And 'tweene two long joyn'd Lovers forceAn endlesse sad divorce:

My Soule! When thou and I

Shall on our frighted death-bed lye;

Each moment watching when pale death

Shall snatch away our latest breath,

And 'tweene two long joyn'd Lovers force

An endlesse sad divorce:

How wilt thou then? that artMy rationall and nobler part,Distort thy thoughts? How wilt thou tryTo draw from weake PhilosophieSome strength: and flatter thy poor state,'Cause tis the common fate?

How wilt thou then? that art

My rationall and nobler part,

Distort thy thoughts? How wilt thou try

To draw from weake Philosophie

Some strength: and flatter thy poor state,

'Cause tis the common fate?

How wilt thy spirits pantAnd tremble when they feele the wantOf th' usuall organs; and that allThe vitall powers begin to fall?When 'tis decreed, that thou must goe,Yet whither; who can know?

How wilt thy spirits pant

And tremble when they feele the want

Of th' usuall organs; and that all

The vitall powers begin to fall?

When 'tis decreed, that thou must goe,

Yet whither; who can know?

How fond and idle thenWill seeme the misteries of men?How like some dull ill-acted partThe subtlest of proud humane art?How shallow ev'n the deepest sea,When thus we ebbe away?

How fond and idle then

Will seeme the misteries of men?

How like some dull ill-acted part

The subtlest of proud humane art?

How shallow ev'n the deepest sea,

When thus we ebbe away?

But how shall I (that isMy fainting earth) looke pale at this?Disjointed on the racke of paine.How shall I murmur, how complaine;And craving all the ayde of skill,Finde none, but what must kill?

But how shall I (that is

My fainting earth) looke pale at this?

Disjointed on the racke of paine.

How shall I murmur, how complaine;

And craving all the ayde of skill,

Finde none, but what must kill?

Which way so ere my griefeDoth throw my sight to court releese,I shall but meete despaire; for allWill prophesie my funerall:The very silence of the roomeWill represent a tombe.

Which way so ere my griefe

Doth throw my sight to court releese,

I shall but meete despaire; for all

Will prophesie my funerall:

The very silence of the roome

Will represent a tombe.

And while my Childrens teares,My Wives vaine hopes, but certaine feares,And councells of Divines advanceDeath in each dolefull circumstance:I shall even a sad mourner beAt my owne obsequie.

And while my Childrens teares,

My Wives vaine hopes, but certaine feares,

And councells of Divines advance

Death in each dolefull circumstance:

I shall even a sad mourner be

At my owne obsequie.

For by examples IMust know that others sorrowes dyeSoone as our selves, and none surviveTo keepe our memories alive.Even our fals tombes, as loath to sayWe once had life, decay.

For by examples I

Must know that others sorrowes dye

Soone as our selves, and none survive

To keepe our memories alive.

Even our fals tombes, as loath to say

We once had life, decay.

Laudate Dominum de cœlis.David.You Spirits! who have throwne awayThat enveous weight of clayWhich your cælestiall flight denyed:Who by your glorious troopes supplyThe winged Hierarchie,So broken in the Angells pride!O you! whom your Creators sightInebriates with delight!Sing forth the triumphs of his nameAll you enamord soules! agreeIn a loud symphonie:To give expressions to your flame!To him, his owne great workes relate,Who daign'd to elevateYou 'bove the frailtie of your birth:Where you stand safe from that rude warre,With which we troubled areBy the rebellion of our earth.While a corrupted ayre beneathHere in this World we breathEach houre some passion us assailes:Now lust casts wild-fire in the blood,Or that it may seeme good,It selfe in wit or beauty vailes.Then envie circles us with hate,And lays a siege so streight,No heavenly succor enters in:But if Revenge admittance finde,For ever hath the mindMade forfeit of it selfe to sinne.Assaulted thus, how dare we raiseOur mindes to thinke his praise,Who is Æternall and immens?How dare we force our feeble witTo speake him infinite,So farre above the search of sence?O you! who are immaculateHis name may celebrateIn your soules bright expansion.You whom your venues did uniteTo his perpetuall light,That even with him you now shine one.While we who t' earth contract our hearts,And onely studie ArtsTo shorten the sad length of Time:In place of joyes bring humble feares:For hymnes, repentant tearesAnd a new sigh for every crime.

You Spirits! who have throwne awayThat enveous weight of clayWhich your cælestiall flight denyed:Who by your glorious troopes supplyThe winged Hierarchie,So broken in the Angells pride!

You Spirits! who have throwne away

That enveous weight of clay

Which your cælestiall flight denyed:

Who by your glorious troopes supply

The winged Hierarchie,

So broken in the Angells pride!

O you! whom your Creators sightInebriates with delight!Sing forth the triumphs of his nameAll you enamord soules! agreeIn a loud symphonie:To give expressions to your flame!

O you! whom your Creators sight

Inebriates with delight!

Sing forth the triumphs of his name

All you enamord soules! agree

In a loud symphonie:

To give expressions to your flame!

To him, his owne great workes relate,Who daign'd to elevateYou 'bove the frailtie of your birth:Where you stand safe from that rude warre,With which we troubled areBy the rebellion of our earth.

To him, his owne great workes relate,

Who daign'd to elevate

You 'bove the frailtie of your birth:

Where you stand safe from that rude warre,

With which we troubled are

By the rebellion of our earth.

While a corrupted ayre beneathHere in this World we breathEach houre some passion us assailes:Now lust casts wild-fire in the blood,Or that it may seeme good,It selfe in wit or beauty vailes.

While a corrupted ayre beneath

Here in this World we breath

Each houre some passion us assailes:

Now lust casts wild-fire in the blood,

Or that it may seeme good,

It selfe in wit or beauty vailes.

Then envie circles us with hate,And lays a siege so streight,No heavenly succor enters in:But if Revenge admittance finde,For ever hath the mindMade forfeit of it selfe to sinne.

Then envie circles us with hate,

And lays a siege so streight,

No heavenly succor enters in:

But if Revenge admittance finde,

For ever hath the mind

Made forfeit of it selfe to sinne.

Assaulted thus, how dare we raiseOur mindes to thinke his praise,Who is Æternall and immens?How dare we force our feeble witTo speake him infinite,So farre above the search of sence?

Assaulted thus, how dare we raise

Our mindes to thinke his praise,

Who is Æternall and immens?

How dare we force our feeble wit

To speake him infinite,

So farre above the search of sence?

O you! who are immaculateHis name may celebrateIn your soules bright expansion.You whom your venues did uniteTo his perpetuall light,That even with him you now shine one.

O you! who are immaculate

His name may celebrate

In your soules bright expansion.

You whom your venues did unite

To his perpetuall light,

That even with him you now shine one.

While we who t' earth contract our hearts,And onely studie ArtsTo shorten the sad length of Time:In place of joyes bring humble feares:For hymnes, repentant tearesAnd a new sigh for every crime.

While we who t' earth contract our hearts,

And onely studie Arts

To shorten the sad length of Time:

In place of joyes bring humble feares:

For hymnes, repentant teares

And a new sigh for every crime.

Qui quasi flos egreditur.To the Right Honourable, the LadyCat. T.Faire Madame! YouMay see what's man in yond' bright rose.Though it the wealth of Nature owes,It is opprest, and bends with dew.Which shewes, though fateMay promise still to warme our lippes,And keepe our eyes from an ecclips;It will our pride with teares abate.Poor silly flowre!Though in thy beauty thou presume,And breath which doth the spring perfume;Thou may'st be cropt this very houre.And though it mayThen thy good fortune be, to restOth' pillow of some Ladies brest;Thou'lt whither, and be throwne away.For 'tis thy doomeHowever, that there shall appeareNo memory that thou grew'st heere,Ere the tempestuous winter come.But flesh is loathBy meditation to fore seeHow loath'd a nothing it must be:Proud in the triumphes of its growth.And tamely canBehold this mighty world decayAnd weare by th' age of time away:Yet not discourse the fall of man.But Madam theseAre thoughts to cure sicke humane pride.And med'cines are in vaine applyed.To bodies far 'bove all disease.For you so liveAs th' Angels in one perfect state;Safe from the ruines of our fate,By vertues great preservative.And though we seeBeautie enough to warme each heart;Yet you by a chaste Chimicke Art,Calcine fraile love to pietie.

Faire Madame! YouMay see what's man in yond' bright rose.Though it the wealth of Nature owes,It is opprest, and bends with dew.

Faire Madame! You

May see what's man in yond' bright rose.

Though it the wealth of Nature owes,

It is opprest, and bends with dew.

Which shewes, though fateMay promise still to warme our lippes,And keepe our eyes from an ecclips;It will our pride with teares abate.

Which shewes, though fate

May promise still to warme our lippes,

And keepe our eyes from an ecclips;

It will our pride with teares abate.

Poor silly flowre!Though in thy beauty thou presume,And breath which doth the spring perfume;Thou may'st be cropt this very houre.

Poor silly flowre!

Though in thy beauty thou presume,

And breath which doth the spring perfume;

Thou may'st be cropt this very houre.

And though it mayThen thy good fortune be, to restOth' pillow of some Ladies brest;Thou'lt whither, and be throwne away.

And though it may

Then thy good fortune be, to rest

Oth' pillow of some Ladies brest;

Thou'lt whither, and be throwne away.

For 'tis thy doomeHowever, that there shall appeareNo memory that thou grew'st heere,Ere the tempestuous winter come.

For 'tis thy doome

However, that there shall appeare

No memory that thou grew'st heere,

Ere the tempestuous winter come.

But flesh is loathBy meditation to fore seeHow loath'd a nothing it must be:Proud in the triumphes of its growth.

But flesh is loath

By meditation to fore see

How loath'd a nothing it must be:

Proud in the triumphes of its growth.

And tamely canBehold this mighty world decayAnd weare by th' age of time away:Yet not discourse the fall of man.

And tamely can

Behold this mighty world decay

And weare by th' age of time away:

Yet not discourse the fall of man.

But Madam theseAre thoughts to cure sicke humane pride.And med'cines are in vaine applyed.To bodies far 'bove all disease.

But Madam these

Are thoughts to cure sicke humane pride.

And med'cines are in vaine applyed.

To bodies far 'bove all disease.

For you so liveAs th' Angels in one perfect state;Safe from the ruines of our fate,By vertues great preservative.

For you so live

As th' Angels in one perfect state;

Safe from the ruines of our fate,

By vertues great preservative.

And though we seeBeautie enough to warme each heart;Yet you by a chaste Chimicke Art,Calcine fraile love to pietie.

And though we see

Beautie enough to warme each heart;

Yet you by a chaste Chimicke Art,

Calcine fraile love to pietie.

Quid gloriaris in malicia?David.Swell no more proud man, so high!For enthron'd where ere you sitRais'd by fortune, sinne and wit:In a vault thou dust must lye.He who's lifted up by viceHath a neighb'ring precipiceDazeling his distorted eye.Shallow is that unsafe seaOver which you spread your saile:And the Barke you trust to, fraileAs the Winds it must obey.Mischiefe, while it prospers, bringsFavour from the smile of Kings;Uselesse soone is throwne away.Profit, though sinne it extort,Princes even accounted good,Courting greatnesse nere withstood,Since it Empire doth support.But when death makes them repentThey condemne the instrument,And are thought Religious for 't.Pitch'd downe from that height you beare,How distracted will you lye;When your flattering Clients flyeAs your fate infectious were?When of all th' obsequious throngThat mov'd by your eye and tongue,None shall in the storme appeare?When that abject insolence(Which submits to the more great,And disdaines the weaker state,As misfortune were offence)Shall at Court be judged a crimeThough in practise, and the TimePurchase wit at your expence.Each small tempest shakes the proud;Whose large branches vainely sprout'Bove the measure of the roote.But let stormes speake nere so loud,And th' astonisht day benight;Yet the just shines in a lightFaire as noone without a cloud.

Swell no more proud man, so high!For enthron'd where ere you sitRais'd by fortune, sinne and wit:In a vault thou dust must lye.He who's lifted up by viceHath a neighb'ring precipiceDazeling his distorted eye.

Swell no more proud man, so high!

For enthron'd where ere you sit

Rais'd by fortune, sinne and wit:

In a vault thou dust must lye.

He who's lifted up by vice

Hath a neighb'ring precipice

Dazeling his distorted eye.

Shallow is that unsafe seaOver which you spread your saile:And the Barke you trust to, fraileAs the Winds it must obey.Mischiefe, while it prospers, bringsFavour from the smile of Kings;Uselesse soone is throwne away.

Shallow is that unsafe sea

Over which you spread your saile:

And the Barke you trust to, fraile

As the Winds it must obey.

Mischiefe, while it prospers, brings

Favour from the smile of Kings;

Uselesse soone is throwne away.

Profit, though sinne it extort,Princes even accounted good,Courting greatnesse nere withstood,Since it Empire doth support.But when death makes them repentThey condemne the instrument,And are thought Religious for 't.

Profit, though sinne it extort,

Princes even accounted good,

Courting greatnesse nere withstood,

Since it Empire doth support.

But when death makes them repent

They condemne the instrument,

And are thought Religious for 't.

Pitch'd downe from that height you beare,How distracted will you lye;When your flattering Clients flyeAs your fate infectious were?When of all th' obsequious throngThat mov'd by your eye and tongue,None shall in the storme appeare?

Pitch'd downe from that height you beare,

How distracted will you lye;

When your flattering Clients flye

As your fate infectious were?

When of all th' obsequious throng

That mov'd by your eye and tongue,

None shall in the storme appeare?

When that abject insolence(Which submits to the more great,And disdaines the weaker state,As misfortune were offence)Shall at Court be judged a crimeThough in practise, and the TimePurchase wit at your expence.

When that abject insolence

(Which submits to the more great,

And disdaines the weaker state,

As misfortune were offence)

Shall at Court be judged a crime

Though in practise, and the Time

Purchase wit at your expence.

Each small tempest shakes the proud;Whose large branches vainely sprout'Bove the measure of the roote.But let stormes speake nere so loud,And th' astonisht day benight;Yet the just shines in a lightFaire as noone without a cloud.

Each small tempest shakes the proud;

Whose large branches vainely sprout

'Bove the measure of the roote.

But let stormes speake nere so loud,

And th' astonisht day benight;

Yet the just shines in a light

Faire as noone without a cloud.

Deus Deus Meus.David.Where is that foole Philosophie,That bedlam Reason, and that beast dull sence;Great God! when I consider theeOmnipotent, Æternall, and imens?Unmov'd thou didst behold the prideOf th' Angels, when they to defection fell?And without passion didst provideTo punish treason, rackes and death in hell.Thy Word created this great All,Ith' lower part whereof we wage such warres:The upper bright and sphæricallBy purer bodies tenanted, the starres.And though sixe dayes it thee did pleaseTo build this frame, the seventh for rest assigne;Yet was it not thy paine or ease,But to teach man the quantities of Time.This world so mighty and so faire,So 'bove the reach of all dimension:If to thee God we should compare,Is not the slenderst atome to the Sun.What then am I poore nothing man!That elevate my voyce and speake of thee?Since no imagination canDistinguish part of thy immensitie?What am I who dare call thee God!And raise my fancie to discourse thy power?To whom dust is the period,Who am not sure to farme this very houre?For how know I the latest sandIn my fraile glasse of life, doth not now fall?And while I thus astonisht standI but prepare for my own funerall?Death doth with man no order keepe:It reckons not by the expence of yeares,But makes the Queene and beggar weepe,And nere distinguishes betweene their teares.He who the victory doth gaineFalls as he him pursues, who from him flyes,And is by too good fortune slaine.The Lover in his amorous courtship dyes.The states-man suddenly expiresWhile he for others ruine doth prepare:And the gay Lady while sh' admiresHer pride, and curles in wanton nets her haire.No state of man is fortified'Gainst the assault of th' universall doome:But who th' Almightie feare, deridePale death, and meete with triumph in the tombe.

Where is that foole Philosophie,That bedlam Reason, and that beast dull sence;Great God! when I consider theeOmnipotent, Æternall, and imens?Unmov'd thou didst behold the prideOf th' Angels, when they to defection fell?And without passion didst provideTo punish treason, rackes and death in hell.Thy Word created this great All,Ith' lower part whereof we wage such warres:The upper bright and sphæricallBy purer bodies tenanted, the starres.And though sixe dayes it thee did pleaseTo build this frame, the seventh for rest assigne;Yet was it not thy paine or ease,But to teach man the quantities of Time.This world so mighty and so faire,So 'bove the reach of all dimension:If to thee God we should compare,Is not the slenderst atome to the Sun.What then am I poore nothing man!That elevate my voyce and speake of thee?Since no imagination canDistinguish part of thy immensitie?What am I who dare call thee God!And raise my fancie to discourse thy power?To whom dust is the period,Who am not sure to farme this very houre?For how know I the latest sandIn my fraile glasse of life, doth not now fall?And while I thus astonisht standI but prepare for my own funerall?Death doth with man no order keepe:It reckons not by the expence of yeares,But makes the Queene and beggar weepe,And nere distinguishes betweene their teares.He who the victory doth gaineFalls as he him pursues, who from him flyes,And is by too good fortune slaine.The Lover in his amorous courtship dyes.The states-man suddenly expiresWhile he for others ruine doth prepare:And the gay Lady while sh' admiresHer pride, and curles in wanton nets her haire.No state of man is fortified'Gainst the assault of th' universall doome:But who th' Almightie feare, deridePale death, and meete with triumph in the tombe.

Where is that foole Philosophie,

That bedlam Reason, and that beast dull sence;

Great God! when I consider thee

Omnipotent, Æternall, and imens?

Unmov'd thou didst behold the pride

Of th' Angels, when they to defection fell?

And without passion didst provide

To punish treason, rackes and death in hell.

Thy Word created this great All,

Ith' lower part whereof we wage such warres:

The upper bright and sphæricall

By purer bodies tenanted, the starres.

And though sixe dayes it thee did please

To build this frame, the seventh for rest assigne;

Yet was it not thy paine or ease,

But to teach man the quantities of Time.

This world so mighty and so faire,

So 'bove the reach of all dimension:

If to thee God we should compare,

Is not the slenderst atome to the Sun.

What then am I poore nothing man!

That elevate my voyce and speake of thee?

Since no imagination can

Distinguish part of thy immensitie?

What am I who dare call thee God!

And raise my fancie to discourse thy power?

To whom dust is the period,

Who am not sure to farme this very houre?

For how know I the latest sand

In my fraile glasse of life, doth not now fall?

And while I thus astonisht stand

I but prepare for my own funerall?

Death doth with man no order keepe:

It reckons not by the expence of yeares,

But makes the Queene and beggar weepe,

And nere distinguishes betweene their teares.

He who the victory doth gaine

Falls as he him pursues, who from him flyes,

And is by too good fortune slaine.

The Lover in his amorous courtship dyes.

The states-man suddenly expires

While he for others ruine doth prepare:

And the gay Lady while sh' admires

Her pride, and curles in wanton nets her haire.

No state of man is fortified

'Gainst the assault of th' universall doome:

But who th' Almightie feare, deride

Pale death, and meete with triumph in the tombe.

Quonian ego in flagella paratus sum.David.Fix me on some bleake precipice,Where I ten thousand yeares may stand:Made now a statute of ice,Then by the summer scorcht and tan'd!Place me alone in some fraile boate'Mid th' horrors of an angry Sea:Where I while time shall move, may floateDespairing either land or day!Or under earth my youth confineTo th' night and silence of a cell:Where Scorpions may my limbes entwine.O God! So thou forgive me hell.Æternitie! when I think thee,(Which never any end must have,Nor knew'st beginning) and fore-seeHell is design'd for sinne a grave.My frighted flesh trembles to dust,My blood ebbes fearefully away:Both guilty that they did to lust,And vanity, my youth betray.My eyes, which from each beautious sightDrew Spider-like blacke venome in:Close like the marigold at nightOpprest with dew to bath my sin.My eares shut up that easie doreWhich did proud fallacies admit:And vow to heare no follies more;Deafe to the charmes of sinne and wit.My hands (which when they toucht some faireImagin'd such an excellence,As th' Ermines skin ungentle were)Contract themselves, and loose all sence.But you bold sinners! still pursueYour valiant wickednesse, and braveTh' Almighty Justice: hee'le subdueAnd make you cowards in the grave.Then when he as your judge appeares,In vaine you'le tremble and lament.And hope to soften him with teares,To no advantage penitent.Then will you scorne those treasures, whichSo fiercely now you doate upon:Then curse those pleasures did bewitchYou to this sad illusion.The neighb'ring mountaines which you shallWooe to oppresse you with their weight:Disdainefull will deny to fall,By a sad death to ease your fate.In vaine some midnight storme at seaTo swallow you, you will desire:In vaine upon the wheels you'le prayBroken with torments to expire.Death, at the sight of which you start,In a mad fury then you'le Court:Yet hate th' expressions of your heart,Which onely shall be sigh'd for sport.No sorrow then shall enter inWith pitty the great judges eares.This moment's ours. Once dead, his sinMan cannot expiate with teares.

Fix me on some bleake precipice,Where I ten thousand yeares may stand:Made now a statute of ice,Then by the summer scorcht and tan'd!

Fix me on some bleake precipice,

Where I ten thousand yeares may stand:

Made now a statute of ice,

Then by the summer scorcht and tan'd!

Place me alone in some fraile boate'Mid th' horrors of an angry Sea:Where I while time shall move, may floateDespairing either land or day!

Place me alone in some fraile boate

'Mid th' horrors of an angry Sea:

Where I while time shall move, may floate

Despairing either land or day!

Or under earth my youth confineTo th' night and silence of a cell:Where Scorpions may my limbes entwine.O God! So thou forgive me hell.

Or under earth my youth confine

To th' night and silence of a cell:

Where Scorpions may my limbes entwine.

O God! So thou forgive me hell.

Æternitie! when I think thee,(Which never any end must have,Nor knew'st beginning) and fore-seeHell is design'd for sinne a grave.

Æternitie! when I think thee,

(Which never any end must have,

Nor knew'st beginning) and fore-see

Hell is design'd for sinne a grave.

My frighted flesh trembles to dust,My blood ebbes fearefully away:Both guilty that they did to lust,And vanity, my youth betray.

My frighted flesh trembles to dust,

My blood ebbes fearefully away:

Both guilty that they did to lust,

And vanity, my youth betray.

My eyes, which from each beautious sightDrew Spider-like blacke venome in:Close like the marigold at nightOpprest with dew to bath my sin.

My eyes, which from each beautious sight

Drew Spider-like blacke venome in:

Close like the marigold at night

Opprest with dew to bath my sin.

My eares shut up that easie doreWhich did proud fallacies admit:And vow to heare no follies more;Deafe to the charmes of sinne and wit.

My eares shut up that easie dore

Which did proud fallacies admit:

And vow to heare no follies more;

Deafe to the charmes of sinne and wit.

My hands (which when they toucht some faireImagin'd such an excellence,As th' Ermines skin ungentle were)Contract themselves, and loose all sence.

My hands (which when they toucht some faire

Imagin'd such an excellence,

As th' Ermines skin ungentle were)

Contract themselves, and loose all sence.

But you bold sinners! still pursueYour valiant wickednesse, and braveTh' Almighty Justice: hee'le subdueAnd make you cowards in the grave.

But you bold sinners! still pursue

Your valiant wickednesse, and brave

Th' Almighty Justice: hee'le subdue

And make you cowards in the grave.

Then when he as your judge appeares,In vaine you'le tremble and lament.And hope to soften him with teares,To no advantage penitent.

Then when he as your judge appeares,

In vaine you'le tremble and lament.

And hope to soften him with teares,

To no advantage penitent.

Then will you scorne those treasures, whichSo fiercely now you doate upon:Then curse those pleasures did bewitchYou to this sad illusion.

Then will you scorne those treasures, which

So fiercely now you doate upon:

Then curse those pleasures did bewitch

You to this sad illusion.

The neighb'ring mountaines which you shallWooe to oppresse you with their weight:Disdainefull will deny to fall,By a sad death to ease your fate.

The neighb'ring mountaines which you shall

Wooe to oppresse you with their weight:

Disdainefull will deny to fall,

By a sad death to ease your fate.

In vaine some midnight storme at seaTo swallow you, you will desire:In vaine upon the wheels you'le prayBroken with torments to expire.

In vaine some midnight storme at sea

To swallow you, you will desire:

In vaine upon the wheels you'le pray

Broken with torments to expire.

Death, at the sight of which you start,In a mad fury then you'le Court:Yet hate th' expressions of your heart,Which onely shall be sigh'd for sport.

Death, at the sight of which you start,

In a mad fury then you'le Court:

Yet hate th' expressions of your heart,

Which onely shall be sigh'd for sport.

No sorrow then shall enter inWith pitty the great judges eares.This moment's ours. Once dead, his sinMan cannot expiate with teares.

No sorrow then shall enter in

With pitty the great judges eares.

This moment's ours. Once dead, his sin

Man cannot expiate with teares.

Militia est vita hominis.To SirHen. Per.SirWere it your appetite of glory, (whichIn noblest times, did bravest soules bewitchTo fall in love with danger,) that now drawesYou to the fate of warre; it claimes applause:And every worthy hand would plucke a boughFrom the best spreading bay, to shade your brow.Since you unforc'd part from your Ladies bedWarme with the purest love, to lay your headPerhaps on some rude turfe, and sadly feeleThe nights cold dampes wrapt in a sheete of steele.You leave your well grown woods; and meadows whichOurSevernedoth with fruitfull streames enrich.Your woods where we see such large heards of DeereYour meades whereon such goodly flockes appeare.You leave your Castle, safe both for defenceAnd sweetely wanton with magnificenceWith all the cost and cunning beautifiedThat addes to state, where nothing wants but pride.These charmes might have bin pow'rful to have staidGreat mindes resolv'd for action, and betraidYou to a glorious ease: since to the warreMen by desire of prey invited are,Whom either sinne or want makes desperate,Or else disdaine of their owne narrow fate.But you, nor hope of fame or a releaseOf the most sobergovernmentin peace,Did to the hazard of the armie bringOnely a pure devotion to the KingIn whose just cause whoever fights, must beTriumphant: since even death is victory.And what is life, that we to wither itTo a weake wrinckled age, should torture witTo finde out Natures secrets; what doth lengthOf time deserve, if we want heate and strength?When a brave quarrell doth to arms provokeWhy should we feare to venter this thin smokeThis emptie shadow, life? this which the wiseAs the fooles Idoll, soberly despise?Why should we not throw willingly awayA game we cannot save, now that we mayGaine honour by the gift? since haply whenWe onely shall be statue of menAnd our owne monuments, Peace will denyOur wretched age so brave a cause to dye.But these are thoughts! And action tis doth giveA soule to courage, and make vertue live:Which doth not dwell upon the valiant tongueOf bold Philosophie, but in the strongUndaunted spirit, which encounters thoseSad dangers, we to fancie scarce propose.Yet tis the true and highest fortitudeTo keepe our inward enemies subdued:Not to permit our passions over swayOur actions, not our wanton flesh betrayThe soules chaste Empire: for however weTo th' outward shew may gaine a victoryAnd proudly triumph: if to conquour sinneWe combate not, we are at warre within.

Sir

Were it your appetite of glory, (whichIn noblest times, did bravest soules bewitchTo fall in love with danger,) that now drawesYou to the fate of warre; it claimes applause:And every worthy hand would plucke a boughFrom the best spreading bay, to shade your brow.Since you unforc'd part from your Ladies bedWarme with the purest love, to lay your headPerhaps on some rude turfe, and sadly feeleThe nights cold dampes wrapt in a sheete of steele.You leave your well grown woods; and meadows whichOurSevernedoth with fruitfull streames enrich.Your woods where we see such large heards of DeereYour meades whereon such goodly flockes appeare.You leave your Castle, safe both for defenceAnd sweetely wanton with magnificenceWith all the cost and cunning beautifiedThat addes to state, where nothing wants but pride.These charmes might have bin pow'rful to have staidGreat mindes resolv'd for action, and betraidYou to a glorious ease: since to the warreMen by desire of prey invited are,Whom either sinne or want makes desperate,Or else disdaine of their owne narrow fate.But you, nor hope of fame or a releaseOf the most sobergovernmentin peace,Did to the hazard of the armie bringOnely a pure devotion to the KingIn whose just cause whoever fights, must beTriumphant: since even death is victory.And what is life, that we to wither itTo a weake wrinckled age, should torture witTo finde out Natures secrets; what doth lengthOf time deserve, if we want heate and strength?When a brave quarrell doth to arms provokeWhy should we feare to venter this thin smokeThis emptie shadow, life? this which the wiseAs the fooles Idoll, soberly despise?Why should we not throw willingly awayA game we cannot save, now that we mayGaine honour by the gift? since haply whenWe onely shall be statue of menAnd our owne monuments, Peace will denyOur wretched age so brave a cause to dye.But these are thoughts! And action tis doth giveA soule to courage, and make vertue live:Which doth not dwell upon the valiant tongueOf bold Philosophie, but in the strongUndaunted spirit, which encounters thoseSad dangers, we to fancie scarce propose.Yet tis the true and highest fortitudeTo keepe our inward enemies subdued:Not to permit our passions over swayOur actions, not our wanton flesh betrayThe soules chaste Empire: for however weTo th' outward shew may gaine a victoryAnd proudly triumph: if to conquour sinneWe combate not, we are at warre within.

Were it your appetite of glory, (which

In noblest times, did bravest soules bewitch

To fall in love with danger,) that now drawes

You to the fate of warre; it claimes applause:

And every worthy hand would plucke a bough

From the best spreading bay, to shade your brow.

Since you unforc'd part from your Ladies bed

Warme with the purest love, to lay your head

Perhaps on some rude turfe, and sadly feele

The nights cold dampes wrapt in a sheete of steele.

You leave your well grown woods; and meadows which

OurSevernedoth with fruitfull streames enrich.

Your woods where we see such large heards of Deere

Your meades whereon such goodly flockes appeare.

You leave your Castle, safe both for defence

And sweetely wanton with magnificence

With all the cost and cunning beautified

That addes to state, where nothing wants but pride.

These charmes might have bin pow'rful to have staid

Great mindes resolv'd for action, and betraid

You to a glorious ease: since to the warre

Men by desire of prey invited are,

Whom either sinne or want makes desperate,

Or else disdaine of their owne narrow fate.

But you, nor hope of fame or a release

Of the most sobergovernmentin peace,

Did to the hazard of the armie bring

Onely a pure devotion to the King

In whose just cause whoever fights, must be

Triumphant: since even death is victory.

And what is life, that we to wither it

To a weake wrinckled age, should torture wit

To finde out Natures secrets; what doth length

Of time deserve, if we want heate and strength?

When a brave quarrell doth to arms provoke

Why should we feare to venter this thin smoke

This emptie shadow, life? this which the wise

As the fooles Idoll, soberly despise?

Why should we not throw willingly away

A game we cannot save, now that we may

Gaine honour by the gift? since haply when

We onely shall be statue of men

And our owne monuments, Peace will deny

Our wretched age so brave a cause to dye.

But these are thoughts! And action tis doth give

A soule to courage, and make vertue live:

Which doth not dwell upon the valiant tongue

Of bold Philosophie, but in the strong

Undaunted spirit, which encounters those

Sad dangers, we to fancie scarce propose.

Yet tis the true and highest fortitude

To keepe our inward enemies subdued:

Not to permit our passions over sway

Our actions, not our wanton flesh betray

The soules chaste Empire: for however we

To th' outward shew may gaine a victory

And proudly triumph: if to conquour sinne

We combate not, we are at warre within.

Vias tuas Domine demonstra mihi.Where have I wandred? In what wayHorrid as nightIncreast by stormes did I delight?Though my sad soule did often sayTwas death and madnesse so to stray.On that false ground I joy'd to treadWhich seemed most faire,Though every path had a new snare,And every turning still did lead,To the darke Region of the dead.But with the surfet of delightI am so tyredThat now I loath what I admired,And my distasted appetiteSo 'bhors the meate, it hates the sight.For should we naked sinne discryNot beautifiedBy th' ayde of wantonnesse and prideLike some mishapen birth, 'twould lyeA torment to th' affrighted eye.But cloath'd in beauty and respect.Even ore the wise,How powerfull doth it tyrannize!Whose monstrous storme should they detractThey famine sooner would affect.And since those shadowes which oppresseMy sight beginTo cleere, and show the shape of sinne,A Scorpion sooner be my guest,And warme hisvenomein my brest.May I before I growe so vileBy sinne agen,Be throwne off as a scorne to men!May th' angry world decree, t' exileMe to some yet unpeopled Isle.Where while Istruggle, and in vaineLabor to findeSome creature that shall have a minde,What justice have I to complaineIf I thy inward grace retaine?My God if thou shalt not excludeThy comfort thence:What place can seeme to troubled senceSo melancholly darke and rude,To be esteem'd a solitude.Cast me upon some naked shoreWhere I may trackeOnely the print of some sad wracke;If thou be there, though the seas rore,I shall no gentler calme implore.Should theCymmerians, whom no rayDoth ere enlightBut gaine thy grace, th' have lost their night:Not sinners at high noone, but they'Mong their blind cloudes have found the day.

Where have I wandred? In what wayHorrid as nightIncreast by stormes did I delight?Though my sad soule did often sayTwas death and madnesse so to stray.

Where have I wandred? In what way

Horrid as night

Increast by stormes did I delight?

Though my sad soule did often say

Twas death and madnesse so to stray.

On that false ground I joy'd to treadWhich seemed most faire,Though every path had a new snare,And every turning still did lead,To the darke Region of the dead.

On that false ground I joy'd to tread

Which seemed most faire,

Though every path had a new snare,

And every turning still did lead,

To the darke Region of the dead.

But with the surfet of delightI am so tyredThat now I loath what I admired,And my distasted appetiteSo 'bhors the meate, it hates the sight.

But with the surfet of delight

I am so tyred

That now I loath what I admired,

And my distasted appetite

So 'bhors the meate, it hates the sight.

For should we naked sinne discryNot beautifiedBy th' ayde of wantonnesse and prideLike some mishapen birth, 'twould lyeA torment to th' affrighted eye.

For should we naked sinne discry

Not beautified

By th' ayde of wantonnesse and pride

Like some mishapen birth, 'twould lye

A torment to th' affrighted eye.

But cloath'd in beauty and respect.Even ore the wise,How powerfull doth it tyrannize!Whose monstrous storme should they detractThey famine sooner would affect.

But cloath'd in beauty and respect.

Even ore the wise,

How powerfull doth it tyrannize!

Whose monstrous storme should they detract

They famine sooner would affect.

And since those shadowes which oppresseMy sight beginTo cleere, and show the shape of sinne,A Scorpion sooner be my guest,And warme hisvenomein my brest.

And since those shadowes which oppresse

My sight begin

To cleere, and show the shape of sinne,

A Scorpion sooner be my guest,

And warme hisvenomein my brest.

May I before I growe so vileBy sinne agen,Be throwne off as a scorne to men!May th' angry world decree, t' exileMe to some yet unpeopled Isle.

May I before I growe so vile

By sinne agen,

Be throwne off as a scorne to men!

May th' angry world decree, t' exile

Me to some yet unpeopled Isle.

Where while Istruggle, and in vaineLabor to findeSome creature that shall have a minde,What justice have I to complaineIf I thy inward grace retaine?

Where while Istruggle, and in vaine

Labor to finde

Some creature that shall have a minde,

What justice have I to complaine

If I thy inward grace retaine?

My God if thou shalt not excludeThy comfort thence:What place can seeme to troubled senceSo melancholly darke and rude,To be esteem'd a solitude.

My God if thou shalt not exclude

Thy comfort thence:

What place can seeme to troubled sence

So melancholly darke and rude,

To be esteem'd a solitude.

Cast me upon some naked shoreWhere I may trackeOnely the print of some sad wracke;If thou be there, though the seas rore,I shall no gentler calme implore.

Cast me upon some naked shore

Where I may tracke

Onely the print of some sad wracke;

If thou be there, though the seas rore,

I shall no gentler calme implore.

Should theCymmerians, whom no rayDoth ere enlightBut gaine thy grace, th' have lost their night:Not sinners at high noone, but they'Mong their blind cloudes have found the day.

Should theCymmerians, whom no ray

Doth ere enlight

But gaine thy grace, th' have lost their night:

Not sinners at high noone, but they

'Mong their blind cloudes have found the day.

Et Exultavit Humiles.How cheerefully th' unpartiall SunneGilds with his beamesThe narrow streamesOth' Brooke which silently doth runneWithout a name?And yet disdaines to lend his flameTo the wide channell of the Thames?The largest mountaines barren lyeAnd lightning feare,Though they appeareTo bid defiance to the skie;Which in one houreW' have seene the opening earth devoureWhen in their height they proudest were.But th' humble man heaves up his headLike some rich valeWhose fruites nere faileWith flowres, with corne, and vines ore-spread.Nor doth complaineOreflowed by an ill season'd raineOr batter'd by a storme of haile.Like a tall Barke with treasure fraughtHe the seas cleereDoth quiet steere:But when they are t' a tempest wrought;More gallantlyHe spreads his saile, and doth more highBy swelling of the waves, appeare.For the Almighty joyes to forceThe glorious tideOf humane prideTo th' lowest ebbe; that ore his course(Which rudely boreDowne what oppos'd it heretofore)His feeblest enemie may stride.But from his ill-thatcht roofe he bringsThe CottagerAnd doth preferreHim to th' adored state of Kings:He bids that handWhich labour hath made rough and tandThe all commanding Scepter beare.Let then the mighty cease to boastTheir boundlesse sway:Since in their SeaFew sayle, but by some storme are lost.Let them themselvesBeware, for they are their owne shelves.Man still himselfe hath cast away.

How cheerefully th' unpartiall SunneGilds with his beamesThe narrow streamesOth' Brooke which silently doth runneWithout a name?And yet disdaines to lend his flameTo the wide channell of the Thames?

How cheerefully th' unpartiall Sunne

Gilds with his beames

The narrow streames

Oth' Brooke which silently doth runne

Without a name?

And yet disdaines to lend his flame

To the wide channell of the Thames?

The largest mountaines barren lyeAnd lightning feare,Though they appeareTo bid defiance to the skie;Which in one houreW' have seene the opening earth devoureWhen in their height they proudest were.

The largest mountaines barren lye

And lightning feare,

Though they appeare

To bid defiance to the skie;

Which in one houre

W' have seene the opening earth devoure

When in their height they proudest were.

But th' humble man heaves up his headLike some rich valeWhose fruites nere faileWith flowres, with corne, and vines ore-spread.Nor doth complaineOreflowed by an ill season'd raineOr batter'd by a storme of haile.

But th' humble man heaves up his head

Like some rich vale

Whose fruites nere faile

With flowres, with corne, and vines ore-spread.

Nor doth complaine

Oreflowed by an ill season'd raine

Or batter'd by a storme of haile.

Like a tall Barke with treasure fraughtHe the seas cleereDoth quiet steere:But when they are t' a tempest wrought;More gallantlyHe spreads his saile, and doth more highBy swelling of the waves, appeare.

Like a tall Barke with treasure fraught

He the seas cleere

Doth quiet steere:

But when they are t' a tempest wrought;

More gallantly

He spreads his saile, and doth more high

By swelling of the waves, appeare.

For the Almighty joyes to forceThe glorious tideOf humane prideTo th' lowest ebbe; that ore his course(Which rudely boreDowne what oppos'd it heretofore)His feeblest enemie may stride.

For the Almighty joyes to force

The glorious tide

Of humane pride

To th' lowest ebbe; that ore his course

(Which rudely bore

Downe what oppos'd it heretofore)

His feeblest enemie may stride.

But from his ill-thatcht roofe he bringsThe CottagerAnd doth preferreHim to th' adored state of Kings:He bids that handWhich labour hath made rough and tandThe all commanding Scepter beare.

But from his ill-thatcht roofe he brings

The Cottager

And doth preferre

Him to th' adored state of Kings:

He bids that hand

Which labour hath made rough and tand

The all commanding Scepter beare.

Let then the mighty cease to boastTheir boundlesse sway:Since in their SeaFew sayle, but by some storme are lost.Let them themselvesBeware, for they are their owne shelves.Man still himselfe hath cast away.

Let then the mighty cease to boast

Their boundlesse sway:

Since in their Sea

Few sayle, but by some storme are lost.

Let them themselves

Beware, for they are their owne shelves.

Man still himselfe hath cast away.

Dominus Dominantium.Supreame Divinitie! Who yetCoulde ever findeBy the bold scrutinie of wit,The treasurie where thou lock'st up the wind?What Majesty of Princes canA tempest awe;When the distracted OceanSwells to Sedition, and obeyes no Law?How wretched doth the Tyrant standWithout a boast?When his rich fleete even touching landHe by some storme in his owne Port sees lost?Vaine pompe of life! what narrow boundAmbitionIs circled with? How false a groundHath humane pride to build its triumphs on.And Nature how dost thou deludeOur search to know?When the same windes which here intrudeOn us with frosts and onely winter blow:Breath temprate on th' adjoyning earth;And gently bringTo the glad field a fruitfull birthWith all the treasures of a wanton Spring.How diversly death doth assaile;How sporting kill?While one is scorcht up in the valeThe other is congeald oth' neighboring hill.While he with heates doth dying glowAbove he seesThe other hedg'd in with his snowAnd envies him his ice although he freeze.Proud folly of pretending Art,Be ever dumbe,And humble thy aspiring heart,When thou findest glorious Reason overcome.And you Astrologers, whose eyeSurvayes the starres!And offer thence to prophesieSuccesse in peace, and the event of warres.Throw downe your eyes upon that dustYou proudly tread!And know to that resolve you must!That is the scheme where all their fate may read.

Supreame Divinitie! Who yetCoulde ever findeBy the bold scrutinie of wit,The treasurie where thou lock'st up the wind?

Supreame Divinitie! Who yet

Coulde ever finde

By the bold scrutinie of wit,

The treasurie where thou lock'st up the wind?

What Majesty of Princes canA tempest awe;When the distracted OceanSwells to Sedition, and obeyes no Law?

What Majesty of Princes can

A tempest awe;

When the distracted Ocean

Swells to Sedition, and obeyes no Law?

How wretched doth the Tyrant standWithout a boast?When his rich fleete even touching landHe by some storme in his owne Port sees lost?

How wretched doth the Tyrant stand

Without a boast?

When his rich fleete even touching land

He by some storme in his owne Port sees lost?

Vaine pompe of life! what narrow boundAmbitionIs circled with? How false a groundHath humane pride to build its triumphs on.

Vaine pompe of life! what narrow bound

Ambition

Is circled with? How false a ground

Hath humane pride to build its triumphs on.

And Nature how dost thou deludeOur search to know?When the same windes which here intrudeOn us with frosts and onely winter blow:

And Nature how dost thou delude

Our search to know?

When the same windes which here intrude

On us with frosts and onely winter blow:

Breath temprate on th' adjoyning earth;And gently bringTo the glad field a fruitfull birthWith all the treasures of a wanton Spring.

Breath temprate on th' adjoyning earth;

And gently bring

To the glad field a fruitfull birth

With all the treasures of a wanton Spring.

How diversly death doth assaile;How sporting kill?While one is scorcht up in the valeThe other is congeald oth' neighboring hill.

How diversly death doth assaile;

How sporting kill?

While one is scorcht up in the vale

The other is congeald oth' neighboring hill.

While he with heates doth dying glowAbove he seesThe other hedg'd in with his snowAnd envies him his ice although he freeze.

While he with heates doth dying glow

Above he sees

The other hedg'd in with his snow

And envies him his ice although he freeze.

Proud folly of pretending Art,Be ever dumbe,And humble thy aspiring heart,When thou findest glorious Reason overcome.

Proud folly of pretending Art,

Be ever dumbe,

And humble thy aspiring heart,

When thou findest glorious Reason overcome.

And you Astrologers, whose eyeSurvayes the starres!And offer thence to prophesieSuccesse in peace, and the event of warres.

And you Astrologers, whose eye

Survayes the starres!

And offer thence to prophesie

Successe in peace, and the event of warres.

Throw downe your eyes upon that dustYou proudly tread!And know to that resolve you must!That is the scheme where all their fate may read.

Throw downe your eyes upon that dust

You proudly tread!

And know to that resolve you must!

That is the scheme where all their fate may read.

Cogitabo pro peccato meo.In what darke silent groveProfan'd by no unholy loveWhere witty melancholy nereDid carve the trees or wound the ayre,Shall I religious leasure winneTo weepe away my sinne?How fondly have I spentMy youthes unvalued treasure, lentTo traffique for Cœlestiall joyes?My unripe yeares pursuing toyes;Judging things best that were most gayFled unobserv'd away.Growne elder I admiredOur Poets as from heaven inspiredWhat Obeliskes decreed I fitForSpencersArt, andSydnyeswit?But waxing sober soone I foundFame but an Idle sound.Then I my blood obey'dAnd each bright face an Idoll made:Verse in an humble Sacrifice,I offer'd to my Mistresse eyes,But I no sooner grace did winBut met the devill within.But growne more pollitickeI tooke account of each state tricke:Observ'd each motion, judg'd him wise,Who had a conscience fit to rise.Whome soone I found but forme and ruleAnd the more serious foole.But now my soule prepareTo ponder what and where we areHow fraile is life, how vaine a breathOpinion, how uncertaine death:How onely a poore stone shall beareWitnesse that once we were.How a shrill Trumpet shallUs to the barre as traytors call.Then shall we see too late that prideHath hope with flattery bely'dAnd that the mighty in commandPale Cowards there must stand.

In what darke silent groveProfan'd by no unholy loveWhere witty melancholy nereDid carve the trees or wound the ayre,Shall I religious leasure winneTo weepe away my sinne?

In what darke silent grove

Profan'd by no unholy love

Where witty melancholy nere

Did carve the trees or wound the ayre,

Shall I religious leasure winne

To weepe away my sinne?

How fondly have I spentMy youthes unvalued treasure, lentTo traffique for Cœlestiall joyes?My unripe yeares pursuing toyes;Judging things best that were most gayFled unobserv'd away.

How fondly have I spent

My youthes unvalued treasure, lent

To traffique for Cœlestiall joyes?

My unripe yeares pursuing toyes;

Judging things best that were most gay

Fled unobserv'd away.

Growne elder I admiredOur Poets as from heaven inspiredWhat Obeliskes decreed I fitForSpencersArt, andSydnyeswit?But waxing sober soone I foundFame but an Idle sound.

Growne elder I admired

Our Poets as from heaven inspired

What Obeliskes decreed I fit

ForSpencersArt, andSydnyeswit?

But waxing sober soone I found

Fame but an Idle sound.

Then I my blood obey'dAnd each bright face an Idoll made:Verse in an humble Sacrifice,I offer'd to my Mistresse eyes,But I no sooner grace did winBut met the devill within.

Then I my blood obey'd

And each bright face an Idoll made:

Verse in an humble Sacrifice,

I offer'd to my Mistresse eyes,

But I no sooner grace did win

But met the devill within.

But growne more pollitickeI tooke account of each state tricke:Observ'd each motion, judg'd him wise,Who had a conscience fit to rise.Whome soone I found but forme and ruleAnd the more serious foole.

But growne more polliticke

I tooke account of each state tricke:

Observ'd each motion, judg'd him wise,

Who had a conscience fit to rise.

Whome soone I found but forme and rule

And the more serious foole.

But now my soule prepareTo ponder what and where we areHow fraile is life, how vaine a breathOpinion, how uncertaine death:How onely a poore stone shall beareWitnesse that once we were.

But now my soule prepare

To ponder what and where we are

How fraile is life, how vaine a breath

Opinion, how uncertaine death:

How onely a poore stone shall beare

Witnesse that once we were.

How a shrill Trumpet shallUs to the barre as traytors call.Then shall we see too late that prideHath hope with flattery bely'dAnd that the mighty in commandPale Cowards there must stand.

How a shrill Trumpet shall

Us to the barre as traytors call.

Then shall we see too late that pride

Hath hope with flattery bely'd

And that the mighty in command

Pale Cowards there must stand.

Recogitabo tibi omnes annos meos.Isay.Time! where didst thou those years interWhich I have seene decease?My soules at war and truth bids herFinde out their hidden Sepulcher,To give her troubles peace.Pregnant with flowers doth not the SpringLike a late bride appeare?Whose fether'd Musicke onely bringCaresses, and no Requiem singOn the departed yeare?The Earth, like some rich wanton heire,Whose Parents coffin'd lye,Forgets it once lookt pale and bareAnd doth for vanities prepare,As the Spring nere should dye.The present houre, flattered by allReflects not on the last;But I, like a sad factor shallT' account my life each moment call,And onely weepe the past.My mem'ry trackes each severall waySince Reason did beginOver my actions her first sway:And teacheth me that each new dayDid onely vary sin.Poor banckrout Conscience! where are thoseRich houres but farm'd to thee?How carelessely I some did lose,And other to my lust disposeAs no rent day should be?I have infected with impureDisorders my past yeares.But Ile to penitence inureThose that succeed. There is no cureNor Antidote but teares.

Time! where didst thou those years interWhich I have seene decease?My soules at war and truth bids herFinde out their hidden Sepulcher,To give her troubles peace.

Time! where didst thou those years inter

Which I have seene decease?

My soules at war and truth bids her

Finde out their hidden Sepulcher,

To give her troubles peace.

Pregnant with flowers doth not the SpringLike a late bride appeare?Whose fether'd Musicke onely bringCaresses, and no Requiem singOn the departed yeare?

Pregnant with flowers doth not the Spring

Like a late bride appeare?

Whose fether'd Musicke onely bring

Caresses, and no Requiem sing

On the departed yeare?

The Earth, like some rich wanton heire,Whose Parents coffin'd lye,Forgets it once lookt pale and bareAnd doth for vanities prepare,As the Spring nere should dye.

The Earth, like some rich wanton heire,

Whose Parents coffin'd lye,

Forgets it once lookt pale and bare

And doth for vanities prepare,

As the Spring nere should dye.

The present houre, flattered by allReflects not on the last;But I, like a sad factor shallT' account my life each moment call,And onely weepe the past.

The present houre, flattered by all

Reflects not on the last;

But I, like a sad factor shall

T' account my life each moment call,

And onely weepe the past.

My mem'ry trackes each severall waySince Reason did beginOver my actions her first sway:And teacheth me that each new dayDid onely vary sin.

My mem'ry trackes each severall way

Since Reason did begin

Over my actions her first sway:

And teacheth me that each new day

Did onely vary sin.

Poor banckrout Conscience! where are thoseRich houres but farm'd to thee?How carelessely I some did lose,And other to my lust disposeAs no rent day should be?

Poor banckrout Conscience! where are those

Rich houres but farm'd to thee?

How carelessely I some did lose,

And other to my lust dispose

As no rent day should be?

I have infected with impureDisorders my past yeares.But Ile to penitence inureThose that succeed. There is no cureNor Antidote but teares.

I have infected with impure

Disorders my past yeares.

But Ile to penitence inure

Those that succeed. There is no cure

Nor Antidote but teares.

Cupio dissolvi.Paule.The soule which doth with God unite,Those gayities how doth she slightWhich ore opinion sway?Like sacred Virgin wax, which shinesOn Altars or on Martyrs shrinesHow doth she burne away?How violent are her throwes till sheFrom envious earth delivered be,Which doth her flight restraine?How doth she doate on whips and rackes,On fires and the so dreaded Axe,And every murd'ring paine?How soone she leaves the pride of wealth,The flatteries of youth and healthAnd fames more precious breath.And every gaudy circumstanceThat doth the pompe of life advanceAt the approach of death?The cunning of AstrologersObserves each motion of the starresPlacing all knowledge there:And Lovers in their Mistresse eyesContract those wonders of the skies,And seeke no higher sphere.The wandring Pilot sweates to findThe causes that produce the windStill gazing on the Pole.The Politician scornes all ArtBut what doth pride and power impart.And swells the ambitious soule.But he whom heavenly fire doth warme,And'gainst these powerful follies arme,Doth soberly disdaineAll these fond humane misteriesAs the deceitfull and unwiseDistempers of our braine.He as a burden beares his clay,Yet vainely throwes it not awayOn every idle cause:But with the same untroubled eyeCan resolve to live or dye,Regardlesse of th' applause.My God! If 'tis thy great decreeThat this must the last moment beWherein I breath this ayre;My heart obeyes joy'd to retreateFrom the false favours of the greatAnd treachery of the faire.When thou shalt please this soule t' enthrone,Above impure corruption;What shall I grieve or feare.To thinke this breathlesse body mustBecome a loathsome heape of dustAnd nere againe appeare.For in the fire when Ore is tryed,And by that torment purified:Doe we deplore the losse?And when thou shalt my soule refine,That it thereby may purer shineShall I grieve for the drosse?

The soule which doth with God unite,Those gayities how doth she slightWhich ore opinion sway?Like sacred Virgin wax, which shinesOn Altars or on Martyrs shrinesHow doth she burne away?

The soule which doth with God unite,

Those gayities how doth she slight

Which ore opinion sway?

Like sacred Virgin wax, which shines

On Altars or on Martyrs shrines

How doth she burne away?

How violent are her throwes till sheFrom envious earth delivered be,Which doth her flight restraine?How doth she doate on whips and rackes,On fires and the so dreaded Axe,And every murd'ring paine?

How violent are her throwes till she

From envious earth delivered be,

Which doth her flight restraine?

How doth she doate on whips and rackes,

On fires and the so dreaded Axe,

And every murd'ring paine?

How soone she leaves the pride of wealth,The flatteries of youth and healthAnd fames more precious breath.And every gaudy circumstanceThat doth the pompe of life advanceAt the approach of death?

How soone she leaves the pride of wealth,

The flatteries of youth and health

And fames more precious breath.

And every gaudy circumstance

That doth the pompe of life advance

At the approach of death?

The cunning of AstrologersObserves each motion of the starresPlacing all knowledge there:And Lovers in their Mistresse eyesContract those wonders of the skies,And seeke no higher sphere.

The cunning of Astrologers

Observes each motion of the starres

Placing all knowledge there:

And Lovers in their Mistresse eyes

Contract those wonders of the skies,

And seeke no higher sphere.

The wandring Pilot sweates to findThe causes that produce the windStill gazing on the Pole.The Politician scornes all ArtBut what doth pride and power impart.And swells the ambitious soule.

The wandring Pilot sweates to find

The causes that produce the wind

Still gazing on the Pole.

The Politician scornes all Art

But what doth pride and power impart.

And swells the ambitious soule.

But he whom heavenly fire doth warme,And'gainst these powerful follies arme,Doth soberly disdaineAll these fond humane misteriesAs the deceitfull and unwiseDistempers of our braine.

But he whom heavenly fire doth warme,

And'gainst these powerful follies arme,

Doth soberly disdaine

All these fond humane misteries

As the deceitfull and unwise

Distempers of our braine.

He as a burden beares his clay,Yet vainely throwes it not awayOn every idle cause:But with the same untroubled eyeCan resolve to live or dye,Regardlesse of th' applause.

He as a burden beares his clay,

Yet vainely throwes it not away

On every idle cause:

But with the same untroubled eye

Can resolve to live or dye,

Regardlesse of th' applause.

My God! If 'tis thy great decreeThat this must the last moment beWherein I breath this ayre;My heart obeyes joy'd to retreateFrom the false favours of the greatAnd treachery of the faire.

My God! If 'tis thy great decree

That this must the last moment be

Wherein I breath this ayre;

My heart obeyes joy'd to retreate

From the false favours of the great

And treachery of the faire.

When thou shalt please this soule t' enthrone,Above impure corruption;What shall I grieve or feare.To thinke this breathlesse body mustBecome a loathsome heape of dustAnd nere againe appeare.

When thou shalt please this soule t' enthrone,

Above impure corruption;

What shall I grieve or feare.

To thinke this breathlesse body must

Become a loathsome heape of dust

And nere againe appeare.

For in the fire when Ore is tryed,And by that torment purified:Doe we deplore the losse?And when thou shalt my soule refine,That it thereby may purer shineShall I grieve for the drosse?

For in the fire when Ore is tryed,

And by that torment purified:

Doe we deplore the losse?

And when thou shalt my soule refine,

That it thereby may purer shine

Shall I grieve for the drosse?

FINIS.

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