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Rev.  H.  C.  Scadding, 
1901 


HANDBOUND 

AT  THE 


UNIVERSITY  OF 
TORONTO  PRESS 


'*  ** 


V 


• 


Emblems,  Divine  and  Moral; 

The   School   of  the   Heart; 

AND 

Hieroglyphics  of  the  Life  of  Man. 


BY  FRANCIS  QUARLES. 


6'* 


A    NEW    EDITION,    WITH    A    SKETCH 

or  THE 

life  ani  &ittU8  of  ti>e 


LONDON:    WILLIAM  TEGG. 
1866. 


PR 
b 

E.5 


Printed  by  GEO.  WATSON,  Kirby  St.,  Hatton  Garden. 


MY    MUCH    HONOURED,    AND    NO    LESS    TRULY    BELOVED    FRIEND. 

EDWARD  BENLOWES,  ESQ. 


MY  DEAR  FRIEND, 


have  put  the  Theorbo  into  my  hand,  and  I  have 
played  :  you  gave  the  musician  the  first  encourage- 
ment ;  the  music  returneth  to  you  for  patronage.  Had 
it  been  a  light  air,  no  doubt  but  it  had  taken  the  most, 
and  among  them  the  worst  ;  but  being  a  grave  strain,  my 
hopes  are,  that  it  will  please  the  best,  and  among  them 
you.  Toyish  airs  please  trivial  ears  ;  they  kiss  the  fancy, 
and  betray  it.  They  cry,  Hail,  first  ;  and  after, 
Crucify  :  Let  daws  delight  to  immerd  themselves  in  dung, 
whilst  eagles  scorn  so  poor  a  game  as  flies.  Sir,  you 
have  art  and  candour  ;  let  the  one  judge,  let  the  other 
excuse. 

Your  most  affectionate  Friend, 

FRA.  QUARLES. 


TO  THE  READER. 


A  N  Emblem  is  but  a  silent  parable  :  Let  not  the  ten- 
der eye  check,  to  see  the  allusion  to  our  blessed 
SAVIOUR  figured  in  these  types.  In  Holy  Scripture  he 
is  sometimes  called  a  Sower  ;  sometimes  a  Fisher  ;  some- 
times a  Physician :  And  why  not  presented  so  as  well  to 
the  eye  as  to  the  ear  ?  Before  the  knowledge  of  letters, 
God  was  known  by  hieroglyphics.  And  indeed,  what 
are  the  Heavens,  the  earth,  nay,  every  creature,  but 
Hieroglyphics  and  Emblems  of  his  glory  ?  I  have  no 
more  to  say  ;  I  wish  thee  as  much  pleasure  in  the  reading, 
as  I  had  in  writing.  Farewell,  Reader. 

FRANCIS  QUARLES. 


T^Y  fathers  back'd,  by  Holy  Writ  led  on  : 

Thou  show'st  the  way  to  HEAV'N  by  Helicon : 
The  Muses'  font  is  consecrate  by  thee, 
And  Poesy  baptized  Divinity  : 

Bless'd  soul,  that  here  embark'st  :  thou  sail'st  apace, 
'Tis  hard  to  say,  mov'd  more  by  wit  or  grace, 
Each  muse  so  plies  her  oar  :  But  O  the  sail 
Is  fill'd  from  Heav'n  with  a  diviner  gale  : 
When  poets  prove  divines,  why  should  not  I 
Approve  in  verse  this  divine  poetry? 

Let  this  suffice  to  license  thee  the  press  : 

I  must  no  more  ;  nor  could  the  truth  say  less 

Sic  approbavit 

RIG.  LOVE,  Procan.   Cant. 


Tot  Flores  QUARLES,  quot  Paradisus  habet 
Lectori  bene  male-vo\o. 

<$ui  legit  ex  Horto  hoc  Flores,  qui  carpit,  uterque 

Jure  potest  Violas  dicere,  jure  Rosas  : 
Non  e  Parnasso  VIOL  AM,  festive  ROSETO 

Carpit  Apollo,  magis  quae  sit  amcena,  ROSAM. 
Ouot  Versus  VIOLAS,  legis ;  &  quern  verba  locutum 

Credis,  verba  dedit :  Nam  dedit  ilk  ROSAS. 
Utque  Ego  non  dicam  haec  VIOLAS  suavissima  ;   Tute 

Ipse  facis  VIOLAS,  Livide,  si  violas. 
Nam  velut  e  VIOL  IS  sibi  fugit  Aranea  virus  : 

Vertis  at  in  succos  Hasque  ROSAS  que  tuos. 
Quas  violas  Musas,  VIOLAS  puto,  quasque  recusas 

Dente  tuo  rosas^  has,  reor,  esse  ROSAS. 
Sic  rosas,  facis  esse  ROSAS,  dum  Zoile,  rodis  : 

Sic  facies  has  VIOLAS,  Livide,  dum  violas. 

EDW.   BENLOWES. 

BRENT-HALL,  1634. 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  « THE   SCHOOL   Ot 
THE   HEART." 


'"pHE  pretensions  of  the  work,  intrinsically  estimated, 
need  not  be  enumerated  now.     Pope  has  declared, 
and  justly  too,  that 

"The  proper  study  of  mankind,  is — man." 

Preparatory  to  any  due  or  salutary  proficiency  in  this 
study,  however,  the  inquirer  must  direct  his  serious 
attention  to  that  celebrated  precept  of  the  Pythian  Apollo 
— "  Nosce  teipsum  ;  "  a  precept  so  happily  expanded 
by  another  of  our  national  poets,  Young,  where  he 
exclaims, 

"  Man,  know  thyself!  all  wisdom  centres  there." 

To  know  what  man  is,  then,  we  must  know  his  HEART. 
But  this  lesson  man  cannot  teach  man.  He  must  teach 
this,  who  only  can  ;  yet  who  still 

"  saves  all  beings  but  himself, 
That  hideous  sight — a  naked  human  heart !  " 

The  School  of  the  Heart ,  therefore,  is  the  Word  of  God! 
They  can  never  attain  to  right  views  of  mankind,  who 
have  not  studied  the  heart  of  man ;  nor  can  they  ever 
form  just  conceptions  of  the  nature  of  the  human  heart, 
who  have  not  consulted  the  inspired  description  of  it. 
Our  Author  thus  : — 

Great  Searcher  of  The  Heart !  whose  boundless  sight 
Discovers  secrets,  and  doth  bring  to  light 


viii    ADVERTISEMENT  "  TO  SCHOOL  OF  THE  HEABT." 


The  hidden  things  of  darkness  ;  who  alone 

Perfectly  know'st  all  things  that  can  be  known  ; 

Thou  know'st  I  do  not,  cannot,  have  no  mind 

To  know  mine  heart }  I  am  not  only  blind, 

But  lame,  and  listless  :  thou  alone  canst  make 

Me  able,  willing  j  and  the  pains  I  take, 

As  well  as  the  success,  must  come  from  thee, 

Who  workest  both  to  will  and  do  in  me. 

*  *  *    '  •#  «  •:;* 

Lord  !  if  thou  wilt,  thou  canst  impart  this  skill ; 
And  as  for  other  learning,  take  't  who  will. 

Introduction* 

u  The  pride  and  ignorance  of  mankind,"  says  the  Rev. 
C.  E.  De  Coetlogon,  in  a  Preface  to  one  edition  of  this 
work,  u  may  lead  them  to  reason  against  this  humbling, 
and,  what  they  are  pleased  to  term,  gloomy  representation 
of  things !  But,"  he  asks,  "  how  absurd  to  reason 
against  stubborn  fact  ?  We  appeal  to  that,"  he  adds ; 
"  and  to  experience.  We  appeal  to  reason^  as  well  as  to 
revelation :  and  both,  we  are  persuaded,  will  tell  us — 
that  those  who  prate  about  the  dignity  of  human  nature , 
and  its  moral  excellence,  until  it  be  renewed  after  the 
image  of  God,  which  sin  has  obliterated,  are  only  indulg- 
ing the  pleasures  of  imagination  ;  "  and  that,  accordingly, 
such  characters  still  "  need  much  instruction  in  " — THE 

SCHOOL  OF  THE  HEART. 

The  HIEROGLYPHICS  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN  are  so 
complete  a  picture  of  human  nature,  that  we  need  only 
recommend  them  to  the  serious  perusal  of  persons  in 
every  situation  in  life  ;  and  emphatically  add, 

MAN  !    LEARN  TO  KNOW  THYSELF. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Advertisement  to  the  School  of  the  Heart      -----  7 

Memoir  of  Francis  Quarks      -------  n 

EMBLEMS,  DIVINE  AND  MORAL. 

Book  the  First 1 

Book  the  Second  49 

Book  the  Third          --                   94 

Book  the  Fourth  ---------  142 

Book  the  Fifth                                         -         -         -         -         -         -  187 

THE  SCHOOL  OF  THE  HEART. 

INTRODUCTION      -         -         -         -     f    -         -         -         -         -  235 

The  Infection  of  the  Heart          -         - 239 

The  Taking  away  of  the  Heart       -  243 

The  Darkness  of  the  Heart           -------  246 

The  Absence  of  the  Heart      -------  249 

The  Vanity  of  the  Heart -  252 

The  Oppression  of  the  Heart  -------  255 

The  Covetousness  of  the  Heart    -  258 

The  Hardness  of  the  Heart 261 

The  Division  of  the  Heart  -          -         -         -         -          -          -          -264 

The  Insatiability  of  the  Heart  267 
The  Returning  of  the  Heart         --         -         -          -          -          -270 

The  Pouring  out  of  the  Heart  .------  273 

The  Circumcision  of  the  Heart     -------  276 

The  Contrition  of  the  Heart  -------  279 

The  Humiliation  of  the  Heart       -         -         -         -          -          -         -282 

The  Softening  of  the  Heart 285 

The  Cleansing  of  the  Heart          -------  288 

The  Giving  of  the  Heart 291 

The  Sacrifice  of  the  Heart  -         -----  294 

The  Weighing  of  the  Heart    -------  297 


CONTENTS  OF  «  THE  SCHOOL  OF  THE  HEART." 

PAGE 

The  Trying  of  the  Heart 300 

The  Sounding  of  the  Heart    -  •  -         -         -         -         -  303 

The  Levelling  of  the  Heart 306 

The  Renewing  of  the  Heart  -------  309 

The  Enlightening  of  the  Heart     -          -         -         -         -         -         -312 

The  Law-Table  of  the  Heart          -         -         -         -         -         -  315 

The  Tilling  of  the  Heart    -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -318 

The  Seeding  of  the  Heart      -         -         -         -         -         -         -  321 

The  Watering  of  the  Heart         -         -          -         -         -         --324 

The  Flowers  of  the  Heart       -         -         -         -         -         -         -  327 

The  Keeping  of  the  Heart  -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -330 

The  Watching  of  the  Heart  -         -          -         -         -         -         -  333 

The  Wounding  of  the  Heart        -         -         -         -         -         -         -336 

The  Inhabiting  of  the  Heart  -         -         -         -         -         -         -  339 

The  Enlarging  of  the  Heart         -------       ^z 

The  Inflaming  of  the  Heart  -------  345 

The  Ladder  of  the  Heart  -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -348 

The  Flying  of  the  Heart        -         -   •      -         -         -         -         -  351 

The  Union  of  the  Heart     -         -         -         -         -         -         -         -3  54 

The  Rest  of  the  Heart  ---.--.  357 

The  Bathing  of  the  Heart  with  the  Bloody  Sweat    -         -         -  360 

The  Binding  of  the  Heart  with  the  Cords  of  Christ    -         -         -  363 

Christ's  Pillar  the  Prop  of  the  Heart 366 

The  Scourging  of  the  Heart    -------  369 

The  Hedging  of  the  Heart  with  a  Crown  of  Thorns         -         -         -       372 
The  Fastening  of  the  Heart   -         -     •    -         -         -         -         -  375 

The  New  Wine  of  the  Heart  out  of  the  Press  of  the  Cross         -         -       378 
The  Conclusion   ---------  381 

THE  LEARNING  OF  THE  HEART    -         -         -         -         -         -         -383 

The  Grammar  of  the  Heart  -------  384 

The  Rhetoric  of  the  Heart  -         --_-._.       385 

The  Logic  of  the  Heart 387 

HIEROGLYPHICS  OF  THE  LIFE  OF  MAN    ------       389 


MEMOIR. 


men  have  written  so  much,  enjoyed  greater 
popularity  in  their  time,  and  yet  been  more 
undeservedly  neglected  by  contemporary  and  succeed- 
ing writers,  than  the  pious-minded  author  of  "  Emblems, 
Divine  and  Moral."  With  the  exception  of  a  few 
biographical  data,  embalmed  by  his  affectionate  and 
"  sorrowful  widow  "  Ursula,  and  which  she  prefixed  to 
one  of  his  posthumous  works,*  little  additional  informa- 
tion respecting  him  has  reached  us. 

His  numerous  publications — consisting  principally  of 
poetical  paraphrases  of  the  Scriptures — enable  us  to 
form  a  just  estimate  of  his  religious  character  and 
tenets ;  but  otherwise  they  afford  us  no  insight  what- 
ever, either  into  his  own  personal  history,  or  that  of 
the  stirring  period  in  which  it  was  his  lot  to  be  cast. 

He  appears  to  have  taken  no  decided  part  in  that 
great  political  struggle,  which  divided  this  kingdom  in 
the  seventeenth  century,  and  which  completed  his  own 
ruin,  as  well  as  that  of  his  sovereign,  until  a  few 
months  only  preceding  his  death.  His  naturally 
studious  and  peaceful  temper  of  mind  was  ill  calculated 
to  sympathize,  much  less  to  cope,  with  the  daring  and 
fanatical  spirits  of  his  age.  His  loyalty,  however,  in 

*  "  A  Short  Relation  of  the  Life  and  Death  of  Mr.  Francis  Quarles,  by 
Ursula  Quarles,  his  sorrowful  Widow,"  prefixed  to  his  "  Solomon'*  Recanta- 
tion," entitled,  "  Ecclesiastes  Paraphrased."  410.,  Lond.,  1645. 

b 


MEMOIR. 


the  end,  proved  stronger  than  all  the  temptations  of 
domestic  security  and  wealth. 

It  was  not  until  the  arms  of  the  rebellious  Parlia- 
ment had  signally  triumphed,  first  in  the  North,  and 
subsequently  in  the  West  of  England,  and  the  cause  of 
the  unfortunate  Charles  had  become,  in  consequence, 
almost  utterly  hopeless,  that  our  poet  abandoned  his 
peaceful  seclusion,  and  declared  for  the  tottering 
monarchy.  But  if  he  perceived  the  impending  danger 
at  all,  he  saw  it  too  late.  His  loyal  declaration 
and  efforts  were  alike  unavailing ;  and  although 
about  the  last  individual  of  note  who  threw  his 
talents  into  the  scale  of  the  king,  he  was  among  the 
first  of  those  whose  fortunes  were  completely  inun- 
dated by  the  revolutionary  tide. 

His  adhesion  to  Charles,  and  the  humble  services 
which  he  rendered  with  his  pen  to  the  cause  of  that  ill- 
fated  monarch,  not  only  brought  down  upon  himself 
the  extremest  hatred  and  vengeance  of  the  dominant 
power,  but  likewise  cost  him  all  that  popularity  which 
he  had  long  previously  enjoyed  as  an  author.  At  the 
same  time  that  his  property  was  confiscated,  his  name 
was  proscribed  by  the  Parliament,  and  almost  imme- 
diately afterwards  he  ceased  to  be,  as  Phillips  expresses 
it,  "the  darling  of  our  plebeian  judgments/' 

To  this  circumstance  in  particular  (namely,  his  pro- 
scription by  the  victorious  party,  in  consequence  of  a 
publication  to  which  we  shall  presently  refer)  may  be 
attributed  the  ungenerous  contempt  with  which  he  was 
treated  by  his  literary  contemporaries.  Most  probably 
they  feared  giving  umbrage  to  their  new  republican 
masters  by  honouring  his  memory  or  noticing  his  works  ; 
both,  therefore,  were  abandoned  to  a  precarious  exist- 
ence— or  rather,  undeserved  fate. 

Upon  the  restoration  of  the  monarchy  in  England, 
it  might  have  been  expected  that  the  memory,  at  least, 


MEMOIR. 


of  so  notable  and  zealous  a  royalist  as  Quarles,  would 
not  only  be  rescued  from  unmerited  oblivion,  but, 
also,  be  reverenced  by  the  party  with  whom  he 
had  acted.  The  unscrupulous  generation,  however, 
that  immediately  succeeded  the  Commonwealth, 
being  natuially  unable  to  sympathize  with  one,  whose 
whole  life  and  writings  constituted  a  standing  rebuke 
to  their  practical  infidelity,  unhesitatingly  transferred 
his  name  to  the  black  catalogue  of  their  common  ene- 
mies, from  whom  he  had  already  suffered  much  more 
than  themselves.  Thus,  by  a  singular  mutation  of 
fortune,  he  who  before  the  Revolution  had  been  held 
"  in  wonderful  veneration  among  the  vulgar,"  came  to 
be  considered  after  it,  as  "  an  old  Puritanical  poet." 

The  exact  date  of  Francis  Quarles'  birth  is 
unknown ;  but,  according  to  the  parish  register  of 
Romford,  in  Essex,  which  contains  several  entries 
relating  to  his  family,  he  was  baptized  on  the  8th  day 
of  May,  1592.  His  widow,  Ursula,  informs  us  that  her 
husband  "  was  descended  from  an  ancient  family,  and 
yet  (which  is  rare  in  these  last  times)  he  was  an  orna- 
ment to  his  ancestors."  The  poet,  too,  in  his  quaint 
Memorials^  composed  upon  the  death  of  Sir  Robert 
Quarles,  in  1642,  avails  himself  of  the  opportunity  of 
expatiating  as  well  upon  the  antiquity  of  his  family  as 
upon  the  virtues  of  his  kinsman. 

His  father  was  James  Quarles,  of  Stewards  (where 
the  future  poet  was  born),  a  gentleman  who  was 
possessed  of  considerable  landed  estates  in  the  county 
of  Essex,  and  discharged  for  some  time  the  combined 
offices  of  Clerk  of  the  Green  Cloth  and  Purveyor  of 
the  Navy  to  the  last  sovereign  of  the  Tudor  dynasty. 
His  liberal  fortune  and  close  connection  with  the 
government  of  Oueen  Elizabeth  must  have  made  him 
a  person  of  no  mean  note  in  his  time.  The  poet's 
widow,  indeed,  intimates  that  her  husband  (had  he 


MEMOIR. 


been  so  inclined)  might  have  obtained,  and  doubtless 
through  his  father's  influence,  considerable  preferment 
at  Court,  but  his  tastes  carried  him  in  an  opposite 
direction. 

We  are  told  that  the  young  Quarles'  education  was 
suitable  to  his  birth,  and  that  he  gave  early  promise  of 
distinguishing  himself  in  the  various  branches  of  polite 
knowledge  cultivated  in  his  age. 

From  "  a  school  in  the  country,"  where  it  was 
frankly  admitted  "he  surpassed  all  his  equals"  (i.e. 
competitors),  he  was  transferred  in  due  time  to  Christ's 
College,  Cambridge.  It  is  not  known,  however, 
how  long  he  continued  with  his  Alma  Mater,  nor 
what  literary  honours  (if  any)  she  conferred  upon  him. 
In  reference  to  his  academical  course,  his  widow 
merely  observes  :  "  How  he  profited  there  (Cambridge) 
I  am  not  able  to  judge ;  but  am  fully  assured,  by  men  of 
much  learning  and  judgment,  that  his  works  in  very 
many  places  do  sufficiently  testify  more  that  ordinary 
fruits  of  his  university  studies." 

It  was  during  his  residence  at  Cambridge  that  he 
first  became  acquainted  (and  the  acquaintance  soon 
ripened  into  a  friendship,  which  was  only  determined 
by  his  death)  with  Phineas  Fletcher,  the  author  of 
that  singular  poem,  "  The  Purple  Island."  To  this 
early  friendship  with  the  poetical  anatomist,  may  possibly 
be  attributed  much  of  the  eccentricity  of  thought  and  ex- 
pression which  characterizes  the  majority  of  his  works. 
It  is  worthy  of  record,  also — and  the  simple  fact  bespeaks 
the  genuine  amiability  of  his  nature,  better  than  the  most 
laboured  panegyric — that  all  his  earliest-formed  attach- 
ments proved  as  durable  as  they  were  sound. 

Upon  the  completion  of  his  college  career,  he  removed 
to  London,  and  entered  himself  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  having 
determined  to  prosecute  the  study  of  the  law,  "  not  so 
much  out  of  desire  to  benefit  himself  thereby  as  his 


MEMOIR. 


friends  and  neighbours  (showing  therein  his  continued 
inclination  to  peace),  by  composing  suits  and  differences 
amongst  them."  His  widow  states  that  he  prosecuted 
his  legal  studies  <c  for  some  years  ;  "  but  no  record  exists 
of  his  professional  success,  unless  his  appointment  to 
the  office  of  Chronologer  to  the  City  of  London  may  be 
taken  as  an  indication  of  it.  The  duties  of  this  office 
were  probably  similar  to  those  which  are  now  performed 
by  the  City  Remembrancer  ;  the  position,  therefore,  was 
both  honourable  and  lucrative.  That  he  gave  the  fullest 
satisfaction  to  the  Corporation  employing  him,  may  be 
inferred  from  the  fact  that  his  enemies,  powerful  and 
unscrupulous  as  they  were,  failed  to  lessen  their  respect 
for  him ;  and  he  continued,  in  consequence,  to  hold 
that  piece  of  preferment  up  to  the  last  hour  of  his 
life. 

Previously  to  his  connexion  with  the  City  of  London, 
he  had  been  preferred  to  the  office  of  cupbearer  to  the 
unfortunate  Electress  Palatine,  Queen  of  Bohemia 
(Elizabeth,  daughter  of  King  James  the  First  of  Eng- 
land). From  this  it  has  been  inferred  by  many  that  his 
destination,  like  that  of  his  father,  was  originally  to 
public  life.  His  widow,  however,  as  we  have  before 
partially  intimated,  states  that,  "  after  he  came  to  matu- 
rity, he  was  not  desirous  to  put  himself  into  the  world, 
otherwise  he  might  have  had  greater  preferments  than  he 
had  ;  "  and,  she  continues,  u  he  was  neither  so  unfit  for 
Court  preferment,  nor  so  ill-behaved  there,  but  that  he 
might  have  raised  his  fortune  thereby,  if  he  had  had  any 
inclination  that  way.  But  his  mind  was  chiefly  set  upon 
his  devotion  and  study." 

It  was  the  last-mentioned  pleasing  features  of  his 
character  that  attracted  the  attention,  and  secured  for 
him  the  distinguished  patronage  and  friendship,  of  the 
learned  Ussher,  Archbishop  of  Armagh,  who  invited 
him  over  to  Ireland,  and  kept  him  immediately  about 


MEMOIR. 


his  person  in  the  capacity  of  his  private  secretary.  It 
is  not  known  when  he  was  first  induced  to  visit -that 
unquiet  country  :  he  was  forced,  however,  to  hasten  from 
it  upon  the  breaking  out  of  the  terrible  rebellion  there  in 
the  year  1641.  He  was  fortunate  in  being  one  of  the 
very  few  English  who  escaped  on  that  occasion  the  gen- 
eral massacre  perpetrated  by  the  Romanists. 

In  attempting  to  avoid,  however,  the  troubles  and 
dangers  in  Ireland,  he  was  destined  to  experience  much 
greater,  in  his  own  country.  As  before  observed,  he 
appears  to  have  taken  no  overt  part  in  the  contest 
waged  between  Charles  and  his  Parliament,  until  the 
cause  of  the  former  had  become  almost  utterly  hope- 
less. Upon  the  king's  last  retirement  to  Oxford,  in  the 
spring  of  the  year  1644,  Quarles  hastened  to  join  and 
sympathize  with  him  ;  and  there  he  met  also  his  old 
friend  and  fellow-loyalist  Dr.  Hammond,  Archdeacon 
of  Chichester  ;  who,  like  himself,  was  seeking  a  tempo- 
rary refuge  from  the  rising  storm,  and  harassing  the  oppo- 
sition meanwhile  with  tracts  adapted  to  the  popular 
judgment. 

Upon  reaching  Oxford  he  threw  off  all  his  former 
reserve,  and  fearlessly  committed  himself  to  the  ebbing 
tide  of  royalty,  by  publicly  challenging  the  victorious 
party  with  their  own  weapons,  and  upon  their  own 
favourite  ground — the  Scriptures  ;  as  well  as  vindicating 
(in  a  pamphlet  entitled  "The  Loyal  Convert  ")  the  con- 
duct of  Charles,  in  summoning  his  Roman  Catholic  sub- 
jects to  take  up  arms  in  his  cause.  He  was  prompted, 
no  doubt,  to  this  bold  course  by  his  desire  to  emulate 
the  conduct  of  some  of  his  clerical  friends  then  assembled 
in  Oxford,  and  more  particularly  that  of  Hammond. 

The  author  of  so  renlarkable  a  production  as  "The 
Loyal  Convert "  was  not  likely  to  elude  for  any  length 
of  time  the  vigilance  of  the  now  dominant  fanatics,  much 
less  escape  paying  the  utmost  penalty  for  his  temerity* 


MEMOIR. 


His  ingenuous  apology  for  the  king's  alliance  with  Papists 
afforded  them  a  sufficiently  plausible  excuse  for  not  only 
classing  him  with  the  most  despised  party  in  the  kingdom, 
but  also  for  depriving  him  of  the  last  shreds  of  his  pro- 
perty. Therefore,  says  his  widow,  "  a  petition  was  pre- 
ferred against  him  by  eight  men  (whereof  he  knew 
not  any  two,  nor  they  him,  save  only  by  sight) :  the 
first  news  of  it  struck  him  so  to  the  heart,  that  he  never 
recovered  it,  but  said  plainly  it  would  be  his  death." 

It  was  not  the  loss  of  his  property  (including  all  his 
private  papers,  and  several  rare  manuscripts)  that  affected 
him  so  much  as  the  cruel  charge  of  apostacy  from  the 
Protestant  religion.  This  filled  to  overflowing,  the  cup 
of  his  sorrows.  His  many  private  connexions,  his  nu- 
merous literary  labours,  his  whole  life,  in  short,  afforded 
the  most  incontestable  evidence  of  his  consistent  attach- 
ment to  the  reformed  faith.  The  latest  effort  of  his  un- 
tiring muse  was  a  composition  "  to  the  pretious  memory 
of  Doctor  Martin  Luther,"  which  he  prefixed  to  the  life 
of  that  reformer,  by  his  friend  Thomas  Haynes. 

His  prognostications  respecting  his  untimely  end,  were 
verified  on  the  8th  of  September,  1644.  He  spent  his 
last  hours  "  in  contemplation  of  God  and  meditating  upon 
his  word."  In  desiring  to  be  vindicated  from  the  unjust 
aspersions  of  his  enemies,  whom  he  freely  forgave,  his 
dying  injunctions  were  :  u  He  wished  all  his  friends  to 
take  notice  and  make  it  known,  that  as  he  was  trained  up 
in  the  true  Protestant  religion,  so  in  that  religion  he  died." 
His  remains  were  interred  in  the  parish  church  of  St. 
Vedast,  in  Foster  Lane^  London. 

The  personal  character  of  Quarles,  has  been  delineated 
by  one  who  enjoyed  the  best  opportunity  of  observing  it. 
"  In  all  his  duties  to  God  and  man,"  writes  his  affection- 
ate widow,  "  he  was  consciable  and  orderly  :  he  pre- 
ferred God  and  religion  to  the  first  place  in  his  thoughts  ; 
his  king  and  country  to  the  second  ;  his  family  and  studies 


xviii  MEMOIR. 


he  reserved  to  the  last.  As  for  God,  he  was  frequent  in 
his  devotion  and  prayers  to  Him,  and  almost  constant  in 
reading  or  meditating  on  His  holy  word,  as  his  '  Divine 
Fancies/  and  other  parts  of  his  works,  will  sufficiently 
testify.  For  his  religion,  he  was  a  true  son  of  the  Church 
of  England  ;  an  even  Protestant,  not  in  the  least  degree 
biassed  to  this  hand  of  superstition,  or  that  of  schism, 
though  both  those  factions  were  ready  to  cry  him  down 
for  his  inclination  to  the  contrary.  His  love  to  his  king 
and  country,  in  these  late  unhappy  times  of  distraction, 
was  manifest  in  that  he  used  his  pen,  and  poured  out  his 
continual  prayers  and  tears,  to  quench  this  miserable  fire 
of  dissension,  while  too  many  others  added  daily  fuel  unto 
it.  And  for  his  family,  his  care  was  very  great  over  that, 
even  then,  when  his  occasions  caused  his  absence  from 
it.  And  when  he  was  at  home,  his  exhortations  to  us  to 
continue  in  virtue  and  godly  life,  were  so  pious  and  fre- 
quent ;  his  admonitions  so  grave  and  piercing ;  his  repre- 
hensions so  mild  and  gentle  ;  and  (above  all)  his  own  ex- 
ample in  every  religious  and  moral  duty,  so  constant  and 
manifest,  that  his  equal  may  be  desired,  but  can  hardly  be 
met  withal." 

Quarles  was  undoubtedly  the  most  voluminous,  as  well 
as  the  most  popular,  writer  of  his  day.  A  mere  enumer- 
ation of  his  various  compositions,  in  verse  and  prose, 
setting  forth  their  extraordinary  titles  at  large,  would 
occupy  no  inconsiderable  space.  Besides  his  poetical 
versions  of  the  entire  books  of  Jonah,  Esther,  Job,  the 
Lamentations  of  Jeremiah,  and  the  Ecclesiastes  and  Song 
of  Solomon,  he  paraphrased  Several  other  portions  of 
Scripture.  His  original  poems  are  almost  equally 
numerous,  and,  like  the  preceding,  almost  exclusively 
of  a  sacred  character.  He  was  the  author  of  seven  other 
religious  works  in  prose,  as  well  as  five  political  tracts 
and  a  comedy. 

Whatever  diversity  of  opinion  may  exist  with   respect 


MEMOIR. 


to  his  particular  merits  as  a  writer,  there  is  no  room  for 
questioning  his  diligence.  How,  amidst  his  professional 
and  other  avocations,  he  found  time  to  compose  so  much, 
is  best  explained  by  his  widow,  who,  in  her  very  brief 
account  of  his  life  and  writings,  so  often  before  referred 
to,  incidently  observes  : — "  And  though  it  be  too  fre- 
quent a  fault  (as  we  see  by  experience)  in  gentlemen 
whose  dispositions  incline  them  to  the  study  of  poetry, 
to  be  loose  and  debauched  in  their  lives,  yet  it  was  very 
far  from  him.  Their  delight  could  not  be  greater  in  the 
tavern,  than  his  was  in  his  study  ;  to  which  he  devoted 
himself  late  and  early,  usually  by  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning/'  Bearing  in  mind  the  troublous  period  in 
which  it  was  his  lot  to  be  cast,  as  well  as  the  doubtful 
character  of  too  many  composing  that  political  party  with 
whom  he  was  forced  to  associate,  the  justice  of  the  above 
encomium  is  fully  borne  out  by  the  existing  fruits  of  his 
studies. 

Unlike  the  generality  of  authors,  Quarles  did  not  pub- 
lish his  works  in  the  same  order  as  he  composed  them. 
His  rule  of  publication,  indeed,  was  no  less  irregular 
than  the  style  of  his  compositions.  His  earliest  attempt 
at  authorship  was  "  The  Virgin  Widow,"  a  comedy, 
which  was  written,  and  privately  acted  with  success, 
about  the  year  1620,  or  shortly  after  his  removal  from 
Cambridge  to  Lincoln's  Inn  ;  but  not  published  till  five 
years  after  his  decease.  Seven  other  pieces  likewise  (in- 
cluding the  best  specimens  of  his  prose  efforts)  were 
posthumously  printed,  but  whose  order  of  composition  is 
doubtful. 

Probably  the  ascendancy  of  his  religious  convictions, 
early  resolved  him  to  abandon  not  only  the  dramatic,  but 
also  every  other  style  of  secular  composition  :  for,  with 
the  exception  of  his  "  Argalus  and  Parthenia,"  which 
was  written  immediately  after  his  comedy,  and  published 
in  the  year  1621,  all  his  subsequent  works  (those  at  least 


MEMOIR. 


committed  by  himself  to  the  press)  were  either  para- 
phrases of  the  Scriptures,  or  sacred  meditations  and 
epigrams.  , 

Of  his  various  poetical  compositions,  his  Paraphrases 
of  the  Holy  Scriptures  are  decidedly  entitled  to  the  first 
rank.  In  following  the  authorized  version  of  them,  he 
has  not  sacrificed  a  whit  either  of  their  simplicity  or 
sense  whilst  exhibiting  his  art  as  a  poet.  His  numbers, 
if  not  at  all  times  melodious,  never  excite  our  ridicule  by 
their  unnatural  contortions,  as  is  too  frequently  the  case 
in  some  of  his  other  poems  ;  on  the  contrary,  their 
measure,  which  is  usually  heroic,  preserves  throughout 
an  even  and  graceful  flow.  He  loses  no  opportunity  of 
improving  upon  the  poetical  idea  suggested  either  directly 
by  his  original,  or  indirectly  by  the  occasion.  As  an  ex- 
ample of  the  latter,  we  may  refer  to  the  magnificent 
description  of  the  Almighty's  appearance  to,  and  con- 
troversy with,  Job,  as  given  in  his  version  of  that  patri- 
arch's book ;  the  language  of  which  rises  proportionably 
with  the  interest  of  the  scene,  until  it  reaches  sublimity. 
It  may  be  doubted  whether  a  finer  passage  than  that  in 
question,  can  be  found  in  the  writings  of  any  poet,  pro- 
fane or  sacred,  who  preceded  him. 

The  student  of  Quarles's  poetry,  has  just  occasion  to 
regret  his  author's  want  of  confidence  in  himself.  He 
manifestly  might  have  been,  but  unfortunately  was  not  at 
all  times,  original.  In  the  vulgar  sense,  he  was  no  plagi- 
arist ;  but  he  usually  borrowed  the  subject  of  his  pieces 
from  others.  Thus,  his  story  of"  Argalus  and  Parthenia  " 
was  taken  from  Chaucer,  and  paraphrased  much  after  the 
same  fashion  as  he  treated  the  Scriptures.  If,  instead  of 
tethering  his  muse  in  pastures  preoccupied  by,  and  known 
to  all,  he  had  consecrated  a  few  of  his  studious  hours  and 
admirable  talents  to  the  production  of  some  purely  original 
poem,  sacred  or  otherwise,  there  can  be  little  doubt  that 
the  completest  success  would  have  crowned  his  effort ; 


MEMOIR. 


and  his  literary  fame  would  then  have  suffered  neither 
from  the  bigotry  of  his  own,  nor  the  supineness  of  a  later 
generation.  As  it  is,  he  is  hardly  permitted  to  rank  with 
our  second-rate  poets. 

His  first  work  in  point  of  popularity  was,  and  ever  has 
been,  his  "  Emblems,  Divine  and  Moral,"  which  he  gave 
originally  to  the  world  in  1635,  with  most  admirable 
illustrations  (considering  the  period  in  which  they  were 
executed)  by  Marshall  and  Simpson.  Few  books  of  its 
class  have  yielded  more  genuine  pleasure  to  the  ordinary 
reader,  or  been  in  consequence  more  frequently  reprinted 
than  this.  Like  the  majority  of  his  productions,  however, 
the  idea  of  it  was  borrowed ;  and  in  this  instance  from 
Herman  Hugo,  the  Jesuit's  "  Pia  Desideria,"  which  had 
been  published  a  few  years  previously  on  the  Continent. 
Hugo  was  himself  indebted  to  Andrew  Alciat,  a  famous 
Milanese  doctor  in  the  sixteenth  century,  for  the  plan  of 
his  work. 

The  extraordinary  success  of  Quarles's  "  Emblems," 
when  they  first  appeared,  was  doubtless  attributable  in  no 
small  measure  to  the  excellency  of  the  prints  that  accom- 
panied them.  Our  forefathers  in  the  seventeenth  century, 
so  far  as  regarded  their  intellectual  capacities,  were  but 
children  of  a  larger  growth.  They  needed  to  be  taught, 
as  our  little  ones  now  are,  by  pictures,  and  they  were  as 
easily  captivated  by  them.  George  Wither,  a  sacred 
poet  and  illustrator  of  Emblems  himself,  who  flourished  a 
few  years  later  than  Quarles,  thus  moralizes  upon  their 
effect : — "  When  levity  or  a  childish  delight  in  trifling 
objects  hath  allured  them  to  look  on  the  pictures,  curiosity 
may  urge  them  to  peep  further,  that  they  may  seek  out 
their  meanings  in  our  annexed  illustrations,  in  which  may 
lurk  some  sentence  or  expression,  so  evidently  pertinent 
to  their  estates,  persons,  or  affections,  as  will,  at  that 
instant  or  afterwards,  make  way  for  those  considerations, 
which  will  at  last  wholly  change  them,  or  much  better 
them  in  their  conversations." 


MEMOIR. 


Both  the  prints  and  mottoes  of  the  two  last  books  of 
Quarles's  "  Emblems,"  are  exactly  copied  from  those  of 
Herman  Hugo.  The  subjects  being  similar,  he  has, 
therefore,  frequently  availed  himself  of  the  ideas  of  the 
"  Pia  Desideria,"  as  well  as  sometimes  appropriated  lines 
and  entire  passages  from  it ;  but  he  has  so  added  to,  and 
improved  upon,  his  prototype,  that  the  imitation  detracts 
little  from  his  originality.  Had  he  failed  altogether  in 
the  latter  respect,  or  contented  himself  with  the  less  am- 
bitious duty  of  translating  the  works  of  his  two  prede- 
cessors, his  countrymen  would  still  have  been  laid  under 
no  mean  obligations  to  him  for  the  introduction  of  a 
system,  which  combined  in  the  happiest  manner  amuse- 
ment with  instruction,  and  long  continued,  as  it  deserved 
to  be,  eminently  popular  amongst  them.  If  any  proof  of 
his  success  in  this  interesting  department  of  literature 
were  needed,  it  may  be  discovered  in  the  fact,  that, 
numerous  as  have  been  his  imitators,  none  have  equalled, 
much  less  surpassed,  him.  The  judgment  of  posterity 
has  awarded  him  the  first  rank  as  an  illustrator  of  Em- 
blems. "  Had  he  been  "  (says  old  Fuller)  "  contempo- 
rary with  Plato,  that  great  back-friend  to  poets,  he  would 
not  only  have  allowed  him  to  live,  but  advanced  him  to 
an  office  in  his  Commonwealth.  Some  poets,  if  debarred 
profaneness,  wantonness,  and  satiricalness,  that  they  may 
neither  abuse  God  themselves,  nor  their  neighbours,  have 
their  tongues  cut  out  in  effect.  Others  only  trade  in  wit 
at  the  second-hand  ;  being  all  for  translations,  nothing 
for  invention.  Our  Quarles  was  free  from  the  faults  of 
the  first,  as  if  he  had  drunk  of  Jordan  instead  of  Helicon, 
and  slept  on  Mount  Olivet  for  his  Parnassus  ;  and  was 
happy  in  his  own  invention.  His  visible  poetry,  I  mean 
his  '  Emblems,'  is  excellent,  catching  therein  the  eye  and 
fancy  at  one  draught ;  so  that  he  has  out-Alciated  Alciat 
therein,  in  some  men's  judgments." 

W.  W. 


EMBLEMS, 

DIVINE    AND    MORAL. 


BOOK    THE    FIRST. 


~     -. 


Dum  Ccelum  auspicio  Solum  despicio. 


invocation, 

T)  OUSE  thee,    my   soul  ;    and    drain    thee    from   the 

1X     dregs 

Of  vulgar  thoughts  ;  screw  up  the  heighten'd  pegs 

thy  sublime  Theorbo  four  notes  high'r, 
And  high'r  yet,  that  so  the  shrill-mouth'd  quire 


THE  INVOCATION. 


BOOK    I 


Of  swift-wing' d  seraphims  may  come  and  join, 

And  make  the  concert  more  than  half  divine. 

Invoke  no  muse  ;  let  Heav'n  be  thine  Apollo  ; 

And  let  his  sacred  influences  hallow 

Thy  high-bied  strains.     Let  his  full  beams  inspire 

Thy  ravish'd  brains  with  more  heroic  fire  : 

Snatch  thee  a  quill  from  the  spread  eagle's  wing, 

And,  like  the  morning  lark,  mount  up  and  sing  • 

Cast  off  these  dangling  plummets,  that  so  clog 

Thy  lab 'ring  heart,  which  gropes  in  this  dark  fog 

Of  dungeon  earth  ;  let  flesh  and  blood  forbe 

To  stop  thy  flight,  till  this  base  world  appea 

A  thin  blue  landscape  :  let  thy  pinions  soar 

So  high  a  pitch,  that  men  may  seem  no  more 

Than  pismires,  crawling  on  the  mole-hill  earth, 

Thine  ear  untroubled  with  their  frantic  mirth 

Let  not  the  frailty  of  thy  flesh  disturb 

Thy  new-concluded  peace  ;  let  reason  curb 

Thy  high-mouthed  passion  ;  and  let  Heav'n's  fire  season 

The  fresh  conceits  of  thy  corrected  reason. 

Disdain  to  warm  thee  at  lust's  smoky  fires, 

Scorn,  scorn  to  feed  on  thy  old  bloat  desires  : 

Come,  come,  my  soul,  hoist  up  thy  higher  sails, 

The  wind  blows  fair  ;  shall  we  still  creep  like  snails, 

That  glide  their  ways  with  their  own  native  slimes  ? 

No,  we  must  fly  like  eagles,  and  our  rhymes 

Must  mount  to  Heav'n,  and  reach  the  Olympic  ear  j 

Our  Heaven-blown  fire  must  seek  no  other  sphere. 

Thou,  great  Theanthropos,  that  giv'st  and  ground'  t 
Thy  gifts  in  dust,  and  from  our  dunghill  crown'st 
Reflecting  honour,  taking  by  retail 
What  thou  hast  giv'n  in  gross,  from  lapsed,  frail, 
And  sinful  man  :  that  dnnk'st  full  draughts,  wherein- 
Thy  children's  lep'rous  fingers,  scurf 'd  with  sin, 
Have  paddled  ;  cleanse,  O  cleanse  my  crafty  soul 
From  secret  crimes,  arid  let  my  thoughts  control 


BOOK    I. 


THE  INVOCATION. 


My  thoughts  :  O  teach  me  stoutly  to  deny 
Myself,  that  I  may  be  no  longer  i  : 
Enrich  my  fancy,  clarify  my  thoughts, 
Refine  my  dross  ;  O  wink  at  human  faults; 
And  through  the  slender  conduit  of  my  quill 
Convey  thy  current,  whose  clear  streams  may  fill 
The  hearts  of  men  with  love,  their  tongues  with  praise  : 
Crown  me  with  glory,  take,  who  list,  the  bays. 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK  I. 


Emblem   i. 


Totus  mundus  in  maligno  (maliligno)  positus  est. 

Every  man  is  tempted,  when   he  is  drawn  away  by    his 
own  lust,  and  enticed. — JAMES  1.14. 

Serpent    <S?be. 

£."VrOT  eat  ?  not  taste  ?  not  touch  ?  nor  cast  an  eye 

•^    Upon  the  fruit  of  this  fair  tree  ?  and  why? 
Why  eat'st  tttbu  not  what  Heav'n  ordain'd  for  food  ? 
Or  canst  thou  think  that  bad  which  Heav'n  calPd  good  ? 
Why  was  it  made,  if  not  to  be  enjoy'd  ? 
Neglect  of  favours  makes  a  favour  void : 
Blessings  unus'd,  pervert  into  a  waste 
As  well  as  surfeits  :  woman,  do  but  taste : 


BOOK  i.  EMBLEMS. 


See  how  the  laden  boughs  make  silent  suit 

To  be  enjoy'd  :  look  how  their  bending  fruit 

Meet  thee  half-way  :  observe  but  how  they  crouch 

To  kiss  thy  hand ;  coy  woman,  do  but  touch  : 

Mark  what  a  pure  vermilion  blush  has  dyed 

Their  swelling  cheeks,  and  how  for  shame  they  hide 

Their  palsy  heads,  to  see  themselves  stand  by 

Neglected  :  woman,  do  but  cast  an  eye. 

What  bounteous  Heav'n  ordain'd  for  use,  refuse  not ; 

Come,  pull  and  eat ;  y'  abuse  the  thing  ye  use  not. 

Eve.  Wisest  of  beasts,  our  great  Creator  did 
Reserve  this  tree,  and  this  alone  forbid  ; 
The  rest  are  freely  ours,  which  doubtless  are 
As  pleasing  to  the  taste  ;  to  the  eye  as  fair  : 
But  touching  this,  his  strict  commands  are  such 
'Tis  death  to  taste,  no  less  than  death  to  touch. 

Serp.   Pish  ;  death's  a  fable;  did  not  Heav'n  inspire 
Your  equal  elements  with  living  fire, 
Blown  from  the  spring  of  life  ?     Is  not  that  breath 
Immortal  ?  come  ;  ye  are  as  free  from  death 
As  he  that  made  you.     Can  the  flames  expire 
Which  he  has  kindled  ;  can  ye  quench  his  fire  ? 
Did  not  the  great  Creator's  voice  proclaim 
Whate'er  he  made,  from  the  blue  spangled  frame 
To  the  poor  leaf  that  trembles,  very  good  ? 
Bless'd  he  not  both  the  feeder  and  the  food  ? 
Tell,  tell  me  then,  what  danger  can  accrue 
From  such  bless'd  food,  to  such  half  gods  as  you  ? 
Curb  needless  fears,  and  let  no  fond  conceit 
Abuse  your  freedom ;  woman,  take  and  eat. 

Eve.  'Tis  true,  we  are  immortal ;  death  is  yet 
Unborn,  and,  till  rebellion  make  it  death, 
Undue  ;  I  know  the  fruit  is  good,  until 
Presumptuous  disobedience  make  it  ill. 
The  lips  that  open  to  this  fruit's  a  portal 
To  let  in  death,  and  make  immortal  mortal. 


EMBLEMS. 


Serp.   You  cannot  die  ;  come,  woman,  taste  and  fear 
not. 

Eve.  Shall  Eve  transgress  ?  I  dare  not,  O,  I  dare  not. 

Serp.  Afraid  ?  why  draw'st  thou  back  thy  tim'rous  arm  ? 
Harm  only  falls  on  such  as  fear  a  harm. 
Heav'n  knows  and  fears  the  virtue  of  this  tree : 
'Twill  make  you  perfect  gods  as  well  as  he. 
Stretch  forth  thy  hand,  and  let  thy  fondness  never 
Fear  death  :  do,  pull,  and  eat,  and  live  for  ever. 

Eve.  'Tis  but  an  apple  ;  and  it  is  as  good 
To  do  as  to  desire.     Fruit's  made  for  food: 
I'll  pull,  and  taste,  and  tempt  my  Adam  too 
To  know  the  secrets  of  this  dainty.     Serp.  Do. 


S.  CHRYS.  sup.  Matth. 

He  forced  him  not :  he  touched  him  not :  only  said, 
Cast    thyself  down ;  that  we   may  know,  that  whosoever 
-obeyeth  the  devil,   casteth  himself  down  :   for  the  devil 
may  suggest,  compel  he  cannot. 

S.  BERN,  in  Ser. 

It  is  the  devil's  part  to  suggest :  ours,  not  to  con- 
sent. As  oft  as  we  resist  him,  so  often  we  overcome 
him  :  as  often  as  we  overcome  him,  so  often  we  bring 
joy  to  the  angels,  and  glory  to  God ;  who  opposeth  us, 
that  we  may  contend  ;  and  assisteth  us,  that  we  may 
conquer. 

EPIG.  i. 

Unlucky  parliament !  wherein,  at  last, 
Both  houses  are  agreed,  and  firmly  past 
An  act  of  death  confirm'd  by  higher  pow'rs  ; 
O  had  it  had  but  such  success  as  ours  ! 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  2. 


Si  malum  cecuit  unicium  in  omne  malum. 


JAMES    I.     15. 

Then  when  lust  hath  conceived,  it  bringeth  forth  sin  ;  and 
sin,  when  it  is  finished,  bringeth  forth  death. 

T  AMENT,    lament  ;    look,    look,    what    thou    hast 
I*     done: 

Lament  the  world's,  lament  thine  own  estate  : 
Look,  look,  by  doing,  how  thou  art  undone  ; 

Lament  thy  fall,  lament  thy  change  of  state  : 
Thy  faith  is  broken,  and  thy  freedom  gone, 

See,  see  too  soon,  what  thou  lament'st  too  late,. 


8    '  EMBLEMS.  LOOK  i. 

/  O  thou  that  wert  so  many  men,  nay,  all 
!  Abridg'd  in  one,  how  has  thy  desp'rate  fall 
Destroyed  thy  unborn  seed,  destroy'd  thyself  withal ! 

Uxorious  Adam,  whom  thy  Maker  made 

Equal  to  angels  that  excel  in  powY, 
What  hast  thou  done  ?     O  why  hast  thou  obey'd 

Thine  own  destruction  ?  like  a  new-cropt  flow'r, 
How  does  the  glory  of  thy  beauty  fade ! 
How  are  thy  fortunes  blasted  in  an  hour  ! 

How  art  thou  cow'd  that  hast  the  pow'r  to  quell 
The  spite  of  new  fall'n  angels,  baffle  hell, 
And  vie  with  those  that  stood,  and  vanquish  those  that  fell. 

See  how  the  world  (whose  chaste  and  pregnant  womb 

Of  late  conceiv'd,  and  brought  forth  nothing  ill) 
Is  now  degenerated,  and  become 

A  base  adulteress,  whose  false  births  do  fill 
The  earth  with  monsters,  monsters  that  do  roam 
And  rage  about,  and  make  a  trade  to  kill : 

Now  glutt'ny  paunches  ;  lust  begins  to  spawn ; 
Wrath  takes  revenge,  and  avarice  a  pawn  ; 
Pale  envy  pines,  pride  swells,  and  sloth  begins  to  yawn. 

The  air  that  whispered  now  begins  to  roar ; 

And  blustering  Boreas  blows  the  boiling  tide  j 
The  white-mouth'd  water  now  usurps  the  shore, 

And  scorns  the  pow'r  of  her  tridental  guide  ; 
The  fire  now  burns,  that  did  but  warm  before, 
And  rules  her  ruler  with  resistless  pride  : 

Fire,  water,  earth,  and  air,  that  first  were  made 
To  be  subdu'd,  see  how  they  now  invade  ; 
They  rule  whom  once  they  serv'd,  command  where  once 
obey'd. 

Behold,  that  nakedness,  that  late  bewray'd 

Thy  glory,  now's  become  thy  shame,  thy  wonder  j 


BOOK  i.  EMBLEMS. 


Behold,  those  trees  whose  various  fruits  were  made 

For  food,  now  turn'd  a  shade  to  shroud  thee  under ; 
Behold,  that  voice  (which  thou  hast  disobey'd) 
That  late  was  music,  now  affrights  like  thunder. 

Poor  man  !    are  not   thy  joints    grown   faint  with 

shaking 

To  view  th'  effect  of  thy  bold  undertaking, 
That  in  one  hour  didst  mar  what  Heav'n  six  days  was 
making. 


S.  AUGUST,  lib.  i.  de  Lib.  Arbit. 

It  is  a  most  just  punishment,  that  man  should  lose  that 
freedom,  which  man  could  not  use,  yet  had  power  to 
keep,  if  he  would ;  and  that  he  who  had  knowledge  to 
do  what  was  right,  and  did  not,  should  be  deprived  of 
the  knowledge  of  what  was  right ;  and  that  he  who 
would  not  do  righteously,  when  he  had  the  power,  should 
lose  the  power  to  do  it,  when  he  had  the  will. 

HUGO  de  Anima. 

They  are  justly  punished  that  abuse  lawful  things,  but 
they  are  most  justly  punished,  that  use  unlawful  things  : 
thus  Lucifer  fell  from  Heaven ;  thus  Adam  lost  his 
paradise. 

EPIG.  2. 

See  how  these  frui  ful  kernels,  being  cast 
Upon  the  earth,  how  thick  they  spring  !  how  fast ! 
A  full  ear'd  crop  and  thriving,  rank  and  proud  ! 
Prepost'rous  man  first  sow'd,  and  then  he  ploughed. 


10 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  3. 


Uc  potiar,  patior,  Paticns,  non  potieris. 
PROV.  XIV.    13. 

Even  in  laughter  the  heart  is  sorrowful;  and  the  end  cf 
that  mirth  is  heaviness. 

ALAS!  fond  child, 
^~*  How  are  thy  thoughts  beguil'd 
To  hope  for  honey  from  a  nest  of  wasps  r 

Thou  may'st  as  well 
Go  seek  for  ease  in  hell, 
Or  sprightly  nectar  from  the  mouths  of  asps. 

The  world's  a  hive. 
From  whence  thou  canst  derive 


BOOK  i.  EMBLEMS. 


No  good,  but  what  thy  soul's  vexation  brings  : 

But  case  thou  meet 
Some  petty-petty  sweet, 
Each  drop  is  guarded  with  a  thousand  stings. 

Why  dost  thou  make 
These  murm'ring  troops  forsake 
The  safe  protection  of  their  waxen  homes  ? 

Their  hive  contains 
No  sweet  that's  worth  thy  pains  ; 
There's  nothing  here,  alas  !  but  empty  combs. 

For  trash  and  toys, 
And  grief-engend'ring  joys, 
What  torment  seems  too  sharp  for  flesh  and  blood  ; 

What  bitter  pills, 
Compos'd  of  real  ills, 
Men  swallow  down  to  purchase  one  false  good  ! 

The  dainties  here, 
Are  least  what  they  appear ; 
Though  sweet  in  hopes,  yet  in  fruition  sour : 

The  fruit  that's  yellow, 
Is  found  not  always  mellow ; 
The  fairest  tulip's  not  the  sweetest  flow'r. 

Fond  youth,  give  o'er, 
And  vex  thy  soul  no  more 
In  seeking  what  were  better  far  unfound  ; 

Alas  !  thy  gains 
Are  only  present  pains 
To  gather  scorpions  for  a  future  wound. 

What's  earth  ?  or  in  it, 
That  longer  than  a  minute, 
Can  lend  a  free  delight  that  can  endure  ? 

O  who  would  droil,- 
Or  delve  in  such  a  soil, 
Where  gain's  uncertain,  and  the  pain  is  sure  ? 


12  EMBLEMS. 


S.  AUGUST. 

Sweetness  in  temporal  matters  is  deceitful  :  It  is  a 
labour  and  a  perpetual  fear  j  it  is  a  dangerous  pleasure, 
whose  beginning  is  without  Providence,  and  whose  end 
is  not  without  repentance. 

HUGO. 

Luxury  is  an  enticing  pleasure,  and  a  bastard  mirth, 
which  hath  honey  in  her  mouth,  gall  in  her  heart,  and  a 
iting  in  her  tail. 


EPIG.  3. 

What,  Cupid,  are  thy  shafts  already  made  ? 
And  seeking  honey  to  set  up  thy  trade, 
True  emblem  of  thy  sweets !  thy  bees  do  bring 
Honey  in  their  mouths,  but  in  their  tails  a  sting. 


BOOK  I. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  4, 


Quis  levior  cui  plus  ponderi  addit  amor. 
PSALM    LXII.  9. 

T0  be  laid  In  the  balance ,  it  is  altogether  lighter  than 
vanity. 

OUT  in  another  weight :  'tis  yet  too  light : 
And  yet,  fond  Cupid,  put  another  in  ; 

And  yet  another  :  still  there's  under  weight : 
Put  in  another  hundred  :  put  again  ; 

Add  world  to  world ;  then  heap  a  thousand  more 
To  that ;  then,  to  renew  thy  wasted  store, 

Take  up  more  worlds  on  trust,  to  draw  thy  balance  low'r. 


1 4  EMBLEMS. 


BOOK    I. 


Put  in  the  flesh,  with  all  her  loads  of  pleasure; 

Put  in  great  Mammon's  endless  inventory  ; 
Put  in  the  ponderous  acts  of  mighty  Caesar  : 
Put  in  the  greater  weight  of  Sweden's  glory  ; 
Add  Scipio's  gauntlet ;  put  in  Plato's  gown  : 
Put  Circe's  charms,  put  in  the  triple  crown. 
Thy  balance  will  not  draw ;  thy  balance  will  not  down. 

LORD  !  what  a  world  is  this,  which  day  and  night, 

Men  seek  with  so  much  toil,  with  so  much  trouble  ? 
Which,  weigh'd  in  equal  scales,  is  found  so  light, 
So  poorly  overbalanc'd  with  a  bubble  ! 

Good  GOD  !  that  frantic  mortals  should  destroy 
Their  higher  hopes,  and  place  their  idle  joy 
Upon  such  airy  trash,  upon  so  light  a  toy  ! 

Thou  bold  impostor,  how  hast  thou  befool'd 
The  tribe  of  man  with  counterfeit  desire ! 
How  has  the  breath  of  thy  false  bellows  cooPd 
Heav'n's  freeborn  flame,  and  kindled  bastard  fire  ! 
How  hast  thou  vented  dross  instead  of  treasure, 
And    cheated    men   with    thy    false   weights    and 

measure, 

Proclaiming    bad    for   good ;    and    gilding    death    with 
pleasure  ! 

The  world's  a  crafty  strumpet,  most  affecting 

And  closely  following  those  that  most  reject  her  ; 
But  seeming  careless,  nicely  disrespecting 
And  coyly  flying  those  that  most  affect  her ; 

If  thou  be  free,  she's  strange;  if  strange, she's  free; 
Flee,  and  she  follows  ;  follow,  and  she'll  flee  ; 
Than  she  there's  none  more  coy,  there's  none  more  fond 
than  she. 


O  what  a  crocodilian  world  is  this, 

Compos'd  oi  treach'ries,  and  insnaring  wiles  ! 


EMBLEMS.  15 


She  clothes  destruction  in  a  formal  kiss, 
Arid  lodges  death  in  her  deceitful  smiles ; 

She  hugs  the  soul  she  hates  ;  and  there  does  prove 
The  veriest  tyrant,  where  she  vows  to  love  ; 

And  is  a  serpent  most,  when  most  she  seems  a  dove. 

Thrice  happy  he,  whose  nobler  thoughts  despise 

To  make  an  object  of  so  easy  gains  ; 
Thrice  happy  he,  who  scorns  so  poor  a  prize 
Should  be  the  crown  of  his  heroic  pains  : 
Thrice  h.r'tpy  he,  who  ne'er  was  born  to  try 
Her  frowns  or  smiles  :  or  being  born,  did  lie 
In  his  sad  nurse's  arms  an  hour  or  two,  and  die. 


S.  AUGUST,  lib!  Confess. 

O  you  that  dote  upon  this  world,  for  what  victory  do 
ye  fight  ?  Your  hopes  can  be  crowned  with  no  greater 
reward  than  the  world  can  give  ;  and  what  is  the  world, 
but  a  brittle  thing  full  of  dangers,  wherein  we  travel  from 
lesser  to  greater  perils  ?  •  O  let  all  her  vain,  light,  mo- 
mentary glory  perish  with  herself,  and  let  us  be  conversant 
with  more  eternal  things.  Alas !  this  world  is  miserable ; 
life  is  short,  and  death  is  sure. 


EPIG.  4. 

My  soul,  what's  lighter  than  a  feather  ?     Wind. 

Than  wind  ?     The  fire.     And  what  than  fire  ?      The 

mind. 
What's   lighter   than   the  mind  ?      A   thought.      Than 

thought  ? 
This  bubble  world.     What,  than  this  bubble  ?     Nought. 


i6 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK  I. 


Emblem  5. 


His  vertitur  orbis. 
I.  COR.   VII.  41. 

The  fashion  of  this  world  passeth  away. 

ONE  are  those  golden  days  wherein 

Pale  conscience  started  not  at  ugly  sin : 
When  good  old  Saturn's  peaceful  throne 
Was  unusurped  by  his  beardless  son  : 

When  jealous  Ops  ne'er  feared  th'  abuse 
Of  her  chaste  bed,  or  breach  of  nuptial  truce 

When  just  Astraea  poisM  her  scales 
In  mortal  hearts,  whose  absence  earth  bewails 


EMBLEMS. 


When  froth-born  Venus  and  her  brat, 
With  all  that  spurious  brood  young  Jove  begat, 

In  horrid  shapes  were  yet  unknown  ; 
Those  halcyon  days,  that  golden  age  is  gone. 

There  was  no  client  then  to  wait 
The  leisure  of  his  long-taiPd  advocate  ; 

The  talion  law  was  in  request, 
And  Chanc'ry  Courts  were  kept  in  every  breast : 

Abused  statutes  had  no  tenters, 
And  men  could  deal  secure  without  indentures 

There  was  no  peeping-hole  to  clear 
The  wittaPs  eye  from  his  incarnate  fear  : 

There  were  no  lustful  cinders  then 
To  broil  the  carbonado' d  hearts  of  men : 

The  rosy  cheeks  did  then  proclaim 
A  shame  of  guilt,  but  not  a  guilt  of  shame  : 

There  was  no  whining  soul  to  start 
At  Cupid's  twang,  or  curse  his  flaming  dart : 

The  boy  had  then  but  callow  wings, 
And  fell  Erennys'  scorpions  had  no  stings  : 

The  better-acted  world  did  move 
Upon  the  fixed  poles  of  truth  and  love. 

Love  essenc'd  in  the  hearts  of  men  ! 
Then  reason  rul'd,  there  was  no  passion  then  ; 

Till  lust  and  rage  began  to  enter, 
Love  the  circumf  rence  was,  and  love  the  centre  ; 

Until  the  wanton  days  of  Jove, 
The  simple  world  was  all  compos'd  of  love  ; 

But  Jove  grew  fleshly,  false,  unjust; 
Inferior  beauty  fill'd  his  veins  with  lust : 

And  cucquean  Juno's  fury  hurl'd 
Fierce  balls  of  rape  into  th'  incestuous  world  ; 

Astraea  fled,  and  love  returned 
From  earth,  earth  boiPd  with  lust,  with  rage  it  burn'd. 

And  ever  since  the  world  hath  been 
Kept  going  with  the  scourge  of  lust  and  spleen, 

c 


1 8  EMBLEMS.  BOOK  i. 

S.  AMBROSE. 

Lust  is  a  sharp  spur  to  vice,  which  always  putteth 
the  affections  into  a  false  gallop. 

HUGO. 

Lust  is  an  immoderate  wantonness  of  the  flesh,  a 
sweet  poison,  a  cruel  pestilence;  a  pernicious  poison, 
which  weakeneth  the  body  of  man,  and  effeminateth 
the  strength  of  an  heroic  mind. 

S.  AUGUST. 

Envy  is  the  hatred  of  another's  felicity :  in  respect 
of  superiors,  because  they  are  not  equal  to  them  ;  in 
respect  of  inferiors,  lest  he  should  be  equal  to  them  ; 
in  respect  of  equals,  because  they  are  equal  to  them. 
Through  envy  proceeded  the  fall  of  the  world,  and 
death  of  CHRIST. 


EPIG.  5. 

What,  Cupid,  must  the  world  be  lash'd  so  soon  ? 
But  made  at  morning,  and  be  whipt  at  noon  ? 
'Tis  like  the  wag,  that  plays  with  Venus'  doves, 
The  more  'tis  lash'd,  the  more  perverse  it  proves. 


BOOK  I. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  6. 


In  cruce  tuta  quies. 
ECCLES.  II.   17. 

All  is  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit. 

rrOW  is  the  anxious  soul  of  man  befool'd 

In  his  desire, 
That  thinks  an  hectic  fever  may  be  cooPd 

In  flames  of  fire  ? 
Or  hopes  to  rake  full  heaps  of  burnish' d  gold 

From  nasty  mire  ? 
A  whining  lover  may  as  well  request 

A  scornful  breast 
To  melt  in  gentle  tears,  as  woo  the  world  for  rest. 


EMBLEMS. 


Let  wit,  and  all  her  study'd  plots  effect 

The  best  they  can  ; 
Let  smiling  fortune  prosper  and  perfect 

What  wit  began  ; 
Let  earth  advise  with  both,  and  so  project 

A  happy  man ; 
Let  wit  or  fawning  fortune  vie  their  best ; 

He  may  be  blest 
With  all  the  earth  can  give  ;  but  earth  can  give  no  rest, 

Whose  gold  is  double  with  a  careful  hand 

His  cares  are  double ; 
The  pleasure,  honour,  wealth  of  sea  and  land 

Bring  but  a  trouble  ; 
The  world  itself,  and  all  the  world's  command, 

Is  but  a  bubble. 
The  strong  desires  of  man's  insatiate  breast 

May  stand  possest 
Of  all  that  earth  can  give ;  but  earth  can  give  no  rest. 

The  world's  a  seeming  paradise,  but  her  own 

And  man's  tormentor ; 
Appearing  fix'd,  yet  but  a  rolling  stone 

Without  a  tenter ; 
It  is  a  vast  circumference,  where  none 

Can  find  a  centre. 
Of  more  than  earth,  can  earth  make  none  possest ; 

And  he  that  least 
Regards  this  restless  world,  shall  in  this  world  find  rest. 

True  rest  consists  not  in  the  oft  revying 

Of  worldly  dross  ; 
Earth's  miry  purchase  is  not  worth  the  buying, 

Her  gain  is  loss  ; 
Her  rest  but  giddy  toil,  if  not  relying 

Upon  her  cross. 


EMBLEMS. 


Her  worldlings  droil  for  trouble  !  that  fond  breast 

That  is  possess'd 
Of  earth  without  a  cross,  has  earth  without  a  rest. 


CASS.  in  Ps. 

The  cross  is  the  invincible  sanctuary  of  the  humble, 
the    dejection  of  the    proud,  the   victory  of  Christ,  the 
destruction  of  the  devil,  the  confirmation  of  the  faithful 
the  death  of  the  unbeliever,  the  life  of  the  just. 

DAMASCEN. 

The  cross  of  Christ  is  the  key  of  paradise  ;  the  weak 
man's  staff;  the  convert's  convoy  ;  the  upright  man's 
perfection ;  the  soul  and  body's  health ;  the  prevention 
of  all  evil,  and  the  procurer  of  all  good. 


EPIG.  6. 

Worldlings,  whose  whimp'ring  folly  holds  the  losses 
Of  honour,  pleasure,  health,  and  wealth  such  crosses, 
Look  here,  and  tell  me  what  your  arms  engross, 
When  the  best  end  of  what  he  hugs  's  a  cross  ? 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  7. 


Latet  hostis,  et  otia  duels. 
I  PETER    V.    8. 

Be  sober,  be  vigilant ;  because  your  adversary  the  devil, 
as  a  roaring  lion,  walketh  about,  seeking  whom  he  may 
devour. 

H  Y  dost  thou  suffer  lustful  sloth  to  creep, 

Dull  Cyprian  lad,  into  thy  wanton  brows  ; 
Is  this  a  time  to  pay  thine  idle  vows 
At  Morpheus'  shrine  ?     Is  this  a  time  to  steep 

Thy  brains  in  wasteful  slumbers  ?  up,  and  rouse 
Thy  leaden  spirit :  is  this  a  time  to  sleep  ? 


EMBLEMS. 


Adjourn  thy  sanguine  dreams,  awake,  arise, 
Call  in  thy  thoughts,  and  let  them  all  advise, 
Hadst  thou  as  many  heads  as  thou  hast  wounded  eyes 

Look,  look,  what  horrid  furies  do  await 

Thy  flatt'ring  slumbers  !     If  thy  drowsy  head 
But  chance  to  nod,  thou  falPst  into  a  bed 

Of  sulph'rous  flames,  whose  torments  want  a  date. 
Fond  boy,  be  wise,  let  not  thy  thoughts  be  fed 

With  Phrygian  wisdom  ;  fools  are  wise  too  late : 
Beware  betimes,  and  let  thy  reason  sever 
Those  gates  which  passion  clos'd  ;  wake  now  or  never ; 

For  if  thou  nod'st  thou  fall'st ;  and,  falling,  fall'st  forever. 

Mark,  how  the  ready  hands  of  Death  prepare  : 

His  bow  is  bent,  and  he  hath  notch'd  his  dart; 

He  aims,  he  levels  at  thy  slumb'ring  heart : 
The  wound  is  posting,  O  be  wise,  beware. 

What,  has  the  voice  of  danger  lost  the  art 
To  raise  the  spirit  of  neglected  care  ? 

Well,  sleep  thy  fill,  and  take  thy  soft  reposes  ; 

But  know,  withal,  sweet  tastes  have  sour  closes  ; 
And  he  repents  in  thorns,  that  sleeps  in  beds  of  roses. 

Yet,  sluggard,  wake,  and  gull  thy  soul  no  more 

With  earth's  false  pleasures,  and  the  world's  delight, 
Whose  fruit  is  fair  and  pleasing  to  the  sight, 

But  sour  in  taste,  false  as  the  putrid  core  : 
Thy  flaring  glass  is  gems  at  her  half  light ; 

She  makes  thee  seeming  rich,  but  truly  poor : 
She  boasts  a  kernel,  and  bestows  a  shell  ; 
Performs  an  inch  of  her  fair-promis'd  ell : 

Her  words  protest  a  heav'n ;  her  works  produce  a  hell. 

O  thou,  the  fountain  of  whose  better  part, 
Is  earth'd  and  gravel'd  up  with  vain  desire  : 
That  daily  wallow'st  in  the  fleshly  mire 

And  base  pollution  of  a  lustful  heart, 


24  EMBLEMS. 


That  feel'st  no  passion,  but  in  wanton  fire, 
And  own'st  no  torment,  but  in  Cupid's  dart ; 
Behold  thy  type  :  thou  sitt'st  upon  this  ball 
Of  earth,  secure,  while  death  that  flings  at  all, 
Stands  arm'd  to  strike  thee  down,  where  flames  attend 
thy  fall.      

S.  BERN. 

Security  is  nowhere  ;  neither  in  heaven  nor  in 
paradise,  much  less  in  the  world:  In  heaven  the  angels 
fell  from  the  Divine  presence ;  in  paradise,  Adam  fell 
from  his  place  of  pleasure  ;  in  the  world,  Judas  fell 
from  the  school  of  our  Saviour. 

HUGO. 

I  eat  secure,  I  drink  secure,  I  sleep  secure,  even  as 
though  I  had  past  the  day  of  death,  avoided  the  day  of 
judgment,  and  escaped  the  torments  of  hell-fire  ;  I  play 
and  laugh,  as  though  I  were  already  triumphing  in  the 
kingdom  of  Heaven. 


EPIG.  7. 

Get  up,  my  soul ;  redeem  thy  slavish  eyes 
From  drowsy  bondage  :  O  beware,  be  wise : 
Thy  foes  before  thee ;  thou  must  fight,  or  fly  : 
Life  lies  most  open  in  a  closed  eye. 


EMBLEMS 


Emblem   8 


Et  nsa  necat. 
LUKE    VI.    25. 

Woe  unto  you  that  laugh  now  !  for  ye  shall  mourn 
and  weep. 


world's  a  popular  disease,  that  reigns 
•*    Within  the  froward  heart  and  frantic  brains 
Of  poor  distemper'd  mortals,  oft  arising 
From  ill-digestion,  th'  unequal  poising 
Of  ill-weigh'd  elements,  whose  light  directs 
Malignant  humours  to  malign  effects  : 
One  raves  and  labours  with  a  boiling  liver  ; 
Rends  hair  by  handfuls,  cursing  Cupid's  quiver  ; 


26  EMBLEMS. 


Another,  with  a  bloody  flux  of  oaths, 
Vows  deep  revenge  :  one  doats  ;  the  other  loaths  : 
One  frisks  and  sings,  and  cries,  A  flagon  more 
To  drench  dry  cares,  and  make  the  welkin  roar ; 
Another  droops  :  the  sunshine  makes  him  sad ; 
Heav'n   cannot   please :  one's    mopp'd :    the    otl 

mad  : 

One  hugs  his  gold  ;  another  lets  it  fly  : 
He  knowing  not  from  whom ;  nor  t'other  why. 
One  spends  his  day  in  plots,  his  night  in  play; 
Another  sleeps  and  slugs  both  night  and  day: 
One  laughs  at  this  thing,  t'other  cries  for  that. 
Wonder  of  wonders  !     What  we  ought  t'evite 
As  our  disease,  we  hug  as  our  delight  : 
'Tis  held  a  symptom  of  approaching  danger, 
When  disacquainted  sense  becomes  a  stranger, 
And  takes  no  knowledge  of  an  old  disease ; 
But  when  a  noisome  grief  begins  to  please 
Xhe  unresisting  sense,  it  is  a  fear 
That  death  has  parly'd,  and  compounded  there  : 
As  when  the  dreadful  Thund'rer's  awful  hand 
Pours  forth  a  vial  on  the  infected  land, 
At  first  the  affright'ned  mortals  quake  and  fear 
And  ev'ry  noise  is  thought  the  Thunderer : 
But  when  the  frequent  soul-departing  bell 
Has  pav'd  their  ears  with  her  familiar  knell, 
It  is  reputed  but  a  nine-days  winder, 
They  neither  fear  the  Thunderer  nor  his  thunder. 
So  when  the  world  (a  worse  disease)  began 
To  smart  for  sin,  poor  new-created  man 
Could  seek  for  shelter,  and  his  gen'rous  son 
Knew  by  his  wages  what  his  hands  had  done  : 
But  bold-faced  mortals  in  our  blushless  times 
Can  sing  and  smile,  and  make  a  sport  of  crimes, 
Transgress  of  custom,  and  rebel  in  ease, 
We  false-joy'd  fools  can  triumph  in  disease, 


EMBLEMS. 


27 


And  (as  the  careless  pilgrim,  being  bit 

By  the  tarantula,  begins  a  fit 

Of  life-concluding  laughter)  waste  our  breath 

In  lavish  pleasure,  till  we  laugh  to  death. 


HUGO  de  Anima. 

What  profit  is  there  in  vain  glory,  momentary  mirth, 
the  world's  power,  the  flesh's  pleasure,  full  riches,  noble 
descent,  and  great  desires  ?  Where  is  their  laughter  ? 
Where  is  their  mirth  ?  Where  their  insolence  ?  their 
arrogance  ?  From  how  much  joy  to  how  much  sadness  ! 
After  how  much  mirth,  how  much  misery  !  From  how 
great  glory  are  they  fallen,  to  how  great  torment ! 
What  hath  fallen  to  them,  may  befall  thee,  because  thou 
art  a  man  :  Thou  art  of  earth  ;  thou  livest  of  earth  ; 
thou  shalt  return  to  earth.  Death  expecteth  thee  every- 
where !  Be  wise,  therefore,  and  expect  death  every- 
where. 


EPIG.  8. 

What  ails  the  fool  to  laugh  ?     Does  something  please 
His  vain  conceit  ?     Or  is  't  a  mere  disease  ? 
Fool,  giggle  on,  and  waste  thy  wanton  breath  ; 
Thy  morning  laughter  breeds  an  ev'ning  death. 


a8  EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  9 


Frustra  quis  stabilem  figat  in  orbe  gradum. 
I  JOHN    II.    17. 

The  world  passeth  away^  and  all  the  lusts  thereof. 
RAW   near,  brave    sparks,  whose   spirits  scorn  to 


Your  hollow  tapers  but  at  honour's  flame  ; 
You,  whose  heroic  actions  take  delight 

To  varnish  over  a  new  painted  name  ; 
Whose  high-bred  thoughts  disdain  to  take  their  flight, 

But  on  th'  Icarian  wings  of  babbling  fame; 

Behold,  how  tottering  are  your  high-built  stones 
Of  earth,  whereon  you  trust  the  ground-work  of  your 
glories. 


BOOK  i.  EMBLEMS.  29 

And  you,  more  brain-sick  lovers,  that  can  prize 

A  wanton  smile  before  eternal  joys  ; 
That  know  no  heaven  but  in  your  mistress'  eyes  ; 

That  feel  no  pleasure  but  what  sense  enjoys  : 
That  can,  like  crown-distemper'd  fools  despise 

True  riches,  and  like  babies  whine  for  toys  : 

Think  ye  the  pageants  of  your  hopes  are  able 
To  stand  secure  on  earth,  when  earth  itself  s  unstable  ? 

Come,  dunghill  worldlings,  you  that  root  like  swine, 

And  cast  up  golden  tienches  where  you  come  : 
Whose  only  pleasure  is  to  undermine, 

And  view  the  secrets  of  your  mother's  womb  : 
Come,  bring  your  saint  pouchM  in  his  leathern  shrine 

And  summon  all  your  griping  angels  home ; 

Behold  the  world,  the  bank  of  all  your  store, 
The  world  ye  so  admire,  the  world  ye  so  adore. 

A  feeble  world,  whose  hot-mouth' d  pleasures  tire 

Before  the  race  ;  before  the  start,  retreat ; 
A  faithless  world,  whose  false  delights  expire 

Before  the  term  of  half  their  promis'd  date  : 
A  fickle  world,  not  worth  the  least  desire, 

Where  every  chance  proclaims  a  change  of  state  : 

A  feeble,  faithless,  fickle  world  wherein 
Each  motion  proves  a  vice,  and  ev'ry  act  a  sin. 

The  beauty,  that  of  late  was  in  her  flower, 

Is  now  a  ruin,  not  to  raise  a  lust  : 
He  that  was  lately  drench'd  in  Danae's  show'i, 

Is  master  now  of  neither  good  nor  trust  ; 
Whose  honour  late  was  mann'd  with  princely  pow'r, 

His  glory  now  lies  buried  in  the  dust; 

O  who  would  trust  this  world  or  prize  what's  in  it, 
That  gives    and  takes,  and   chops   and    changes,   ev'ry 
minute  ? 


30  EMBLEMS.  BOOK  i. 


Nor  length  of  days,  nor  solid  strength  of  brain, 
Can  find  a  place  wherein  to  rest  secure  : 

The  world  is  various,  and  the  earth  is  vain ; 

There's  nothing  certain  here,  there's  nothing  sure  : 

We  trudge,  we  travel,  but  from  pain  to  pain, 
And  what's  our  only  griefs,  our  only  cure  : 
The  world's  a  torment:  he  that  would  endeavour 

To  find  the  way  to  rest,  must  seek  the  way  to  leave  her. 


S.  GREG,  in  Horn. 

Behold,  the  world  is  withered  in  itself,  yet  flourisheth 
in  our  hearts,  every-where  death,  every- where  grief, 
every-where  desolation  :  On  every  side  we  are  smitten  ; 
on  every  side  filled  with  bitterness,  and  yet,  with  the 
blind  mind  of  carnal  desire,  we  love  her  bitterness  :  It 
flieth  and  we  follow  it ;  it  falleth,  yet  we  stick  to  it : 
And  because  we  cannot  enjoy  it  falling,  we  fall  with  it, 
and  enjoy  it  fallen. 


EPIG.  9. 

If  Fortune  fail,  or  envious  Time  but  spurn, 
The  world  turns  round,  and  with  the  world  we  turn : 
When  Fortune  sees,  and  lynx-ey'd  Time  is  blind, 
I'll  trust  thy  joys,  O  world  ;  till  then,  the  wind. 


BOOK    I. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem   10. 


Utriusque  crepundia  merces. 
JOHN  VIII.   44. 

ITe  are  of  your  father  the  devil,  and  the  lusts  of  your  father 
ye  will  do. 

LJERE'S   your   right   ground  :    wag   gently  o'er   this 
black  : 

'Tis  a  short  cast ;  y'  are  quickly  at  the  jack. 
Rub,  rub  an  inch  or  two  ;  two  crowns  to  one 

On  this  bowl's  side  ;  blow  wind,  'tis  fairly  thrown  : 
The  next  bowl's  worse  that  comes  ;  come  bowl  away : 

Mammon,  you  know  the  ground,  untutor'd  play : 


32  EMBLEMS. 


Your  last  was  gone,  a  yard  of  strength  well  spar'd, 

Had  touched  the  block  ;  your  hand  is  still  too  hard. 
Brave  pastime,  readers,  to  consume  that  day, 

Which,  without  pastime,  flies  too  swift  away ! 
See  how  they  labour ;  as  if  day  and  night 

Were  both  too  short  to  serve  their  loose  delight : 
See  how  their  curved  bodies  wreath  and  screw 

Such  antic  shapes  as  Proteus  never  knew  : 
One  raps  an  oath,  another  deals  a  curse ; 

He  never  better  bowl'd  ;  this  never  worse  : 
One  rubs  his  itchless  elbow,  shrugs  and  laughs, 

The  other  bends  his  beetle  brows,  and  chafes  : 
Sometimes  they  whoop,  sometimes  their  Stygian  cries 

Send  their  black  Santo's  to  the  blushing  skies  : 
Thus  mingling  humours  in  a  mad  confusion, 

They  make  bad  premises,  and  worse  conclusion  : 
But  where's  a  palm  that  fortune's  hand  allows 

To  bless  the  victor's  honourable  brows  ? 
Come,  reader,  come  ;  I'll  light  thine  eye  the  way 

To  view  the  prize,  the  while  the  gamesters  play  : 
Close  by  the  jack,  behold,  jill  Fortune  stands 

To  wave  the  game  ;  see  in  her  partial  hands 
The  glorious  garland's  held  in  open  show, 

To  cheer  the  lads,  and  crown  the  conqu'ror's  brow. 
The  world's  the  jack  ;  the  gamesters  that  contend, 

Are  Cupid,  Mammon  :  that  judicious  fiend, 
That  gives  the  ground,  is  Satan :  and  the  bowls 

Are  sinful  thoughts  ;  the  prize,  a  crown  for  fools. 
Who  breathes  that  bowls  not  ?  What  bold  tongue  can  say 

Without  a  blush,  he  has  not  bowl'd  to-day  ? 
It  is  the  trade  of  man,  and  ev'ry  sinner 

Has  play'd  his  rubbers  :  every  soul's  a  winner. 
The  vulgar  proverb's  crost,  he  hardly  can 

Be  a  good  bowler  and  an  honest  man. 
Good  GOD  !  turn  thou  my  Brazil  thoughts  anew  ; 
New-sole  my  bowls,  and  make  their  bias  true, 


• 
BOOK  I. 

EMBLEMS. 

33 

I'll  cease  to 
Nor  wish  to 

*ame,  till  fairer  ground  be  giv'n  ; 
win,  until  the  mark  be  Heav'n. 

S.  BERNARD,  Lib.  de  Consid. 

O  you  sons  of  Adam,  you  covetous  generations,  what 
have  ye  to  do  with  earthly  riches,  which  are  neither  true, 
nor  yours  ;  gold  and  silver  are  real  earth,  red  and  white, 
which  only  the  error  of  man  makes,  or  rather  reputes, 
precious  :  In  short,  if  they  be  yours,  carry  them  with 
rou. 

S.  HIERON.  in  Ep. 

O  lust,  thou  infernal  fire,  whose  fuel  is  gluttony  ; 
whose  flame  is  pride,  whose  sparkles  are  wanton  words  ; 
whose  smoke  is  infamy  j  whose  ashes  are  uncleanness  ; 
whose  end  is  hell. 


EPIG.  10. 

Mammon,  well  followed  ?  Cupid,  bravely  led  ; 
Both  touchers  ;  equal  fortune  makes  a  dead  ; 
No  reed  can  measure  where  the  conquest  lies  ; 
Take  my  advice  ;  compound,  and  share  the  prize. 


34- 


EMBLEMS. 


t 

BOOK  I. 


Emblem    i  i 


Mundus  in  exilium  ruit. 


EPHES.  II.   2. 


7c  walked  according  to  the  course  of  this  world,  according 
to  the  prince  of  the  air. 

Q  WHITHER  will  this  mad-brain  world  at  last 

Be  driven  ?  Where  will  her  restless  wheels  arrive  r 
Why  hurries  on  her  illTinatch'd  pair  so  fast  ? 

O  whither  means  her  furious  groom  to  drive  ? 
What,  will  her  rambling  fits  be  never  past  ? 
For  ever  ranging  ?   Never  once  retrieve  ? 

Will  earth's  perpetual  progress  ne'er  expire  ? 
Her  team  continuing  in  their  fresh  career : 
And  yet  they  never  rest,  ~nd  yet  they  never  tire. 


BOOK  i.  EMBLEMS. 


Sol's  hot-mouth'd  steeds,  whose  nostrils  vomit  flame, 

And  brazen  lungs  belch  forth  quotidian  fire, 
Their  twelve  hours'  task  perform'd,  grow  stiff  and  lame, 

And  their  immortal  spirits  faint  and  tire  : 
At  th'  azure  mountain's  foot  their  labours  claim 
The  privilege  of  rest,  where  they  retire 

To  quench  their  burning  fetlocks,  and  go  steep 
Their  flaming  nostrils  in  the  western  deep, 
And  'fresh  their  tired  souls  with  strength-restoring  sleep. 

But  these  prodigious  hackneys,  basely  got 

'Twixt  men  and  devils,  made  for  race  or  flight. 
Can  drag  the  idle  world,  expecting  not 

The  bed  of  rest,  but  travel  with  delight ; 
Who  never  weighing  way  nor  weather,  trot 

Through  dust  and  dirt,  and  droil  both  night  and  day ; 
Thus  droil  these  fiends  .incarnate,  whose  free  pains 
Are  fed  with  dropsies  and  veneral  blains. 
No  need  to  use  the  whip ;  but  strength  to  rule  the  reins. 

Poor  captive  world  ;  How  has  thy  lightness  giv'n 

A  just  occasion  to  thy  foes  illusion ! 
O,  how  art  thou  betrayed,  thus  fairly  driv'n    , 
In  seeming  triumph  to  thy  own  confusion  ! 
How  is  thy  empty  universe  bereav'n 

Of  all  true  joys,  by  one  false  joy's  delusion  ! 
So  I  have  seen  an  unblown  virgin  fed 
With  sugar'd  words  so  full,  that  she  is  led 
A  fair  attended  bride  to  a  false  bankrupt's  bed. 

Pull,  gracious  LORD  !     Let  not  thine  arm  forsake 
The  world,  impounded  in  her  own  devices  : 

Think  of  that  pleasure  that  thou  once  didst  take 
Amongst  the  lilies  and  sweet  beds  of  spices. 

Hale  strongly,  thou  whose  hand  has  pow'r  to  slack 
The  swift-foot  fury  of  ten  thousand  vices  : 


3  6  EMBLEMS. 


Let  not  thy  dust-devouring  dragon  boast, 
His  craft  has  won  what  Judah's  lion  lost ; 
Remember  what  is  crav'd  ;  recount  the  price  it  cost. 


ISIDOR.  Lib.  i.  de  Summo  Bono. 

By  how  much  the  nearer  Satan  perceiveth  the  world 
to  an  end,  by  so  much  the  more  fiercely  he  troubleth  it 
with  persecution  ;  that,  knowing  himself  is  to  be  damned, 
he  may  get  company  in  his  damnation. 

CYPRIAN,  in  Ep. 

Broad  and  spacious  is  the  road  to  infernal  life ;  there 
are  enticements  and  death-bringing  pleasures.  There 
the  devil  flattereth,  that  he  may  deceive  ;  smileth,  that  he 
may  endamage  ;  allureth,  that  he  may  destroy. 


EPIG.  ii. 

Nay,  soft  and  fair,  good  world  ;  post  not  too  fast ; 
Thy  journey's  end  requires  not  half  this  haste. 
Unless  that  arm  thou  so  disdain'st,  reprives  thee, 
Alas !  thou  needs  must  go,  the  devil  drives  thee. 


EMBLEMS. 


37 


Emblem   1 2 


Inopem  me  copia  fecit. 
ISAIAH  LXVI.    II. 

Te  may  suck,  but    not  be  satisfied  with  the  breast  of  her 
consolation. 

\ T  rHAT,  never  fill'd  ?     Be  thy  lips  screw'd  so  fast 

To  th'  earth's  full  breast  ?    for  shame,  for  shame 

unseize  thee ; 

Thou  takest  a  surfeit  where  thou  should'st  but  taste, 
And  mak'st  too  much  not  half  enough  to  please  thee. 

Ah,  fool,  forbear ;  thou  swallowest  at  one  breath 
Both  food  and  poison  down  !  thou  draw'st  both  milk  and 
death. 


EMBLEMS. 


The  ub'rous  breasts,  when-fairly  drawn,  repast 
The  thriving  infant  with  their  milky  flood, 

But  being  overstrain'd,  return  at  last 

Unwholesome  gulps  composed  of  wind  and  blood. 
A  mod'rate  use  does  both  repast  and  please  ; 

Who  strains  beyond  a  mean,  draws  in  and  gulps  disease. 

But,  O  that  mean,  whose  good  the  least  abuse 
Makes  bad,  is  too,  too  hard  to  be  directed  ; 
Can  thorns  bring  grapes,  or  crabs  a  pleasing  juice  ? 

There's    nothing  wholesome    where    the    whole's   in- 

fected. 

Unseize  thy  lips  :  earth's  milk  's  a  ripened  core, 
That  drops  from  her  disease,  that  matters  from  her  sore. 

Think'st  thou  that  paunch,  that  burlies  out  thy  coat, 
Is  thriving  fat  j  or  flesh  that  seems  so  brawny  ? 

Thy  paunch  is  dropsied  and  thy  cheeks  are  bloat  ? 
Thy  lips  are  white,  and  thy  complexion  tawny  ; 
Thy  skin's  a  bladder  blown  with  wat'ry  tumours  ; 

Thy  flesh  a  trembling  bog,  a  quagmire  full  of  humours. 

And  thou,  whose  thriveless  hands  are  ever  straining 
Earth's  fluent  breasts  into  an  empty  sieve, 

That  always  hast,  yet  always  art  complaining, 

And  whin'st  for  more  than  earth  hath  pow'r  to  give  ; 
Whose  treasure  flows  and  flees  away  as  fast  ; 

That  ever  hast,  and  hast,  yet  hast  not  what  thou  hast. 

Go  choose  a  substance,  fool,  that  will  remain 
Within  the  limits  of  thy  leaking  measure  j 

Or  else  go  seek  an  urn  that  will  retain 
The  liquid  body  of  thy  slipp'ry  treasure  ; 
Alas  !   how  poorly  are  thy  labours  crown'd  ! 

Thy  liquor's  never  sweet,  nor  yet  thy  vessel  sound. 

What  less  than  fool  is  man  to  prog  and  plot, 

And  lavish  out  the  cream  of  all  his  care, 
To  gain  poor  seeming  goods  ;  which,  being  got, 


EMBLEMS.  39 


Make  firm  possessions  but  a  thoroughfare  ; 
Or,  if  they  stay,  they  furrow  thoughts  the  deeper; 
And  being  kept  with  care,  they  lose  their  careful  keeper. 


S.  GREG.  Horn.  iii.  secund.  Parte  Ezech. 

If  we  give  more  to  the  flesh  than  we  ought,  we 
nourish  an  enemy  ;  if  we  give  not  to  her  necessity  what 
we  ought,  we  destroy  a  citizen  :  the  flesh  is  to  be  satisfied 
so  far  as  suffices  to  our  good  :  whosoever  alloweth  so 
much  to  her  as  to  make  her  proud,  knoweth  not  how  to 
be  satisfied  :  to  be  satisfied  is  a  great  art  ;  lest,  by  the 
satiety  of  the  flesh,  we  break  forth  into  the  iniquity  of 
her  folly. 

HUGO  de  Anima. 

The  heart  is  a  small  thing,  but  desireth  great  matters. 
It  is  not  sufficient  for  a  kite's  dinner,  yet  the  whole 
world  is  not  sufficient  for  it. 


EPIG.  12. 

What  makes  thee,  fool,  so  fat  ?     Fool,  thee  so  bare  ? 
Ye  suck  the  self-same  milk,  the  self-same  air ; 
No  mean  betwixt  all  paunch,  and  skin  and  bone  ? 
The  mean's  a  virtue,  and  the  world  has  none. 


4o 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK  L, 


Emblem 


Da  mihi  fraena  timorj  Da  mihi  calcar  amor. 
JOHN  III.    19. 

Men  love  darkness  rather  than   light,  because  their  deeds 
are  evil. 

T    ORD,  when  we  leave  the  world  and  come  to  thee, 

'*-'  How  dull,  how  slug  are  we  ! 

How  backward  !     How  prepost'rous  is  the  motion 

Of  our  ungain  devotion  ! 
Our  thoughts  are  millstones,  and  our  souls  are  lead, 

And  our  desires  are  dead  : 
Our  vows  are  fairly  promis'd,  faintly  paid ; 

Or  broken,  or  not  made  : 


BOOK  i.  EMBLEMS.  41 

Our  better  work  (if  any  good)  attends 

Upon  our  private  ends  : 
In  whose  performance  one  poor  worldly  scoff 

Foils  us,  or  beats  us  off. 
If  thy  sharp  scourge  find  out  some  secret  fault, 

We  grumble  or  revolt ; 
And  if  thy  gentle  hand  forbear,  we  stray, 

Or  idly  lose  the  way. 
Is  the  road  fair,  we  loiter  ;  clogg'd  with  mire 

We  stick,  or  else  retire  : 
A  lamb  appears  a  lion  ;  and  we  fear, 

Each  bush  we  see  's  a  bear. 
When  our  dull  souls  direct  our  thoughts  to  thee, 

As  slow  as  snails  are  we  : 
But  at  the  earth  we  dart  our  wing'd  desire  j 

We  burn,  we  burn  like  fire. 
Like  as  the  am'rous  needle  joys  to  bend 

To  her  magnetic  friend ; 
Or  as  the  greedy  lover's  eye-balls  fly 

At  his  fair  mistress'  eye  : 
So,  so  we  cling  to  earth  ;  we  fly  and  puff, 

Yet  fly  not  fast  enough. 
If  pleasure  beckon  with  her  balmy  hand, 

Her  beck  's  a  strong  command  : 
If  honour  calls  us  from  her  courtly  breath, 

An  hour's  delay  is  death : 
If  profit's  golden  finger'd  charm  enveigles, 

We  clip  more  swift  than  eagles  : 
Let  Auster  weep,  or  blust'ring  Boreas  roar 

Till  eyes  or  lungs  be  sore  : 
Let  Neptune  swell,  until  his  dropsy  sides 

Burst  into  broken  tides  : 
Nor  threat'ning  rocks,  nor  winds,  nor  waves,  nor  fire, 

Can  curb  our  fierce  desire  : 
Nor  fire,  nor  rocks,  can  stop  our  furious  minds, 

Nor  waves,  nor  winds  : 


42  EMBLEMS. 


How  fast  and  fearless  do  our  footsteps  flee  ! 
The  lightfoot  roebuck  's  not  so  swift  as  we. 


S.  AUGUST,  sup.  Psal.  Ixiv. 

Two  several  lovers  built  two  several  cities ;  the  love 
of  God  buildeth  a  Jerusalem;  the  love  of  the  world 
buildeth  a  Babylon  :  Let  every  one  inquire  of  himself 
what  he  loveth,  and  he  shall  resolve  himself,  of  wh^ice 
he  is  a  citizen. 

S.  AUGUST.  Lib.  iii.  Confess. 

All  things  are  driven  by  their  own  weight,  and  tend  to 
their  own  centre  ;  my  weight  is  my  love  :  by  that  I  am 
driven  whithersoever  I  am  driven. 

Ibidem. 

Lord,  he  loveth  thee  the  less,  that  loveth  anything 
with  thee,  which  he  loveth  not  for  thee. 


EPIG.  13. 

LORD,  scourge  my  ass,  if  she  should  make  no  haste, 

And  curb  my  stag,  if  he  should  fly  too  fast : 

If  he  be  over  swift,  or  she  prove  idle, 

Let  love  impose  a  spur  ;  fear,  him  a  bridle. 


EMBLEMS. 


43 


Emblem   14. 


Phosphere  redde  diem. 
PSALM  XIII.   3. 

Lighten  mine  eyes,  O  Lord,  lest  I  sleep  the  sleep  of  death. 

"VXTlLL/T  ne'er  be    morning  ?       Will  that    promis'ci 
VV       light 

Ne'er  break,  and  clear  those  clouds  of  night  ? 
Sweet  Phosphor,  bring  the  day, 

Whose  conqu'ring  ray 
May  chase  these  fogs  ;  sweet  Phosphor,  bring  the  day. 

How  long  !    How  long  shall  these  benighted  eyes 
Languish  in  shades,  like  feeble  flies 


44  EMBLEMS.  KOOK  i. 

Expecting  spring?     How  long  shall  darkness  soil 

The  face  of  earth,  and  thus  beguile 
Our  souls  of  sprightful  action  ?     When,  when  will  day 

Begin  to  dawn,  whose  new-born  ray 
May  gild  the  weathercocks  of  our  devotion, 
And  give  our  unsoul'd  souls  new  motion  ? 
Sweet  Phosphor,  bring  the  day  ; 

The  light  will  fray 
These  horrid  mists  ;  sweet  Phosphor,  bring  the  day. 

Let  those  have  night,  that  slily  love  t'  immure 

Their  cloister'd  crimes,  and  sin  secure  ; 
Let  those  have  night,  that  blush  to  let  men  know 

The  baseness  they  ne'er  blush  to  do  ; 
Let  those  have  night,  that  love  to  have  a  nap, 

And  loll  in  ignorance's  lap  ; 
Let  those,  whose  eyes,  like  owls,  abhor  the  light, 

Let  those  have  night,  that  love  the  night  * 
Sweet  Phosphor,  bring  the  day ; 

How  sad  delay 
Afflicts  dull  hopes  !   sweet  Phosphor,  bring  the  day. 

Alas  !  my  light  in  vain  expecting  eyes 

Can  find  no  objects,  but  what  rise 
From  this  poor  mortal  blaze,  a  dying  spark 

Of  Vulcan's  forge,  whose  flames  are  dark, 
A  dangerous,  dull  blue-burning  light, 

As  melancholy  as  the  night : 
Here's  all  the  suns  that  glister  in  the  sphere 

Of  earth  :  Ah  me  !  what  comfort's  here  ! 
Sweet  Phosphor,  bring  the  day  ; 

Haste,  haste  away 
Heav'n's  loit'ring  lamp  ;  sweet  Phosphor,  bring  the  day. 

Blow,  Ignorance  :  O  thou,  whose  idle  knee 
Rocks  earth  into  a  lethargy, 


BOOK  i.  EMBLEMS.  45 

And  with  thy  sooty  fingers  has  benight 

The  world's  fair  cheeks,  blow,  blow  thy  spite  ; 
Since  thou  hast  puft  our  greater  taper  ;  do 

Puff  on,  and  out  the  lesser  too  : 
If  e'er  that  breath-exiled  flame  return, 
Thou  hast  not  blown,  as  it  will  burn  : 
Sweet  Phosphor,  bring  the  day  : 

Light  will  repay 
The  wrongs  of  night ;  sweet  Phosphor,  bring  the  day. 


S.  AUGUST,  in  Joh.  Ser.  xix. 

God  is  all  to  thee  :  if  thou  be  hungry,  he  is  bread  ; 
if  thirsty,  he  is  water;  if  darkness,  he  is  light ;  if  naked, 
he  is  a  robe  of  immortality. 

ALANUS  de  Conq.  Nat. 

God  is  a  light  that  never  darkened  ;  an  unwearied 
life  that  cannot  die  ;  a  fountain  always  flowing  ;  a  garden 
of  life  ;  a  seminary  of  wisdom  ;  a  radical  beginning  of  all 
goodness. 

EPIG.  14. 

My  soul,  if  ignorance  puff  out  this  light, 
She  '11  do  a  favour  that  intends  a  spite ; 
It  seems  dark  abroad  ;  but  take  this  light  away, 
Thy  windows  will  discover  break  of  day. 


46 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem 


Debilitate  fides  Terras :   Astrasa  reliquit 
REV.  XII.    12. 

The  devil  is  come  unto  you,  having  great  wrath,  because  he 
knoweth  that  he  hath  but  a  short  time. 

T    ORD,  canst  thou  see  and  suffer  ?     Is  thy  hand 

*-«     Still   bound   to    th'    peace?       Shall    earth's    black 

monarch  take 
A  full  posssession  of  thy  wasted  land  ? 

O,  will  thy  slumb'ring  vengeance  never  wake 

Till  full-ag'd  law-resisting  custom  shake 
The  pillars  of  thy  right  by  false  command  ? 


EMBLEMS.  47 


Unlock  thy  clouds,  great  Thund'rer,  and  come  down  ; 
Behold  whose  temples  wear  thy  sacred  crown  ; 
Redress,  redress  our  wrongs  ;  revenge,  revenge  thy  own. 

See  how  the  bold  usurper  mounts  the  seat 

Of  royal  majesty  ;  how  overstrowing 
Perils  with  pleasure,  pointing  ev'ry  threat 

With  bugbear  death,  by  torments  over-awing 

Thy  frighted  subjects  ;  or  by  favours  drawing 
Their  tempted  hearts  to  his  unjust  retreat ; 

LORD,  canst  thou  be  so  mild,  and  he  so  bold  ? 

Or  can  thy  flocks  be  thriving,  when  the  fold 
Is  governed  by  the  fox  ?  LORD,  canst  thou  see  and  hold  ? 

That  swift-wing'd  advocate,  that  did  commence 
Our  welcome  suits  before  the  King  of  kings, 

That  sweet  ambassador,  that  hurries  hence 

What  airs  th'  harmonious  soul  or  sighs  or  sings, 
See  how  she  flutters  with  her  idle  wings  ; 

Her  wings  are  dipt,  and  eyes  put  out  by  sense  ; 

Sense-conquering  faith  is  now  grown  blind  and  cold, 
And  basely  craven'd,  that  in  times  of  old 

Did  conquer  Heav'n  itself,  do  what  th'  Almighty  could. 

Behold,  how  double  fraud  does  scourge  and  tear 

Astraea's  wounded  sides,  plough'd  up,  and  rent 
With  knotted  cords,  whose  fury  has  no  ear ; 

See  how  she  stands  a  pris'ner  to  be  sent 

A  slave  into  eternal  banishment, 
I  know  not  whither,  O,  I  know  not  where  : 

Her  patent  must  be  cancel'd  in  disgrace  ; 

And  sweet-lip'd  fraud,  with  her  divided  face, 
Must  act  Astrasa's  part,  must  take  Astrsea's  place. 

Faith's  pinion's  dipt  !   and  fair  Astraea  gone  ! 

Quick-seeing  Faith  now  blind,  and  justice  see  : 
Has  Justice  now  found  wings  ?     And  has  Faith  none  ? 


4-8  »   EMBLEMS. 


What  do  we  here  ?  Who  would  not  wish  to  be 

Dissolved  from  earth,  and  with  Astraea  flee 
From  this  blind  dungeon  to  that  sun-bright  throne  ? 

LORD,  is  thy  sceptre  lost,  or  laid  aside  ? 

Is  hell  broke  loose,  and  all  her  fiends  unty'd  ? 
LORD,  rise,  and  rouse,  and  rule,  and  crush  their  furious 
pride. 


PETER  RAV.  in  Matth. 

The  devil  is  the  author  of  evil,  the  fountain  of  wicked- 
ness, the  adversary  of  the  truth,  the  corrupter  of  the 
world,  man's  perpetual  enemy ;  he  planteth  snares, 
diggeth  ditches,  spurreth  bodies,  he  goadeth  souls,  he 
suggesteth  thoughts,  belcheth  anger,  exposeth  virtues 
to  hatred,  maketh  vices  beloved,  soweth  error,  nourisheth 
contention,  disturbeth  peace,  and  scattereth  affliction. 

MACAR. 

Let  us  suffer  with  those  that  suffer,  and  be  crucified 
with  those  that  are  crucified,  that  we  may  be  glorified 
with  those  that  are  glorified. 

SAVANAR. 

If  there  be  no  enemy,  no  fight ;  if  no  fight,  no  victory  ; 
if  no  victory,  no  crown. 


EPIC.  15. 

My  soul,  sit  thou  a  patient  looker  on  ; 

Judge  not  the  play  before  the  play  is  done  : 

Her  plot  has  many  changes  :  ev'ry  day 

Speaks  a  new  scene  :  the  last  act  crowns  the  play. 


EMBLEMS. 


49 


BOOK       THE       SECOND, 


Emblem    i . 


Sic  lumine  lumen  ademptum. 
ISAIAH    L.    II. 

Tou  that  walk   in  the  the  light  of  your  own  fire,  and  in 
sparks  that  ye  have  kindled,  ye  shall  lie  down  in  sorrow. 

DO,  silly  Cupid,  snuff  and  trim 
Thy  false,  thy  feeble  light, 

And  make  her  self-consuming  flames  more  bright ; 
Methinks  she  burns  too  dim. 

E 


So  EMBLEMS.  HOOK  u. 


Is  this  that  sprightly  fire, 
Whose  more  than  sacred  beams  inspire 
The  ravishM  hearts  of  men,  and  so  inflame  desire  ? 

See,  boy,  how  thy  unthrifty  blaze 
Consumes,  how  fast  she  wanes ; 
She  spends  herself,  and  her,  whose  wealth  maintains 
Her  weak,  her  idle  rays. 
Cannot  thy  lustful  blast, 
Which  gave  it  lustre,  make  it  last  ? 

What  heart  can  long  be  pleas'd,  where  pleasure  spends 
so  fast  ? 

Go,  wanton,  place  thy  pale-fac'd  light 

Where  never -breaking  day 
Intends  to  visit  mortals,  or  display 
Thy  sullen  shades  of  night : 
Thy  torch  will  burn  more  clear 
In  night's  un-Titan'd  hemisphere  ; 
Heaven's  scornful  flames  and  thine  can  never  co-appear. 

In  vain  thy  busy  hands  address 

Their  labour  to  display 
Thy  easy  blaze  within  the  verge  of  day  ; 
The  greater  drowns  the  less ! 
If  Heav'n's  bright  glory  shine, 
Thy  glimmering  sparks  must  needs  resign  ; 
PufF  out    Heav'n's  glory,  then,  or  Heaven  will   work 
out  thine. 

Go,  Cupid's  rammish  pandar,  go, 
Whose  dull,  whose  low  desire 
Can  find  sufficient  warmth  from  nature's  fire, 
Spend  borrow'd  breath,  and  blow, 
Blow  wind  made  strong  with  spite  ; 
When  thou  hast  pufPd  the  greater  light 
Thy  lesser  spark  may  shine,  and  warm  the  new-made 
night. 


EMBLEMS.  51 


Deluded  mortals,  tell  me,  when 
Your  daring  breath  has  blown 
Heav'n's  taper  out,  and  you  have  spent  your  own, 
What  fire  shall  warm  you  then  ? 
Ah  fools  !  perpetual  night 
Shall  haunt  your  souls  with  Stygian  fright, 
Where  they  shall  boil  in  flames,  but  flames   shall  bring 
no  light. 


S.  AUGUST. 

The  sufficiency  of  my  merit,  is  to  know  that  my 
merit  is  not  sufficient. 

S.  GREG.  Mor.  xxv. 

By  how  much  the  less  man  seeth  himself,  by  so 
much  the  less  he  displeaseth  himself;  and  by  how 
much  the  more  he  seeth  the  light  of  grace,  by  so  much 
the  more  he  disdaineth  the  light  of  nature. 

S.  GREG.  Mor. 

The  light  of  the  understanding,  humility  kindleth, 
and  pride  covereth. 


EPIG.  i. 

Thou  blow'st  Heav'n's  fire,  the  whilst  thou  go'st  about, 
Rebellious  fool,  in  vain,  to  blow  it  out ; 
Thy  folly  adds  confusion  to  thy  death  ; 
Heav'n's     fire    confounds,    when     fannM   with     folly's 
breath. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem   2. 


Donee  totum  expleat  o  bem. 
ECCLES.  IV.   8. 

There  is  no  end  of  all  his  labour ;  neither  is  his  eye  satisfied 
with  riches. 

f\  HOW  our  widen'd  arms  can  over-stretch 

^•^  Their  own  dimensions  !   How  our  hands  can  reach 

Beyond  their  distance  !  How  our  yielding  breast 

Can  shrink  to  be  more  full  and  full  possest 

Of  this  inferior  orb!  How  earth  refm'd 

Can  cling  to  sordid  earth  !   How  kind  to  kind  ! 

We  gape,  we  grasp,  we  gripe,  add  store  to  store  ; 

Enough  requires  too  much  ;  too  much  craves  more. 


BOOK  ii.  EMBLEMS.  53 

We  charge  our  souls  so  sore  beyond  their  stint, 

That  we  recoil  or  burst   :  the  busy  mint 

Of  our  laborious  thoughts  is  ever  going, 

And  coining  new  desires  ;  desires  not  knowing 

Where  next  to  pitch  ;  but,  like  the  boundless  ocean, 

Gain,  and  gain  ground,  and  grow  more  strong  by  motion. 

The  pale-face'd  lady  of  the  black-ey'd  night 

First  tips  her  horned  brows  with  easy  light, 

Whose  curious  train  of  spangled  nymphs  attire 

Her  next  night's  glory  with  increasing  fire ; 

Each  evening  adds  more  lustre,  and  adorns 

The  growing  beauty  of  her  grasping  horns  : 

She  sucks  and  draws  her  brother's  golden  store, 

Until  her  glutted  orb  can  suck  no  more. 

E'en  so  the  vulture  of  insatiate  minds 

Still  wants,  and  wanting  seeks,  and  seeking  finds 

New  fuel  to  increase  her  rav'nous  fire. 

The  grave  is  sooner  cloy'd  than  men's  desire  : 

We  cross  the  seas,  and  midst  her  waves  we  burn, 

Transporting  lives,  perchance  that  ne'er  return  ; 

We  sack,  we  ransack  to  the  utmost  sands 

Of  native  kingdoms,  and  of  foreign  lands  ; 

We  travel  sea  and  soil,  we  pry,  we  prowl, 

We  progress,  and  we  prog  from  pole  to  pole  ; 

We  spend  our  mid-day  sweat,  our  midnight  oil, 

We  tire  the  night  in  thought,  the  day  in  toil  : 

We  make  art  servile,  and  the  trade  gentile 

(Yet  both  corrupted  with  ingenious  guile), 

To  compass  earth,  and  with  her  empty  store 

To  fill  our  arms,  and  grasp  one  handful  more  ; 

Thus  seeking  rest,  our  labours  never  cease, 

But,  as  our  years,  our  hot  desires  increase  : 

Thus  we,  poor  little  worlds  !   with  blood  and  sweat, 

In  vain  attempt  to  comprehend  the  great ; 

Thus,  in   our  gain,  becorn^  we  gainful  losers, 

And  what's  inclos'd,  incloses  the  inclosers. 


I 
54  EMBLEMS.  BOOK  n. 

Now  reader,  close  thy  book,  and  then  advise  ; 

Be  wisely  worldly,  be  not  worldly  wise  ; 

Let  not  thy  nobler  thoughts  be  always  raking 

The  world's  base  dunghill ;  vermin's  took  by  taking  : 

Take  heed  thou  trust  not  the  deceitful  lap 

Of  wanton  Dalilah  ;  the  world's  a  trap. 


HUGO  de  Anima. 

Tell  me,  where  be  those  now,  that  so  lately  loved 
and  hugged  the  world  ?  Nothing  remaineth  of  them 
but  dust  and  worms  ;  observe  what  those  men  were  ; 
what  those  men  are  :  They  were  like  thee ;  they  did 
eat,  drink,  laugh,  and  led  merry  days  ;  and  in  a  moment 
slipt  into  hell.  Here,  their  flesh  is  food  for  worms  ; 
there  souls  are  fuel  for  fire,  till  they  shall  be 
rejoined  in  an  unhappy  fellowship,  and  cast  into 
eternal  torments  ;  where  they  that  were  once  com- 
panions in  sin,  can  be  hereafter  partners  in  punishment. 


EPIC.  2. 

Gripe,  Cupid,  and  gripe  still,  unto  that  wind, 
That's  pent  before,  find  secret  vent  behind : 
And  when  thou'st  done,  hark  here,  I  tell  thee  what, 
Before  I'll  trust  thy  armful,  I'll  trust  that. 


BOOK    II. 


EMBLEMS. 


55 


Emblem  3 


Non  amat  iste:    sed  hamat  amor. 
JOB  XVIII.  8. 

He  is  cast  Into  a  net  by  his  own  feet,  and  walketh  upon  a 
snare. 


!  nets  and  quiver  too  ?  what  need  there  all 
These  sly  devices  to  betray  poor  men  ? 
Die  they  not  fast  enough  when  thousands  fall 

Before  thy  dart  ?  what  need  these  engines  then  ? 
Attend  they  not,  and  answer  to  thy  call, 

Like  nightly  coveys,  where  they  list  and  when  ? 
What  needs  a  stratagem  where  strength  can  sway  ? 
Or  what  needs   strength  compel  where  none  gain- 
say ? 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK   II 


Or  what   needs  stratagem    or    strength,  where    hearts 
obey  ? 

Husband  thy  flights  :  it  is  but  vain  to  waste 

Honey  on  those  that  will  be  catch'd  with  gall ; 
Thou  canst  not,  ah !  thou  canst  not  bid  so  fast 
As  men  obey  :  Thou  art  more  slow  to  call 
Than  they  to  come  ;  thou  canst  not  make  such  haste 
To  strike,  as  they,  being  struck,  make  haste  to  fall. 
Go  save  thy  nets  for  that  rebellious  heart 
That  scorns  thy  pow'r,  and  has  obtained  the  art 
T'  avoid  thy  flying  shaft,  to  quench  thy  fiery  dart. 

Lost  mortal !  how  is  thy  destruction  sure, 

Between  two  bawds,  and  both  without  remorse  1 
The  one's  a  line,  the  other  is  a  lure ; 

This  to  entice  thy  soul  ;  that  to  enforce  : 
W^laid  by  both,  how  canst  thou  stand  secure  ? 
That  draws  ;  this  woos  thee  to  th*  ecernal  curse. 
O  charming  tyrant,  how  hast  thou  befool'd 
And  slav'd  poor  man,  that  would  not,  if  he  could, 
Avoid  thy  line,  thy  lure ;  nay,  could  not,  if  he  would. 

Alas  !  thy  sweet  perfidious  voice  betrays 

His  wanton  ears  with  thy  Sirenian  baits  : 
Thou  wrapp'st  his  eyes  in  mists,  then  boldly  lays 

Thy  Lethal  gins  before  their  crystal  gates  ; 
Thou  lock'st  up  every  sense  with  thy  false  keys, 
All  willing  prisoners  to  thy  close  deceits  : 

His  ear  most  nimble,  where  it  deaf  should  be ; 
His  eye  most  blind,  where  most  it  ought  to  see ; 
And  when  his  heart's  most  bound,  then  thinks  himself 
most  free. 

Thou  grand  impostor  !  how  hast  thou  obtain'd 
The  wardship  of  the  world  ?     Are  all  men  turn'd 

Idiots  and  lunatics  ?     Are  all  retainM 

Beneath  thy  servile  bands?     Is  none  return'd 


EMBLEMS.  57 


To  his  forgotten  self?     Has  none  regained 
His  senses  ?    Are  their  senses  all  adjourn' d  ? 

What,  none  dismissed  thy  court  ?     Will  no  plump 

fee 

Bribe  thy  false  fists  to  make  a  glad  decree, 
T'  unfool  whom  thou  hast  fool'd,  and  set  thy  pris'ners 
free. 

S.  BERN,  in  Ser. 

In  this  world  is  much  treachery,  little  truth  ;  here 
all  things  are  traps ;  here  everything  is  beset  with 
snares  ;  here  souls  are  endangered,  bodies  are  afflicted  ; 
here  all  things  are  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit. 


EPIG.  3. 

Nay,  Cupid,  pitch  thy  trammel  where  thou  please, 
Thou  canst  not  fail  to  take  such  fish  as  these. 
Thy  thriving  sport  will  ne'er  be  spent :  no  need 
To  fear,  when  ev'ry  cork's  a  world,  thou'lt  soeed. 


58  EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  4. 


Quam  grave  servitium  est  quod  levis  esca  parit. 
HOSEA  XIII.   3. 

They  shall  be  as  the  chaff  that  is  driven  with  a  whirlwind 
out  of  the  floor,  and  as  the  smoke  out  of  the  chimney. 

AINT-HEARTED    Stoics,     you,    whose     marble 

eyes 

Contemn  a  wrinkle,  and  whose  souls  despise 
To  follow  nature's  too  affected  fashion, 
Or  travel  in  the  regent  walk  of  passion  ; 
Whose  rigid  hearts  disdain  to  shrink  at  fears, 
Or  play  at  fast  and  loose,  with  smiles  and  tears  ; 
Come,  burst  your  spleens  with  laughter  to  behold 
A  new-found  vanity,  which  days  of  old 


F 


EMBLEMS.  59 


Ne'er  knew  :  a  vanity  that  has  beset 

The  world,  and  made  more  slaves  than  Mahomet  • 

That  has  condemn'd  us  to  the  servile  yoke 

Of  slavery,  and  made  us  slaves  to  smoke. 

But  stay,  why  tax  I  thus  our  modern  times, 

For  new-born  follies,  and  for  new-born  crimes  ? 

Are  we  sole  guilty,  and  the  first  age  free  ? 

No,  they  were  smok'd  and  slav'd  as  well  as  we : 

What's   sweet-lipt  honour's  blast,  but  smoke  ?     What's 

treasure, 

But  very  smoke  ?  And  what  more  smoke  than  pleasure  ? 
Alas !  they  're  all  but  shadows,  fumes  and  blasts  ; 
That  vanishes,  this  fades,  the  other  wastes. 
The  restless  merchant,  he  that  loves  to  steep 
His  brains  in  wealth,  and  lays  his  soul  to  sleep 
In  bags  of  bullion,  sees  th'  immortal  crown, 
And  fain  would  mount,  but  ingots  keep  him  down : 
He  brags  to-day,  perchance,  and  begs  to-morrow ; 
He  lent  but  now,  wants  credit  now  to  borrow  ; 
Blow,     winds,    the     treasure's    gone,    the    merchant's 

broke ; 

A  slave  to  silver  's  but  a  slave  to  smoke. 
Behold  the  glory-vying  child  of  fame, 
That  from  deep  wounds   sucks  such  an  honoured  name, 
That  thinks  no  purchase  worth  the  style  of  good, 
But  what  is  sold  for  sweat ;  and  seal'd  with  blood  j 
That  for  a  point,  a  blast  of  empty  breath, 
Undaunted  gazes  in  the  face  of  death ; 
Whose  dear-bought  bubble,  filled  with  vain  renown, 
Breaks  with  a  fillip,  or  a  gen'ral's  frown  : 
His  stroke-got  honour  staggers  with  a  stroke ; 
A  slave  to  honour  is  a  slave  to  smoke. 
And  that  fond  fool,  who  wastes  his  idle  days 
In  loose  delights,  and  sports  about  the  blaze 
Of  Cupid's  candle  ;  he  that  daily  spies 
Twin  babies  in  his  mistress'  Gemini's, 


60  EMBLEMS. 


Whereto  his  sad  devotion  does  impart 

The  sweet  burnt-ofPring  of  a  bleeding  heart ; 

See,  how  his  wings  are  sing'd  in  Cyprian  fire, 

Whose  flames  consume  with  youth,  with  age  expire  : 

The  world's  a  bubble  ;  all  the  pleasures  in  it, 

Like  morning  vapours,  vanish  in  a  minute  : 

The  vapours  vanish,  and  the  bubble' s  broke  ; 

A  slave  to  pleasure  is  a  slave  to  smoke. 

Now,  Stoic,  cease  thy  laughter,  and  repast 

Thy  pickled  cheeks  with  tears,  and  weep  as  fast. 


S.  HIERON. 

That  rich  man  is  great,  who  thinketh  not  hjmself 
great  because  he  is  rich ;  the  proud  man  (who  is  the 
poor  man)  braggeth  outwardly,  but  beggeth  inwardly :  he 
is  blown  up,  but  not  full. 

PETR.  RAV. 

Vexation  and  anguish  accompany  riches  and  honour  ; 
the  pomp  of  the  world,  and  the  favour  of  the  people, 
are  but  smoke,  and  a  blast  suddenly  vanishing  ;  which 
if  they  commonly  please,  commonly  bring  repentance  ; 
and,  for  a  minute  of  joy,  they  bring  an  age  of  sorrow. 


EPIG.  4. 

Cupid,  thy  diet's  strange  :  it  dulls,  it  rouses, 
It  cools,  it  heats  ;  it  binds,  and  then  it  looses  : 
Dull-sprightly,  cold-hot  fool,  if  e'er  it  winds  thee 
Into  a  looseness  once,  take  heed,  it  binds  thee. 


EMBLEMS. 


61 


Emblem  5 


Non  omne  quod  hie  micat  aurum  est. 
PROV.  XXIII.  5. 

Wilt  thou  set    thine  eyes    upon    that   which    is  not  f  for 
riches  make  themselves  wings ;   they  fly  away  as  an  eagle. 

pALSE  world,  thou  ly'st :  thou  canst  not  lend 

The  least  delight : 
Thy  favours  cannot  gain  a  friend, 

They  are  so  slight : 
Thy  morning  pleasures  make  an  end 

To  please  at  night : 
Poor  are  the  wants  that  thou  supply'st : 
And  yet  thou  vaunt/st,  and  yet  thou  vy'st 
With   Heaven  ;  fond  earth,  thou   boast'st ;   false   world, 
thou  ly'st. 


62  EMBLEMS. 


Thy  babbling  tongue  tells  golden  tales 

Of  endless  treasure  : 
Thy  bounty  offers  easy  sales 

Of  lasting  pleasure  ; 
Thou  ask'st  the  conscience  what  she  ails, 

And  swear'st  to  ease  her  ; 
There's  none  can  want  where  thou  supply'st, 
There's  none  can  give  where  thou  deny'st, 
Alas  !  fond  world,  thou  boast'st ;  false  world,  thou  ly'st. 

What  well-advised  ear  regards 

What  earth  can  say  r 
Thy  words  are  gold,  but  thy  rewards 

Are  painted  clay  : 
Thy  cunning  can  but  pack  the  cards, 

Thou  canst  not  play  : 
Thy  game  at  weakest,  still  thou  vy'st ; 
If  seen,  and  then  revyM,  deny'st : 
Thou  art  not  what  thou  seem'st ;  false  world,  thou  ly'st. 

Thy  tinsel  bosom  seems  a  mint 

Of  new-coin'd  treasure  j 
A  paradise,  that  has  no  stint, 

No  change,  no  measure  ; 
A  painted  cask,  but  nothing  in't, 

Nor  wealth,  nor  pleasure . 
Vain  earth  !  that  falsely  thus  comply'st 
With  man  ;  vain  man,  that  thou  rely'st 
On    earth  :    vain  man,  thou  doat'st ;  vain   earth,  thou 
ly'st. 

What  mean  dull  souls  in  this  high  measure 

To  haberdash 
In  earth's  base  wares,  whose  greatest  treasure 

Is  dross  and  trash ; 
The  height  of  whose  enchanting  pleasure 

Is  but  a  flash  ? 


EMBLEMS.  63 


Are  these  these  the  goods  that  thou  supply'st 

Us  mortals  with  ?     Are  these  the  highest  ? 

Can  these  bring  cordial  peace  ?     False  world,  thou  ly'st. 


PET.  BLES. 

The  world  is  deceitful ;  her  end  is  doubtful,  her 
conclusion  is  horrible  ;  her  judge  is  terrible  ;  and  her 
punishment  is  intolerable. 

S.  AUGUST.  Lib.  Confess. 

The  vain-glory  of  this  world  is  a  deceitful  sweetness: 
a  fruitless  labour,  a  perpetual  fear,  a  dangerous  honour, 
her  beginning  is  without  Providence,  and  her  end  not 
without  repentance. 


EPIG.  5. 

World,  thou'rt  a  traitor ;  thou  hast  stamp'd  thy  base 
And  chymic  metal  with  great  CaesarYface, 
And  with  thy  bastard  bullion  thou  hast  bartered 
For  wares  of  price  ;  how  justly  drawn  and  quartered. 


64 


EMBLEMS. 


HOOK  II. 


Emblem  6 


Sic  decipit  orbis. 
JOB.   XV.   31. 

Let  not  him  that  is  deceived  trust    in    vanity ;  for  vanity 
shall  be  his  recompence. 

DELIEVE  her  not,  her  glass  diffuses 
*-*  False  portraitures  :  thou  canst  espy 
No  true  reflection  ;  she  abuses 
Her  misinformrd  beholder's  eye ; 

Her  crystal's  falsely  steel'd  ;  it  scatters 
Deceitful  beams  ;  believe  her  not,  she  flatters. 
The  flaring  mirror  represents 

No  night  proportion,  view  or  feature  : 


BOOK  ii.  EMBLEMS.  65 

Her  very  looks  are  compliments  ; 

They  make  thee  fairer,  godlier,  greater  ; 

The  skilful  gloss  of  her  reflection 
But  paints  the  context  of  thy  coarse  complexion. 

Were  thy  dimension  but  a  stride; 

Nay,  wert  thou  statur'd  but  a  span. 
Such  as  the  long-bill'd  troops  defy'd, 

A    very  fragment  of  a  man ! 

She'll  make  thee  Mimas,  which  you  will, 
The  Jove-slain  tyrant,  or  th'  Ionic  hill. 

Had  surfeits,  or  th'  ungracious  star, 

Conspir'd  to  make  one  common  place 
Of  all  deformities  that  are 

Within  the  volume  of  thy  face, 

She'll  lend  the  favour  should  outmove 
-  The  Troy-bane  Helen,  or  the  queen  of  love  ! 

Were  thy  consumed  estate  as  poor 

As  Laz'rus  or  afflicted  Job's  : 
She'll  change  thy  wants  to  seeming  store 

And  turn  thy  rags  to  purple  robes  ; 

She'll  make  thy  hide-bound  flank  appear 
As  plump  as  theirs  that  feast  it  all  the  year. 

Look  off,  let  not  thy  optics  be 

Abus'd :  thou  see'st  not  what  thou  should'st : 
Thyself's  the  object  thou  should'st  see, 

But  'tis  thy  shadow  thou  behold'st : 

And  shadows  thrive  the  more  in  stature, 
The  nearer  we  approach  the  light  of  nature. 

Where  Heav'n's  bright  beams  look  more  direct, 
The  shadow  shrinks  as  they  grow  stronger, 

But  when  they  glance  their  fair  aspect, 

The  bold-fac'd  shade  grows  larger,  longer  : 
And  when  their  lamp  begins  to  fall, 

Th'  increasing  shadows  lengthen  most  of  all. 


66  EMBLEMS. 


The  soul  that  seeks  the  noon  of  grace, 
Shrinks  in,  but  swells  if  grace  retreat. 

As  Heav'n  lifts  up,  or  veils  his  face, 
Our  self-esteems  grow  less  or  great. 
The  least  is  greatest,  and  who  shall 

Appear  the  greatest,  are  the  least  of  all. 


HUGO,  Lib.  de  Anima. 

In  vain  he  lifteth  up  the  eye  of  his  heart  to  behold 
his  GOD,  who  is  not  first  rightly  advised  to  behold 
himself:  First,  thou  must  see  the  visible  things  of  thy- 
self, before  thou  canst  be  prepared  to  know  the  invisible 
things  of  God  ;  for  if  thou  canst  not  apprehend  the 
things  within  thee,  thou  canst  not  comprehend  the 
things  above  thee  ;  the  best  looking-glass,  wherein  to 
see  thy  GOD,  is  perfectly  to  see  thyself. 


EPIG.  6. 

Be  not  deceiv'd,  great  fool  :  there  is  no  loss 
In  being  small ;  great  bulks  but  swell  with  dross. 
Man  is  Heav'n's  masterpiece  :  if  it  appear 
More  great,  the  value  's  less  :  if  less,  more  dear. 


BOOK  II. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem   7 


Hie  pessima,  hie  optima  servat. 


DEUTERONOMY  XXX. 


/  have  set  before  thee  life  and  death,  blessing  and  cursing  ; 
therefore  choose  life,  that  thou  and  thy  seed  may  live. 


world's  a  floor,  whose  swelling  heaps  retain 
The  mingled  wages  of  the  plougman's  toil  j 
The  world's  a  heap,  whose  yet  unwinnow'd  grain 

Is  lodg'd  with  chaff  and  bury'd  in  her  soil  ; 
All  things  are  mixt,  the  useful  with  the  vain  ; 
The  good  with  bad,  the  noble  with  the  vile  ; 

The  world's  an  ark,  wherein  things  pure  and  gross 
Present  their  lossful  gain,  and  gainful  loss, 
Where  ev'ry  dram  of  gold  contains  a  pound  of  dross. 


68  EMBLEMS.  BOOK  n. 

This  furnish'd  ark  presents  the  greedy  view 

With  all  that  earth  can  give,  or  Heav'n  can  add  i 
Here  lasting  joys  ;  here  pleasures  hourly  new, 
And  hourly  fading,  may  be  wish'd  and  had  : 
All  points  of  honour,  counterfeit  and  true, 

Salute  thy  soul,  and  wealth  both  good  and  bad : 
Here  may'st  thou  open  wide  the  two-leav'd  door 
Of  all  thy  wishes,  to  receive  the  store, 
Which  being  empty  most,  does  overflow  the  more. 

Come  then,  my  soul,  approach  this  royal  burse 

And  see  what  wares  our  great  exchange  retains ; 
Come,  come ;  here's  that  shall  make  a  firm  divorce 

Betwixt  thy  wants  and  thee,  if  want  complains  ; 
No  need  to  sit  in  council  with  thy  purse, 

Here's  nothing  good  shall  cost  more  price  than  pains  : 
But,  O  my  soul,  take  heed,  if  thou  rely 
Upon  thy  faithless  optics,  thou  wilt  buy 
Too  blind  a  bargain :  know,  fools  only  trade  by  th'  eye. 

The  worldly  wisdom  of  the  foolish  man 

Is  like  a  sieve,  that  does  alone  retain 
The  grosser  substance  of  the  worthless  bran : 

But  thou,  my  soul,  let  thy  brave  thoughts  disdain 
So  coarse  a  purchase  :  O  be  thou  a  fan 

To  purge  the  chaff,  and  keep  the  winnow'd  grain  : 
Make  clean  thy  thoughts,  and  dress  thy  mixt  de- 
sires : 

Thou  art  Heav'n's  tasker,  and  thy  GOD  requires 
The  purest  of  thy  flow'r,  as  well  as  of  thy  fires. 

Let  grace  conduct  thee  to  the  paths  of  peace, 
And  wisdom  bless  the  soul's  unblemished  ways ; 

No  matter,  then,  how  short,  or  long  's  the  lease, 
Whose  date  determines  thy  self-number'd  days  : 

No  need  to  care  for  wealth's  or  fame's  increase, 
Nor  Mars  his  palm,  nor  high  Apollo's  bays. 


EMBLEMS.  69 


LORD,  if  thy  gracious  bounty  please  to  fill 
The  floor  of  my  desires,  and  teach  me  skill 
To  dress  and  choose  the  corn,  take  those  the  chaff  that 
will.          

S.  AUGUST.  Lib.  i.  de  Doct.  Christi. 

Temporal  things  more  ravish  in  the  expectation  than 
in  fruition  :  but  things  eternal,  more  in  the  fruition  than 
expectation. 

Ibidem. 

The  life  of  man  is  the  middle  between  angels  and 
beasts  :  if  man  takes  pleasure  in  carnal  things,  he  is 
compared  to  beasts  :  but  if  he  delights  in  spiritual  things, 
he  is  suited  with  angels. 


EPIG.  7. 

Art  thou  a  child  ?     Thou  wilt  not  then  be  fed 
But  like  a  child,  and  with  the  children's  bread  ; 
But  thou  art  fed  with  chaff,  or  corn  undrest : 
My  soul,  thou  savour'st  too  much  of  the  beast 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK  II. 


Emblem   8 


Haec  animant  pueros  cymbala  j  et  ilia  viros. 
PHILIPPIANS  III.    IQ,  2O. 

They  mind  earthly  things^  but  our  conversation  is  in 
heaven. 


Utbtne  ffiupttr. 

Yen.   TTL/'HAT    means   this    peevish   babe?       Whish, 

**  lullaby; 

What  ails  my  babe,  what  ails  my  babe  to  cry  ? 
Will  nothing  still  it  ?     Will  in  neither  be 
Pleas'd  with  the  nurse's  breast,  nor  mother's  knee  ? 
What  ails  my  bird  ?     What  moves  my  froward  boy 
To  make  such  wimp'ring  faces  ?     Peace,  my  joy  : 


BOOK  ii.  EMBLEMS.  71 

Will  nothing  do  ?     Come,  come,  this  peevish  brat, 

Thus  cry  and  brawl,  and  cannot  tell  for  what  ? 

Come,  buss  and  friends  ;  my  lamb  ;  whish,  lullaby  ; 

What  ails  my  babe,  what  ails  my  babe  to  cry  ? 

Peace,  peace,  my  dear  ;  alas !  thy  early  years 

Had  never  faults  to  merit  half  these  tears  ! 

Come  smile  upon  me  :  let  thy  mother  spy 

Thy  father's  image  in  her  baby's  eye  : 

Husband  these  guilty  drops  against  the  rage 

Of  harder  fortunes,  and  the  gripes  of  age  ; 

Thine  eye  's  not  ripe  for  tears  ;  Whish,  lullaby ; 

What  ails  my  babe,  my  sweet-fac'd  babe,  to  cry  ? 

Look,  look,  what's  here  !     A  dainty,  golden  thing  : 

See  how  the  dancing  bells  turn  round  and  ring, 

To  please  my  bantling  !     Here  's  a  knack  will  breed 

An  hundred  kisses  :  here  's  a  knack  indeed. 

So,  now  my  bird  is  white,  and  looks  as  fair 

As  Pelops'  shoulder,  or  a  milk-white  pair : 

Here  's  right  the  father's  smile  ;  when  Mars  beguil'd 

Sick  Venus  of  her  heart,  just  thus  she  smil'd. 

Divine  Cupid. 

Well  may  they  smile  alike  ;  thy  base-bred  boy 
And  his  base  sire  had  both  one  cause,  a  toy  : 
How  well  their  subjects  and  their  smiles  agree ! 
Thy  Cupid  finds  a  toy,  and  Mars  found  thee  : 
False  queen  of  beauty,  queen  of  false  delights, 
Thy  knee  presents  an  emblem,  that  invites 
Man  to  himself,  whose  self-transported  heart 
(O'erwhelm'd  with  native  sorrows,  and  the  smart 
Of  purchased  griefs)  lies  whining  night  and  day, 
Not  knowing  why,  till  heavy-heel'd  delay, 
The  dull-brow'd  pander  of  despair,  lays  by 
His  leaden  buskins,  and  presents  his  eye 
With  antic  trifles,  which  the  indulgent  earth 
Makes  proper  objects  of  man's  childish  mirth. 


72  EMBLEMS.  BOOK  n. 

These  be  the  coin  that  pass,  the  sweets  that  please ; 
There's  nothing  good,  there's  nothing  great  but  these; 
These  be  the  pipes,  that  base-born  minds  dance  after, 
And  turn  immod'rate  tears  to  lavish  laughter; 
Whilst  heav'nly  raptures  pass  without  regard ; 
Their  strings  are  harsh,  and  their  high  strains  unheard  : 
The  ploughman's  whistle,  or  the  trivial  flute, 
Find  more  respect  than  great  Apollo's  lute  : 
We'll  look  to  Heav'n,  and  trust  to  higher  joys  ; 
Let  swine  love  husks,  and  children  whine  for  toys. 


S.  BERN. 

That  is  the  true  and  chief  joy  which  is  not  con- 
ceived from  the  creature,  but  received  from  the 
Creator,  which  (being  once  possessed  thereof)  none 
can  take  from  thee :  whereto  all  pleasure,  being  com- 
pared, is  torment,  all  joy  is  grief,  sweet  things  are  bit- 
ter, all  glory  is  baseness,  and  all  delectable  things  are 
despicable. 

S.  BERN. 

Joy,  in  a  changeable  subject,  must  necessarily  change 
as  the  subject  changeth. 


EPIG.  8. 

Peace,  childish  Cupid,  peace  ;  thy  finger'd  eye 
But  cries  for  what,  in  time,  will  make  thee  cry. 
But  are  they  peevish  wranglings  thus  appeas'd  ? 
Well  may'st  thou  cry,  that  art  so  poorly  pleas'd. 


BOOK   II. 


EMBLEMS. 


73 


Emblem  g, 


Venturum  exhorresco  diem. 


ISAIAH  X. 


Wliat  will  ye  do  in  the  day  of  your  visitation  ?  to  whom 
will  ye  flee  for  help  ?  and  where  will  ye  leave  your 
glory? 

TS  this  that  jolly  god,  whose  Cyprian  bow 
'   Has  shot  so  many  flaming  darts, 
And  made  so  many  wounded  beauties  go 
Sadly  perplex'd  with  whimp'ring  hearts  ? 
Is  this  that  sov'reign  deity,  that  brings 

The  slavish  world  in  awe,  and  sting-s 
The  blundering  souls  of  swains,  and  stops  the  hearts  of 

[kings  ? 


74  EMBLEMS. 


What  Circaean  charm,  what  Hecataean  spite 

Has  thus  abus'd  the  god  of  love  ? 
Great  Jove  was  vanquished  by  his  greater  might  ; 
(And  who  is  stronger  arm'd  than  Jove  ?) 
Or  has  our  lustful  god  performed  a  rape, 

And  (fearing  Argus'  eyes)  would  'scape 
The  view  of  jealous  earth,  in  this  prodigious  shape? 

Where  be  those  rosy  cheeks,  that  lately  scorn'd 

The  malice  of  injurious  fates  ? 
Ah !  where  's  that  pearl  port-cullis  that  adorn'd 
Those  dainty  two-leav'd  ruby  gates  ? 

Where  be  those  killing  eyes  that  so  controlPd 

The  world,  and  locks  that  did  infold 
Like  knots    of   flaming   wire,    like    curls    of  burnish'd 
gold? 

No,  no,  'twas  neither  Hecataean  spite, 
Nor  charm  below,  nor  pow'r  above  : 
'Twas  neither  Circe's  spell,  nor  Stygian  sprite, 
That  thus  transformed  our  god  of  love  ; 

'Twas  owl-ey'd  lust  (more  potent  far  than  they) 

Whose  eyes  and  actions  hate  the  day  : 
Whom  all  the  world  observe,  whom  all  the  world  obey. 

See  how  the  latter  trumpet's  dreadful  blast 
Affrights  stout  Mars  his  trembling  son ! 
See,  how  he  startles  !   how  he  stands  aghast, 
And  scrambles  from  his  melting  throne ! 

Hark  how  the  direful  hand  of  vengeance  tears 

The  sweltering  clouds,  whilst  Heav'n  appears 
A  circle  filled  with  flame,  and  centred  with  his  fears. 

This  is  that  day,  whose  oft  report  hath  worn 

Neglected  tongues  of  prophets  bare  ; 
The  faithless  subject  of  the  worldling's  scorn, 

The  sum  of  men  and  angels'  pray'r  : 


EMBLEMS.  75 


This,  this  the  day,  whose  all-discerning  light 

Ransacks  the  secret  dens  of  night, 
And  severs  good  from  bad  ;  true  joys  from  false  delight. 

You  grov'ling  worldings,  you,  whose  wisdom  trades 

Where  light  ne'er  shot  his  golden  ray, 
That  hide  your  actions  in  Cimmerian  shades, 
How  will  your  eyes  endure  this  day  ? 

Hills  will  be  deaf,  and  mountains  will  not  hear  ; 

There  be  no  caves,  no  corners  there 
To  shade  your  souls  from    fire,  to    shield   your  hearts 
from  fear. 


HUGO. 

O  the  extreme  loathsomeness  of  fleshly  lust,  which 
not  only  effeminates  the  mind,  but  enervates  the  body  ; 
which  not  only  distaineth  the  soul,  but  disguiseth  the 
person !  It  is  ushered  with  fury  and  wantonness ;  it  is 
accompanied  with  filthiness  and  uncleanness  ;  and  it  is 
followed  with  grief  and  repentance. 


EPIG.  9. 

What  sweet-fac'd  Cupid,  has  thy  bastard-treasure, 
Thy  boasted  honours,  and  thy  bold-fac'd  pleasure 
Perplex'd  thee  now  ?     I  told  thee  long  ago, 
To  what  they'd  bring  thee,  fool,  to  wit,  to  woe. 


EMBLEMS. 


JiOOK    II. 


Emblem   10, 


Tinnit ;  inane  est. 
NAHUM  II.    IO. 

She  is  empty,  and  void,  and  waste. 

CHE'S   empty :    hark,    she  sounds ;    there's    nothing 
there 

But  noise  to  fill  thy  ear ; 
Thy  vain  inquiry  can  at  length  but  find 

A  blast  of  murm'ring  wind  : 
It  is  a  cask,  that  seems  as  full  as  fair, 

But  merely  tunn'd  with  air  : 
Fond  youth,  go  build  thy  hopes  on  better  grounds  : 

The  soul  that  vainly  founds 
Her  joys  upon  this  world,  but  feeds  on  empty  sounds. 


BOOK  ii.  EMBLEMS.  77 

She's  empty  :  hark,  she  sounds  :   there's  nothing  in't ; 

The  spark-engend'ring  flint 
Shall  sooner  melt,  and  hardest  raunce  shall  first 

Dissolve,  and  quench  thy  thirst, 
E'er  this  false  world  shall  still  thy  stormy  breast 

With  smooth-fac'd  calms  of  rest. 
Thou  may'st  as  well  expect  meridian  light 

From  shades  of  black- mouth'd  night, 
LS  in  this  empty  world  to  find  a  full  delight. 

>he's  empty  :  hark,  she  sounds  :  'tis  void  and  vast ; 

What  if  some  flattering  blast 
Of  flatuous  honour  should  perchance  be  there, 

And  whisper  in  thine  ear  ? 
It  is  but  wind,  and  blows  but  where  it  list, 

And  vanisheth  like  mist. 
Poor  honour  earth  can  give  !     What  gen'rous  mind 

Would  be  so  base  to  bind 
Her  heav'n-bred  soul  a  slave  to  serve  a  blast  of  wind  ? 

She's  empty  :  hark,  she  sounds  :  'tis  but  a  ball 

For  fools  to  play  withal : 
The  painted  film  but  of  a  stronger  bubble, 

That's  lined  with  silken  trouble  : 
It  is  a  world,  whose  work  and  recreation 

Is  vanity  and  vexation  ; 
A  hag,  repair'd  with  vice-complexion'd  paint, 

A  quest-house  of  complaint; 
It  is  a  saint,  a  fiend  ;  a  worse  fiend,  when  most  a  saint. 

She's  empty  :  hark,  she  sounds  :  'tis  vain  and  void  ; 

What's  here  to  be  enjoy'd 
But  grief  and  sickness,  and  large  bills  of  sorrow, 

Drawn  now,  and  cross'd  to-morrow  ? 
Or  what  are  men,  but  puffs  of  dying  breath, 

Revived  with  living  death  ? 


EMBLEMS. 


Fond  lad,  O  build  thy  hopes  on  surer  grounds 

Than  what  dull  flesh  propounds  ; 
Trust  not  this  hollow  world  ;    she's  empty  :  hark,  she 

sounds. 


S.  CHRYS.  in  EP.  ad  Heb. 

Contemn  riches,  and  thou  shalt  be  rich  ;  contemn 
glory,  and  thou  shalt  be  glorious ;  contemn  injuries, 
and  thou  shalt  be  a  conqueror ;  contemn  rest,  and  thou 
shalt  gain  rest ;  contemn  earth,  and  thou  shalt  find 
Heaven. 

HUGO,  Lib.  de  Vanit.  Mundi. 

The  world  is  a  vanity  which  affordeth  neither  beauty 
to  the  amorous,  nor  reward  to  the  laborious,  nor  encour- 
agement to  the  industrious. 


EPIG.  10. 

This  house  it  to  let  for  life  or  years ; 

Her  rent  is  sorrow,  and  her  income  tears  : 

Cupid,  't  has  long  stood  void  ;  her  bills  make  known, 

She  must  be  dearly  let,  or  let  alone. 


EMBLEMS. 


79 


Emblem    i 


Erras  hac  itur  ad  illam. 
MATT.  VII.    14. 

Narrow  is  the  way  that  leadeth  unto  life,  and  few  there  be 
that  find  it. 

pREPOST'ROUS  fool,  thou  troul'st  amiss  ; 
Thou  err'st ;  that's  not  the  way,  'tis  this  : 
Thy  hopes,  instructed  by  thine  eye, 
Make  thee  appear  more  near  than  .1  ; 
My  floor  is  not  so  flat,  so  fine, 
And  has  more  obvious  rubs  than  thine  : 
'Tis  true  ;  my  way  is  hard  and  strait, 
And  leads  me  through  a  thorny  gate  : 


8o  EMBLEMS. 


BOOK   IT. 


Whose  rankling  pricks  are  sharp  and  fell  •> 
The  common  way  to  HeavVs  by  hell. 
'Tis  true  ;  thy  path  is  short  and  fair, 
And  free  from  rubs  :  Ah  !  fool,  beware, 
The  safest  road  Js  not  always  ev'n  : 
The  way  to  hell  Js  a  seeming  heav'n  : 
Think'st  thou  the  crown  of  glory  's  had 
With  idle  ease,  fond  Cyprian  lad  ? 
Think'st  thou,  that  mirth,  and  vain  delights, 
High  feed,  arid  shadow-short'ning  nights, 
Soft  knees,  full  bags,  and  beds  of  down, 
Are  proper  prologues  to  a  crown  ? 
Or  canst  thou  hope  to  come  and  view, 
Like  prosperous  Cassar,  and  subdue  ? 
The  bond-slave  usurer  will  trudge, 
In  spite  of  gouts  will  turn  a  drudge, 
And  serve  his  soul-condemning;  purse, 

r^,.     .  .  -11  •    1  £ 

1    increase  it  with  the  widows  curse : 

And  shall  the  crown  of  glory  stand 

Not  worth  the  waving  of  an  hand  ? 

The  fleshly  wanton,  to  obtain 

His  minute-lust,  will  count  it  gain 

To  lose  his  freedom,  his  estate, 

Upon  so  dear,  so  sweet  a  rate ; 

Shall  pleasures  thus  be  prized,  and  must 

HeavVs  palm  be  cheaper  than  a  lust  ? 

The  true-bred  spark,  to  hoise  his  name 

Upon  the  waxen  wings  of  fame, 

Will  fight  undaunted  in  a  flood 

That's  rais'd  with  blackish  drops  and  blood. 

And  shall  the  promis'd  crown  of  life 

Be  thought  a  toy,  not  worth  a  strife  ? 

An  easy  good  brings  easy  gains  ; 

But  things  of  price  are  bought  with  pains. 

The  pleasing  way  is  not  the  right : 

He  that   would  conquer  Heav'n  must  fight. 


EMBLEMS. 


S.  HIERON.  in  Ep. 

No  labour  is  hard,  no  time  is  long,  wherein  the  glory 
of  eternity  is  the  mark  we  level  at. 

S.  GREG.  Lib.  viii.  Mor. 

The  valour  of  a  just  man  is,  to  conquer  the  flesh, 
to  contradict  his  own  will,  to  quench  the  delights  of  this 
present  life,  to  endure  and  love  the  miseries  of  this  world 
for  the  reward  of  a  better,  to  contemn  the  flatteries  of 
prosperity,  and  inwardly  to  overcome  the  fears  of 
adversity. 


EPIG.  ii. 

0  Cupid,  if  thy  smoother  way  were  right, 

1  should  mistrust  this  crown  were  counterfeit : 
The  way  's  riot  easy  where  the  prize  is  great : 
I  hope  no  virtues,  where  I  smell  no  sweat. 


EMBLEMS. 


};oox  IT. 


Emblem    1 2 


In  cruce  stat  securus  amor. 


GALAT.   VI.    14. 


God  forbid  that  I  should  glory,  save  in  the  cross. 


nothing  settle  my  uncertain  breast, 
.       And  fix  my  rambling  love  ? 
Can  my  affections  find  out  nothing  best, 

But  still  and  still  remove, 
Has  earth  no  mercy  ?     Will  no  ark  of  rest 

Receive  my  restless  dove  ? 
Is  there  no  good,  than  which  there's  nothing  higher, 

To  bless  my  full  desire  [expire  ? 

With  joys    that  never    change  ;    with    joys    that    ne'er 


EMBLEMS.  83 


I  wanted  wealth  ;  and,  at  my  dear  request, 

Earth  lent  a  quick  supply  ; 
I  wanted  mirth,  to  charm  my  sullen  breast ; 

And  who  more  brisk  than  I  ? 
I  wanted  fame,  to  glorify  the  rest  ; 

My  fame  flew  eagle-high ; 
My  joy  not  fully  ripe,  but  all  decay'd, 

Wealth  vanished  like  a  shade  ; 
My  mirth  began  to  flag,  my  fame  began  to  fade. 

The  world  's  an  ocean,  hurried  to  and  fro  / 

With  ev'ry  blast  of  passion  :  v 

Her  lustful  streams,  when  either  ebb  or  flow, 

Are  tides  of  man's  vexation  : 
They  alter  daily,  and  they  daily  grow 

The  worse  by  alteration  : 
The  earth  's  a  cask  full  tunn'd,  yet  wanting  measure  ; 

Her  precious  wine  is  pleasure ; 
Her   yeast    is    honour's    puff;     her    lees    are    worldly 

treasure. 

My  trust  is  in  the  cross  :  let  beauty  flag 

Her  loose,  her  wanton  sail ; 
Let  count'nance-gilding  honour  cease  to  brag 

In  courtly  terms,  and  vail  ; 
Let  ditch-bred  wealth  henceforth  forget  to  wag 

Her  base,  though  golden,  tail ; 
False  beauty's  conquest  is  but  real  loss, 

And  wealth  but  golden  dross  ; 

Best  honour's  but  a  blast :  my  trust  is  in  the  cross. 

— -i 
My  trust  is  in  the  cross  ;  there  lies  my  rest : 

My  fast,  my  sole  delight : 
Let  cold-mouth'd  Boreas,  or  the  hot-mouth'd  East, 

Blow  till  they  burst  with  spite  ; 
Let  earth  and  hell  conspire  their  worst,  their  best, 

And  join  their  twisted  might  j 


84  EMBLEMS. 


Let  show'rs  of  thunderbolts  dart  down  and  wound  me, 

And  troops  of  fiends  surround  me, 
All  this  may  well  confront ;  all  this  shall  ne'er  confound 

me. 

S.  AUGUST. 

Christ's  cross  is  the  christ-cross  of  all  our  happiness  ; 
it  delivers  us  from  all  blindness  of  error,  and  enriches 
our  darkness  with  light ;  it  restoreth  the  troubled  soul 
to  rest ;  it  bringeth  strangers  to  GOD'S  acquaintance  ; 
it  maketh  remote  foreigners  near  neighbours  ;  it  cutteth 
off  discord  ;  concludeth  a  league  of  everlasting  peace  ; 
and  is  the  bounteous  author  of  all  good. 

S.  BERN,  in  Ser.  in  Resur. 

We  find  glory  in  the  cross  ;  to  us  that  are  saved,  it 
is  the  power  of  GOD,  and  the  fulness  of  all  virtues. 


EPIG.  12. 

I  follow'd  rest ;  rest  fled  and  soon  forsook  me : 
I  ran  from  grief ;  grief  ran  and  overtook  me. 
What  shall  I  do,  lest  I  be  too  much  tost  ? 
On  worldly  crosses,  LORD,  let  me  be  crost. 


BOOK.  II. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem   13 


Pose  vulnera  Daemon. 
PROV.  XXVI.    II. 

As  a  dog  returneth  to  his  vomit,  so  a  fool  returneth  to 
his  folly. 

j^\,  I  am  wounded  !  and  my  wounds  do  smart 

^^  Beyond  my  patience  or  great  Chiron's  art ; 

I  yield,  I  yield  the  day,  the  palm  is  thine  ; 

Thy  bow 's    more    true,  thy  shaft 's    more    fierce    than 

mine. 

Hold,  hold,  O  hold  thy  conquering  hand.     What  need 
To  send  more  darts  ?  the  first  has  done  the  deed  : 
Oft  have  we  struggled,  when  our  equal  arms 
Shot  equal  shafts,  inflicted  equal  harms  ; 


So  EMBLEMS. 


But  this  exceeds,  and  with  her  flaming  head, 

Twy-fork'd  with  death,  has  struck  my  conscience  dead. 

But  must  I  die  ?  ah  me  !   If  that  were  all, 

Then,  then  I'd  stroke  my  bleeding  wounds,  and  call 

This  dart  a  cordial,  and  with  joy  endure 

These  harsh  ingredients,  where  my  griet's  my  cure. 

But  something  whispers  in  my  dying  ear, 

There  is  an  after-day  ;  which  day  I  fear. 

The  slender  debt  to  nature's  quickly  paid, 
Discharged,  perchance,  with  greater  ease  than  made  ; 
But  if  that  pale-facM  sergeant  make  arrest, 
Ten  thousand  actions  would  (whereof  the  least 
Is  more  than  all  this  lower  world  can  bail) 
Be  entered,  and  condemn  me  to  the  jail 
Of  Stygian  darkness,  bound  in  red-kot  chains, 
And  grip'd  with  tortures  worse  than  Tityan  pains. 
Farewell,  my  vain,  farewell,  my  loose  delights ; 
Farewell,  my  rambling  days,  my  rev'ling  nights  ; 
'  Twas  you  betray'd  me  first,  and  when  ye  found 
My  soul  at  'vantage,  gave  my  soul  the  wound  : 
Farewell,  my  bullion  gods,  whose  sov'reign  looks 
So  often  catch'd  me  with  their  golden  hooks  ; 
Go,  seek  another  slave  ;  ye  must  all  go ; 
I  cannot  serve  my  God  and  bullion  too. 
Farewell,  false  honour ;  you,  whose  airy  wings 
Did  mount  my  soul  above  the  thrones  of  kings  ; 
Then  flattered  me,  took  pet,  and  in  disdain, 
Nipp'd  my  green  buds  ;  then  kicked  me  down  again : 
Farewell,  my  bow  ;  farewell,  my  Cyprian  quiver  ; 
Farewell,  dear  world,  farewell,  dear  world,  for  ever. 
O,  but  this  most  delicious  world,  how  sweet 
Her  pleasures  relish  !   ah  !  how  jump  they  meet 
The  grasping  soul,  and  with  their  sprightly  fire 
Revive  and  raise,  and  rouse  the  wrapt  desire  ! 
For  ever  ?   O,  to  part  so  long!  what,  never 
Meet  more  ?  another  year,  and  then  for  ever  : 


BOOK    II. 


EMBLEMS. 


Too  quick  resolves  do  resolution  wrong  ; 
What,  part  so  soon,  to  be  divorced  so  long  ? 
Things  to  be  done,  are  long  to  be  debated  ; 
Heaven's  not  decayed.      Repentance  is  not  dated. 


S.  AUGUST.  Lib.  de  Util.  agen.  Pcen. 

Go  up,  my  soul,  into  the  tribunal  of  thy  conscience  : 
there  set  thy  guilty  soul  before  thyself:  hide  not  thyself 
behind  thyself,  lest  GOD  bring  thee  forth  before  thyself. 

S.  AUGUST,  in  Soliloq. 

In  vain  is  that  washing,  where  the  next  sin  defileth  : 
he  hath  ill  repented,  whose  sins  are  repeated  :  that 
stomach  is  the  worse  for  vomiting,  that  licketh  up  his 
vomit. 

ANSELM. 

God  hath  promised  pardon  to  him  that  repenteth, 
but  he  hath  not  promised  repentance  to  him  that  sinneth. 


EPIG.  13. 

Brain-wounded  Cupid,  had  this  hasty  dart, 

As  it  has  prickM  thy  fancy,  pierc'd  thy  heart, 

T'  had  been  thy  friend  :   O  how  hath  it  deceiv'd  thee ! 

For  had  this  dart  but  kilPd,  this  dart  had  sav'd  thee. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem   14. 


Post  lapsum  fortius  esto. 
PROV.  XXIV.    l6 

A  just  man  falleh  seven  times,  and  riseth  up  again ;  but 
the  wicked  shall  fall  into  mischief. 

3'TpIS  but  a  soil  at  best,  and  that's  the  most 

•*     Your  skill  can  boast : 
My  slipp'ry  footing  faiFd  me  ;  and  you  tript, 

Just  as  I  slipt  : 
My  wanton  weakness  did  herself  betray 

With  too  much  play : 
I  was  too  bold  ;  he  never  yet  stood  sure, 

That  stands  secure : 


I:OOK  n.  EMBLEMS.  89 

Who  ever  trusted  to  his  native  strength, 

But  fell  at  length  ? 

The  title  's  craz'ed,  the  tenure  is  not  good, 
That  claims  by  th'  evidence  of  flesh  and  blood. 

Boast  not  thy  skill  ;  the  righteous  man  falls  oft, 

Yet  falls  but  soft : 
There  may  be  dirt  to  mire  him,  but  no  stones 

To  crush  his  bones  : 
What  if  he  staggers  ?  nay,  but  case  he  be 

FoiFd  on  his  knee  ? 
That  very  knee  will  bend  to  Heav'n,  and  woo 

For  mercy  too. 
The  true-bred  gamester  ups  afresh,  and  then 

Falls  to  3t  again ; 

Whereas  the  leaden-hearted  coward  lies, 
And  yields  his  conquered  life,  or  craven' d  dies. 

Boast  not  thy  conquest ;  thou  that  ev'ry  hour 

Fall'st  ten  times  low'r  ; 
Nay,  hast  not  pow'r  to  rise,  if  not,  in  case, 

To    fall  more  base: 
Thou  wallow'st  where  I  slip  ;  and  thou  dost  tumble 

Where  I  but  stumble  : 
Thou  glory'st  in  thy  slav'ries'  dirty  badges 

And  fall'st  for  wages  : 
Sour  grief  and  sad  repentance  scours  and  clears 

My  stains  with  tears  : 
Thy  falling  keeps  thy  falling  still  in  ure  ; 
But  when  I  slip,  I  stand  the  more  secure. 

LORD,  what  a  nothing  is  this  little  span, 

We  call  a  MAN  ! 
What  fenny  trash  maintains  the  smoth'ring  fires 

Of  his  desires  ! 
How  slight  and  short  are  his  resolves  at  longest : 

How  weak  at  strongest ! 


EMBLEMS. 


Oh,  if  a  sinner,  held  by  that  fast  hand, 

Can  hardly  stand, 
Good  GOD  !  in  what  a  desperate  case  are  they, 

That  have  no  stay  ! 
Man's  state  implies  a  necessary  curse  ; 
When  not  himself,  he's  mad  ;  when  most  himself,  he's 
worse. 


S.  AMBROS.  in  Ser.  ad  Vincula. 

Peter  stood  more  firmly  after  he  had  lamented  his 
fall  than  before  he  fell ;  insomuch  that  he  found  more 
grace  than  he  lost  grace. 

S.  CHRYS.  in  Ep.  ad  Heliod.  Monach. 

It  is  no  such  heinous  matter  to  fall  afflicted,  as,  being 
down,  to  lie  dejected.  It  is  no  danger  for  a  soldier  to 
receive  a  wound  in  battle,  but,  after  the  wound  re- 
ceived, through  despair  of  recovery,  to  refuse  a  remedy  •, 
for  we  often  see  wounded  champions  wear  the  palm  at 
last  j  and,  after  fight,  crowned  with  victory. 


EPIC.   14. 

Triumph  not,  Cupid,  his  mischance  doth  show 
Thy  trade  ;  doth  once,  what  thou  dost  always  do  : 
Brag  not  too  soon  j  has  thy  prevailing  hand 
FoiTd  him  ?  ah  fool,  thr5  hast  taught  him  how  to  stand. 


BOOK  II. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem   15 


Putct  aetheae  ;   clauditur  orbi. 
JER.  XXXII.  40. 

I  will  put  my  fear  in  their  hearts,  that  they  shall  not  depart 
from  me. 

GO,  now  the  soul's  sublim'd  :  her  sour  desires 
^  Are  recalcinM  in  Heaven's  well-tempered  fires  : 
The  heart  restored  and  purg'd  from  drossy  nature, 
Now  finds  the  freedom  of  a  new-born  creature  : 
It  lives  another  life,  it  breathes  new  breath  ; 
It  neither  fears  nor  feels  the  sting  of  death  : 
Like  as  the  idle  vagrant  (having  none) 
That  boldly  Adopts  each  house  he  views,  his  own  ; 


92  EMBLEMS. 


Makes  ev'ry  purse  his  chequer  ;  and,  at  pleasure, 

Walks  forth,  and  taxes  all  the  world,  like  Caesar ; 

At  length,  by  virtue  of  a  just  command, 

His  sides  are  lent  to  a  severer  hand ; 

Whereon  his  pass,  not  fully  understood, 

Is  taxed  in  a  manuscript  of  blood ; 

Thus  past  from  town  to  town  ;  until  he  come 

A  sore  repentant  to  his  native  home  : 

E'en  so  the  rambling  heart,  that  idly  roves 

From  crimes  to  sin,  and  uncontrolled  removes 

From  lust  to  lust,  when  wanton  flesh  invites 

From  old  worn  pleasures  to  new  choice  delights ; 

At  length  corrected  by  the  filial  rod 

Of  his  offended,  but  his  gracious  GOD, 

And  lashM  from  sins  to  sighs  ;  and  by  degrees, 

From  sighs  to  vows,  from  vows  to  bended  knees ; 

From  bended  knees  to  a  true  pensive  breast ; 

From  thence  to  torments  not  by  tongue  exprest  ; 

Returns  ;  and  (from  his  sinful  self  exil'd) 

Finds  a  glad  father,  he  a  welcome  child : 

O  then  it  lives  ;  O  then  it  lives  involved 

In  secret  raptures  ;  pants  to  be  dissolved  : 

The  royal  offspring  of  a  second  birth, 

Sets  ope'  to  Heav'n,  and  shuts  the  door  to  earth : 

If  love-sick  Jove  commanded  clouds  should  hap 

To  rain  such  show'rs  as  quicker/d   Danae's  lap : 

Or  dogs  (far  kinder  than  their  purple  master,) 

Should  lick  his  sores,  he  laughs,  nor  weeps  the  faster. 

If  earth  (Heav'n's  rival)  dart  her  idle  ray; 

To  Heav'n,  "'tis  wax,  and  to  the  world,  'tis  clay : 

If  earth  present  delights,  it  scorns  to  draw, 

But,  like  the  jet  unrubb'd,  disdains  that  straw. 

No  hope  deceives  it,  and  no  doubt  divides  it; 

No  grief  disturbs  it,  and  no  error  guides  it; 

No  good  contemns  it,  and  no  virtue  blames  it : 

No  guilt  condemns  it,  and  no  folly  shames  it ; 


EMBLEMS.  93 


No  sloth  besots  it,  and  no  lust  inthrals  it; 

No  scorn  afflicts  it,  and  no  passion  galls  it : 

It  is  a  casket  of  immortal  life  ; 

An  ark  of  peace ;  the  lists  of  sacred  strife 

A  purer  piece  of  endless  transitory  ; 

A  shrine  of  grace,  a  little  theme  of  glory : 

A  heaven-born  offspring  of  a  new-born  birth  ; 

An  earthly  heaven ;  an  ounce  of  heavenly  earth. 


S.  AUGUST,  de  Spir.  et  Anima. 

O  happy  heart,  where  piety  affecteth,  where  humility 
subjecteth,  where  repentance  correcteth,  where  obe- 
dience directeth,  where  perseverance  perfecteth,  where 
power  protecteth,  where  devotion  projecteth,  where 
charity  connecteth. 

S.  GREG. 

Which  way  soever  the  heart  turneth  itself  (if  care- 
fully), it  shall  commonly  observe,  that  in  those  very 
things  we  lose  GOD,  in  those  very  things  we  shall  find 
GOD  :  it  shall  find  the  heat  of  his  power  in  considera- 
tion of  those  things,  in  the  love  of  which  things  he  was 
most  cold  ;  and  by  what  things  it  fell  perverted,  by 
those  things  it  is  raised  converted. 


EPIG.  15. 

My  heart !  but  wherefore  do  I  call  thee  so  ? 
I  have  renounced  my  interest  long  ago  : 
When  thou  wert  false  and  fleshly,  I  was  thine ; 
Mine  wert  thou  never,  till  thou  wert  not  mine. 


94 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK  III. 


BOOK       THE       THIRD. 


PSALM  XXXVIII.  Q. 

Lord,  all  my  desire  is  before   thee :  and  my  groaning    is 
not  hid  from  thee. 

®fje  Entertainment. 

A  LL  you  whose  better  thoughts  are  newly  born, 
•**•  And  (rebaptiz'd  with  holy  fire)  can  scorn 
The  world's  base  trash,  whose  necks  disdain  to  bear 
Th'  imperious  yoke  of  Satan  ;  whose  chaste  ear 
No  wanton  songs  of  Sirens  can  surprise 
With  false  delight ;  whose  more  than  eagle-eyes 


EMBLEMS. 


95 


Can  view  the  glorious  flames  of  gold,  and  gaze 
On  glitt'ring  beams  of  honour,  and  not  daze  ; 
Whose  souls  can  spurn  at  pleasure,  and  deny 
The  loose  suggestions  of  the  flesh,  draw  nigh  : 

And  you,  whose  am'rous,  whose  select  desires 
Would  feel  the  warmth  of  those  transcendent  fires, 
Which  (like  the  rising  sun)  put  out  the  light 
Of  Venus'  star,  and  turn  her  day  to  night ; 
You  that  would  love,  and  have  your  passions  crown'd 
With  greater  happiness  than  can  be  found 
In  your  own  wishes  ;  you  that  would  affect 
Where  neither  scorn,  nor  guile,  nor  disrespect 
Shall  wound  your  tortur'd  souls  ;  that  would  enjoy, 
Where  neither  want  can  pinch,  nor  fulness  cloy, 
Nor  double  doubt  afflicts,  nor  baser  fear 
Unflames  your  courage  in  pursuit,  draw  near, 
Shake  hands  with  earth,  and  let  your  soul  respect 
Her  joys  no  farther,  than  her  joys  reflect 
Upon  her  Maker's  glory  ;  if  thou  swim 
In  wealth,  see  him  in  all ;  see  all  in  him  : 
Sink'st  thou  in  want,  and  is  thy  small  cruse  spent  ? 
See  him  in  want  :   enjoy  him  in  content : 
Conceiv'st  him  lodg'd  in  cross,  or  lost  in  pain  ? 
In  pray'r  and  patience  find  him  out  again  : 
Make  Heav'n  thy  mistress,  let  no  change  remove 
Thy  royal  heart,  be  fond,  be  sick  of  love  : 
What,  if  he  stop  his  ear,  or  knit  his  brow  ? 
At  length  he'll  be  as  fond,  as  sick  as  thou  : 
Dart  up  thy  soul  in  groans  :  thy  secret  groan 
Shall  pierce  his  ear,  shall  pierce  his  ear  alone  : 
Dart  up  thy  soul  in  vows  :   thy  sacred  vow 
Shall  find  him  out,  where  Heav'n  alone  shall  know : 
Dart  up  thy  soul  in  sighs  :  thy  whispering  sigh 
Shall  rouse  his  ears,  and  fear  no  list'ner  nigh  : 
Send  up  thy  groans,  thy  sighs,  thy  closet-vow  ; 
There's  none,  there's  none  shall  know  but  Heav'n  and  thou. 


9G 


EMBLEMS. 


HOOK  III. 


Groans   fresh'd  with   vows,  and   vows   made   salt  with 

tears  ; 

Unscale  his  eyes,  and  scale  his  conquer'd  ears  : 
Shoot  up  the  bosom  shafts  of  thy  desire, 
Feather'd  with  faith,  and  double-fork'd  with  fire ; 
And  they  will  hit :  fear  not,  where  Heaven  bids  come, 
Heav'n's  never  deaf,  but  when  man's  heart  is  dumb. 


BOOT:  in.  EMBLEMS.  97 


Emblem   i. 


ISAIAH    XXV   .  9. 

My  soul  hath  desired  thee  in  the  night. 

God  !  what  horrid  darkness  doth  surround 
^-^  My  groping  soul !  how  are  my  senses  bound 
In  utter  shades,  and  muffled  from  the  light, 
Lurk  in  the  bosom  of  eternal  night  ! 
The  bold-fac'd  lamp  of  Heav'n  can  set  and  rise ; 
And  with  his  morning  glory  fill  the  eyes 
Of  gazing  mortals  ;  his  victorious  ray 
Can  chase  the  shadows,  and  restore  the  day : 
Night's  bashful  empress,  though  she  often  wane, 
As  oft  repeats  her  darkness,  primes  again ; 
And,  with  her  circling  horns,  doth  re-embrace 
Her  brother's  wealth,  and  orbs  her  silver  face. 

H 


EMBLEMS.  HOOK  in. 


But  ah !  my  sun,  deep  swallow'd  in  his  fall, 

Is  set,  and  cannot  shine,  nor  rise  at  all  : 

My  bankrupt  wain  can  beg  nor  borrow  light ; 

Alas  !   my  darkness  is  perpetual  night. 

Falls  have  their  risings,  wanings  have  their  primes, 

And  desp'rate  sorrows  wait  their  better  times  : 

Ebbs  have  their  floods,  and  autumns  have  their  springs  : 

All  states  have  changes  hurried  with  the  swings 

Of  chance  and- time,  still  riding  to  and  fro : 

Terrestrial  bodies,  and  celestial  too. 

How  often  have  I  vainly  grop'd  about, 

With  lengthened  arms  to  find  a  passage  out, 

That  I  might  catch  those  beams  mine  eye  desires, 

And  bathe  my  soul  in  those  celestial  fires ! 

Like  as  the  haggard,  cloister'd  in  her  mew, 

TQ  scour  her  downy  robes,  and  to  renew 

Her  broken  flags,  preparing  t'  overlook 

The  tim'rous  mallard  at  the  sliding  brook, 

Jets  oft  from  perch  to  perch  ;  from  stock  to  ground  ; 

From  ground  to  window  ;  thus  surveying  round 

Her  dove-befeather'd  prison,  till  at  length 

(Calling  her  noble  birth  to  mind,  and  strength 

Whereto  her  wing  was  born)  her  ragged  beak 

Nips  off  her  jangling  jesses,  strives  to  break 

Her  jingling  fetters,  and  begins  to  bate 

At  ev'ry  glimpse,  and  darts  at  ev'ry  grate  : 

E'en  so,  my  weary  soul,  that  long  has  been 

An  inmate  in  this  tenement  of  sin, 

Lock'd  up  by  cloud-brow'd  error,  which  invites 

My  cloister'd  thoughts  to  feed  on  black  delights, 

Now  scorns  her  shadows,  and  begins  to  dart 

Her  wing'd  desires  at  thee,  that  only  art 

The  sun  she  seeks,  whose  rising  beams  can  fright 

These  dusky  clouds  that  make  so  dark  a  night : 

Shine  forth,  great  glory,  shine ;  that  I  may  see 

Both  how  to  loathe  myself,  and  honour  thee  ; 


BOOK  in.  EMBLEMS.  99 

But  if  my  weakness  force  thee  to  deny 
Thy  flames,  yet  lend  the  twilight  of  thine  eye  : 
If  I  must  want  those  beams  I  wish,  yet  grant 
That  I,  at  least,  may  wish  those  beams  1  want. 


S.  AUGUST.  Soliloq.  Cap.  xxxiii. 

There  was  a  great  dark  cloud  of  vanity  before  mine 
eyes,  so  that  I  could  not  see  the  sun  of  justice  and  the 
light  of  truth  :  I  being  the  sun  of  darkness,  was  involved 
in  darkness :  I  loved  my  darkness,  because  I  knew  not 
thy  light :  I  was  blind,  and  loved  my  blindness,  and  did 
walk  from  darkness  to  darkness :  but,  LORD,  thou  art 
my  GOD,  who  hast  led  me  from  darkness  and  the  shadow 
of  death ;  hast  called  me  into  this  glorious  light,  and 
behold,  I  see. 

EPIG.  j. 

My  soul,  cheer  up  ;  what  if  the  night  be  long  ? 
Heav'n  finds  an  ear  when  sinners  rind  a  tongue  ; 
Thy  tears  are  morning  showers :  Heav'n  bids  me  say, 
When  Peter's  cock  begins  to  crow,  'tis  day. 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK  III. 


Emblem   2 


PSALM  LXIX.  5. 

Lord,  thou  knowest  my  foolishness ,  and  my  sins  are  not  hid 
from  thee. 

CEE'ST  thou  this  fulsome  idiot :  in  what  measure 

^     He  seems  transported  with  the  antic  pleasure 

Of  childish  baubles  ?     Canst  thou  but  admire 

The  empty  fulness  of  his  vain  desire  ? 

Canst  thou  conceive  such  poor  delights  as  these 

Can  fill  th'  insatiate  soul  of  man,  or  please 

The  fond  aspect  of  his  deluded  eye  ? 

Reader,  such  very  fools  art  thou  and  I : 

False  puffs  of  honour  ;  the  deceitful  streams 

Of  wealth  ;  the  idle,  vain,  and  empty  dreams 


BOOK  in.  EMBLEMS. 


Of  pleasure,  are  our  traffic,  and  ensnare 

Our  souls,  the  threefold  subject  of  our  care ; 

We  toil  for  trash,  we  barter  solid  joys 

For  airy  trifles,  sell  our  Heav'n  for  toys  : 

We  catch  at  barley-grains,  whilst  pearls  stand  by 

Despis'd ;  such  very  fools  art  thou  and  I. 

Aim'st  thou  at  honour  ?  does  not  the  idiot  shake  it 

In  his  left  hand  ?  fond  man,  step  forth  and  take  it : 

Or  would'st  thou  wealth  ?  see  now  the  fool  presents  thee 

With  a  full  basket,  if  such  wealth  contents  thee  : 

Would'st  thou  take  pleasure  ?  if  the  fool  unstride 

His  prancing  stallion,  thou  may'st  up,  and  ride : 

Fond  man,  such  is  the  pleasure,  wealth,  and  honour, 

The  earth  affords  such  fools  as  doat  upon  her ; 

Such  is  the  game  whereat  earth's  idiots  fly ; 

Such  idiots,  ah  !  such  fools  art  thou  and  I : 

Had  rebel  man's  fool-hardiness  extended 

No  farther  than  himself,  and  there  had  ended, 

It  had  been  just ;  but  thus  enrag'd  to  fly 

Upon  th'  eternal  eyes  of  Majesty, 

And  drag  the  Son  of  Glory  from  the  breast 

Of  his  indulgent  Father  ;  to  arrest 

His  great  and  sacred  person ;  in  disgrace 

To  spit  and  spawl  upon  his  sun-bright  face  ; 

To  taunt  him  with  base  terms,  and,  being  bound, 

To  scourge  his  soft,  his  trembling  sides  ;  to  wound 

His  head  with  thorns,  his  heart  with  human  fears ; 

His  hands  with  nails,  and  his  pale  flank  with  spears  ; 

And  then  to  paddle  in  the  purer  stream 

Of  his  spilt  blood,  is  more  than  most  extreme : 

Great  Builder  of  Mankind,  canst  thou  propound 

All  this  to  thy  bright  eyes,  and  not  confound 

Thy  handy  work  ?     Oh  !  canst  thou  choose  but  see, 

That  mad'st  the  eye  ?  can  aught  be  hid  from  thee  ? 

Thou  see'st  our  persons,  LORD,  and  not  our  guilt; 

Thou  seest  not  what  thou  may'st,  but  what  thou  wilt : 


102 


EMBLEMS. 


The  hand  that  form'd  us  is  en  fore  Jd  to  be 
A  screen  set  up  betwixt  thy  work  and  thee  : 
Look,  look  upon  that  hand,  and  thou  shalt  spy 
An  open  wound,  a  thoroughfare  for  thine  eye  ; 
Or  if  that  wound  be  clos'd,  that  passage  be 
Deny'd  between  thy  gracious  eye  and  me, 
Yet  view  the  scar ;    that  scar  will  countermand 
Thy  wrath  :   O  read  my  fortune  in  thy  hand. 


S.  CHRYS.  Horn.  iv.  in  Joan. 

Fools  seem  to  abound  in  wealth,  when  they  want  all 
things ;  they  seem  to  enjoy  happiness,  when  indeed 
they  are  only  most  miserable ;  neither  do  they  under- 
stand that  they  are  deluded  by  their  fancy,  till  they  be 
delivered  from  their  folly. 

S.  GREG,  in  Mor. 

By  so  much  the  more  are  we  inwardly  foolish,  by 
how  much  we  strive  to  seem  outwardly  wise. 


EPIG.  2. 

Rebellious  fool,  what  has  thy  folly  done  ? 
Controll'd  thy  GOD,  and  crucifyM  his  Son  ? 
How  sweetly  has  the  LORD  of  life  deceived  thee! 
Thou   shedd'st  his  blood,  and  that  shed  blood  has  sav'd 
thee. 


BOOK  III. 


EMBLEMS. 


103 


Emblem 


PSALM  VI.  2. 


Have  mercy ,  Lord,   upon  me,  for  1  am  weak ;   O  Lord, 
heal  me,  for  my  bones  are  vexed. 


g>GUl. 


Soul. 


A 


H 


Son  of  David,   help.     Jes.    What  sinful 

cry 
Implores  the  Son  of  David  ?  Soul.     It  is  I. 

^Jes.  Who  art  thou  ?     Soul.   Oh  !  a  deeply  wounded 

breast 
That's  heavy  laden,  and  would  fain  have  rest. 

yes.   I  have  no  scraps,  and  dogs  must  not  be  fed, 
Like  household  children,  with  the  children's  bread. 


io4  EMBLEMS.  BOOK  in. 

Soul.  True,  LORD  ;  yet  tolerate  a  hungry  whelp 
To  lick  their  crumbs  :  O  Son  of  David,  help. 

Jes.  Poor  soul,  what  ail'st  thou  ?    Soul.  O,  I  burn,  I  fry, 
I  cannot  rest,  I  know  not  where  to  fly, 
To  find  some  ease  ;   I  turn  my  blubber'd  face 
From  man  to  man  ;  I  roll  from  place  to  place 
T'  avoid  my  tortures,  to  obtain  relief, 
But  still  am  dogg'd  and  haunted  with  my  grief : 
My  midnight  torments  call  the  sluggish  light, 
And  when  the  morning's  come,  they  woo  the  night. 

Jes.  Surcease  thy  tears,  and  speak  thy  free  desires. 

Soul.  Quench,   quench  my  flames,  and   'suage   those 
scorching  fires. 

Jes.  Canst  thou  believe  my  hand  can  cure  thy  grief 

Soul.  LORD,  I  believe  ;  LORD,  help  my  unbelief. 

Jes.  Hold  forth  thine  arm,  and  let  my  fingers  try 
Thy  pulse  ;  where,  chiefly,  doth  thy  torment  lie  ? 

Soul.  From  head  to  foot ;  it  reigns  in  ev'ry  part, 
But  plays  the  self-law'd  tryant  in  my  heart. 

Jes.  Canst  thou  digest,  canst  relish  wholesome  food  ? 
How  stands  thy  taste  ?  Soul.  To  nothing  that  is  good  : 
All  sinful  trash,  and  earth's  unsav'ry  stuff 
I  can  digest,  and  relish  well  enough. 

Jes.  Is  not  thy  blood  as  cold  as  hot,  by  turns  ? 

Soul.   Cold  to  what's  good  ;  to  what  is  bad  it  burns. 

Jes.  How  old's  thy  grief?  Soul.  I  took  it  at  the  fall 
With  eating  fruit.     Jes.  'Tis  epidemical : 
Thy  blood's  infected,  and  the  infection  sprung 
From  a  bad  liver :  'tis  a  fever  strong 
And  full  of  death,  unless  with  present  speed 
A  vein  be  open'd  :  thou  must  die,  or  bleed. 

Soul.  O,  I  am  faint  and  spent :  that  lance  that  shall 
Let  forth  my  blood,  lets  forth  my  life  withal ; 
My  soul  wants  cordials,  and  has  greater  need 
Of  blood,  than  (being  spent  so  far)  to  bleed  : 
I  faint  already :  if  I  bleed,  I  die. 


EMBLEMS.  105 


Jes.     'Tis  either  you  must  bleed,  sick  soul,  or  I  : 
My  blood's  a  cordial.     He  that  sucks  my  veins, 
Shall  cleanse  his  own,  and  conquer  greater  pains 
Than  these  :  cheer  up ;  this  precious  blood  of  mine 
Shall  cure  thy  grief;  my  heart  shall  bleed  for  thine. 
Believe,  and  view  me  with  a  faithful  eye, 
Thy  soul  shall  neither  languish,  bleed,  nor  die. 


S.  AUGUST.  Lib.  x.  Confess. 

LORD,  be  merciful  unto  me  !  ah  me  !  behold,  I  hide 
not  my  wounds  :  thou  art  a  physician,  and  I  am  sick  ; 
thou  art  merciful,  and  I  am  miserable. 

S.  GREG,  in  Pastoral. 

O  wisdom,  with  how  sweet  an  art  doth  thy  wine 
and  oil  restore  health  to  my  healthless  soul  !  How 
powerfully  merciful,  how  mercifully  powerful  art  thou  ! 
powerful  for  me,  merciful  to  me  ! 


EPIG.  3. 

Canst  thou  be  sick,  and  such  a  doctor  by  ? 
Thou  canst  not  live  unless  thy  doctor  die  : 
Strange  kind  of  grief,  that  finds  no  medicine  good 
To  'suage  her  pains,  but  the  physician's  blood  ! 


io6 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  4. 


PSALM  XXV.    l8. 


Look  upon  my  affliction  and  my  pain,  and  forgive  all  my  sins. 


B 


OTH  work  and  strokes  ?  both  lash  and  labour  too  ? 

What  more  could  Edom,  or  proud  Ashur  do  ? 
Stripes  after  stripes  ;  and  blows  succeeding  blows  ! 
LORD,  has  thy  scourge  no  mercy,  and  my  woes 
No  end  ?  my  pains  no  ease  ?  no  intermission  ? 
Is  this  the  state,  is  this  the  sad  condition 
Of  those  that  trust  thee  ?  will  thy  goodness  please 
T'  allow  no  other  favours  ?  none  but  these  ? 
Will  not  the  rhetoric  of  my  torments  move  ? 
Are  these  the  symptoms,  these  the  signs  of  love  ? 


BOOK  in.  EMBLEMS.  107 

Is  't  not  enough,  enough  that  I  fulfil 

The  toilsome  task  of  thy  laborious  will  ? 

May  not  this  labour  expiate  and  purge 

My  sin,  without  th'  addition  of  a  scourge  ? 

Look  on  my  cloudy  brow,  how  fast  it  rains 

Sad  show'rs  of  sweat,  the  fruits  of  fruitless  pains  : 

Behold  these  ridges,  see  what  purple  furrows 

Thy  plough  has  made ;  O  think  upon  those  sorrows 

That  once  were  thine  ;  O  wilt  thou  not  be  wooM 

To  mercy,  by  the  charms  of  sweat  and  blood  ? 

Canst  thou  forget  that  drowsy  mount,  wherein 

Thy  dull  disciples  slept  ?   was  not  my  sin 

There  punish' d  in  thy  soul  ?   did  not  this  brow 

Then  sweat  in  thine  ?  were  not  these  drops  enow  ? 

Remember  Golgotha,  where  that  spring-tide 

Overflow' d  thy  sovereign,  sacramental  side  : 

There  was  no  sin,  there  was  no  guilt  in  thee,  [me. 

That  caus'd  those  pains  ;  thou  sweat'st,  thou  bledd'st  for 

Was  there  not  blood  enough,  when  one  small  drop 

Had  pow'r  to  ransom  thousand  worlds,  and  stop 

The  mouth  of  justice  ?  Lord,  I  bled  before 

In  thy  deep  wounds  ;  can  justice  challenge  more  ? 

Or  dost  thou  vainly  labour  to  hedge  in 

Thy  losses  from  my  sides  ?  my  blood  is  thin 

And  thy  free  bounty  scorns  such  easy  thrift ; 

No,  no,  thy  blood  came  not  as  loan,  but  gift. 

But  must  I  ever  grind,  and  must  I  earn 

Nothing  but  stripes  ?  O  wilt  thou  disaltern 

The  rest  thou  gav'st  ?  hast  thou  perus'd  the  curse 

Thou  laid'st  on  Adam's  fall,  and  made  it  worse  ? 

Canst  thou  repent  of  mercy  ?     Heav'n  thought  good 

Lost  man  should  feed  in  sweat ;  not  work  in  blood  : 

Why  dost  thou  wound  th'  already  wounded  breast  ? 

Ah  me !  my  life  is  but  a  pain  at  best : 

I  am  but  dying  dust :   my  day  's  a  span  ; 

What  pleasure  tak'th  thou  in  the  blood  of  man  ? 


io8  EMBLEMS.  HOOK  in. 

Spare,  spare  thy  scourge,  and  be  not  so  austere  : 
Send  fewer  strokes,  or  lend  more  strength  to  bear. 


S.  BERN.  Horn.  Ixxxi.  in  Cant. 

Miserable  man  !  who  shall  deliver  me  from  the  re- 
proach of  this  shameful  bondage  ?  I  am  a  miserable 
man,  but  a  free  man ;  free,  because  a  man ;  miserable, 
because  a  servant :  in  regard  of  my  bondage,  miserable  ; 
in  regard  of  my  will,  inexcusable  :  for  my  will,  that 
was  free,  beslaved  itself  to  sin,  by  assenting  to  sin ;  for 
he  that  committeth  sin,  is  the  servant  to  sin. 


EPIG.  4. 

Tax  not  thy  GOD  :  thine  own  defaults  did  urge 
This  twofold  punishment :  the  mill,  the  scourge. 
Thy  sin  's  the  author  of  thy  self-tormenting : 
Thou  grind'st  for  sinning ;  scourg'd  for  not  repenting. 


EMBLEMS. 


109 


Emblem  5 


JOB  X.  9. 

Remember,  I  beseech  thee,  that  thou  hast  made  me  as  the 
clay  ;  and  wilt  thou  bring  me  into  dust  again  ? 

'"pHUS  from  the  bosom  of  the  new-made  earth 
•*•     Poor  man  was  delv'd,  and  had  his  unborn  birth  j 
The  same  the  stuff,  the  self-same  hand  doth  trim 
The  plant  that  fades,  the  beast  that  dies,  and  him. 
One  was  their  fire,  one  was  their  common  mother, 
Plants  are  his  sisters,  and  the  beast  his  brother, 
The  elder  too  ;  beasts  drew  the  self-same  breath, 
Wax  old  alike,  and  die  the  self-same  death  : 
Plants  grow  as  he,  with  fairer  robes  arrayM  ; 
Alike  they  flourish,  and  alike  they  fade  : 


no  EMBLEMS.  BOOK  in. 


The  beast  in  sense  exceeds  him,  and,  in  growth, 

The  three-ag'd  oak  doth  thrice  exceed  them  both. 

Why  look'st  thou  then  so  big,  thou  little  span 

Of  earth  ;  what  art  thou  more  in  being  man  ? 

I,  but  my  great  Creator  did  inspire 

My  chosen  earth,  with  the  diviner  fire 

Of  reason  ;  gave  me  judgment  and  a  will ; 

That,  to  know  good  ;  this,  to  choose  good  from  ill : 

He  puts  the  reins  of  pow'r  in  my  free  hand, 

A  jurisdiction  over  sea  and  knd ; 

He  gave  me  art  to  lengthen  out  my  span 

Of  life,  and  made  me  all,  in  being  man  : 

I,  but  thy  passion  has  committed  treason 

Against  the  sacred  person  of  thy  reason  : 

Thy  judgment  is  corrupt,  perverse  thy  will ; 

That  knows  no  good,  and  this  makes  choice  of  ill : 

The  greater  height  sends  down  the  deeper  fall ; 

And  good  declined,  turns  bad,  turns  worst  of  all. 

Say,  then,  proud  inch  of  living  earth,  what  can 

Thy  greatness  claim  the  more  in  being  man  ? 

O  !  but  my  soul  transcends  the  pitch  of  nature, 

Borne  up  by  th'  image  of  her  high  Creator  ; 

Outbraves  the  life  of  reason,  and  bears  down 

Her  waxen  wings,  kicks  off  her  brazen  crown. 

My  heart's  a  living  temple  t'  entertain 

The  King  of  Glory  and  his  glorious  train : 

How  can  I  mend  my  title  then  ?  where  can 

Ambition  find  a  higher  style  than  man  ? 

Ah  !  but  that  image  is  defacM  and  soiPd  ; 

Her  temples  raz'd,  her  altars  all  defil'd  ; 

Her  vessels  are  polluted  and  distain'd 

With  loathed  lust,  her  ornaments  profanM  ; 

Her  oil-forsaken  lamps  and  hollow'd  tapers 

Put  out ;  her  incense  breathes  unsav'ry  vapours  : 

Why  swell'st  thou  then  so  big,  thou  little  span 

Of  earth  ?  what  art  thou  more  in  being  man  ? 


EMBLEMS. 


Eternal  Potter,  whose  blest  hands  did  lay 

My  coarse  foundation  from  a  sod  of  clay, 

Thou  know'st  my  slender  vessel 's  apt  to  leak  ; 

Thou  know'st  my  brittle  temper  's  prone  to  break  : 

Are  my  bones  brazil,  or  my  flesh  of  oak  ? 

O,  mend  what  thou  hast  made,  what  I  have  broke  : 

Look,  look  with  gentle  eyes,  and  in  thy  day 

Of  vengeance,  LORD,  remember  I  am  clay. 


S.  AUGUST.  Soliloq.  xxxii. 

Shall  I  ask,  who  made  me  ?  It  was  thou  that 
madest  me,  without  whom  nothing  was  made  :  thou' 
art  my  Maker,  and  I  thy  work.  I  thank  thee,  my 
LORD  GOD,  by  whom  I  live,  and  by  whom  all  things 
subsist,  because  thou  madest  me :  I  thank  thee,  O  my 
Potter,  because  thy  hands  have  made  me,  because  thy 
hands  have  formed  me. 


EPIG.  5. 

Why  swell'st   thou,    man,    pufPd    up    with    fame    and 

purse  ? 

Th'  art  better  earth,  but  born  to  dig  the  worse  : 
Thou  cam'st  from  earth,  to  earth  thou  must,  return  ; 
And  art  but  earth,  cast  from  the  womb  to  th'  urn. 


112 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  6 


JOB  VII.    2O. 

I  have  sinned  :  What  shall  I  do  unto  thee,  O  thou  Preserver 
of  men  ?  why  dost  thou  set  me  as  a  mark  against 


T    ORD,  I  have  done  ;  and,  Lord  I  have  misdone  ; 

-*—  '  'Tis  folly  to  contest,  to  strive  with  one 

That  is  too  strong  ;  'tis  folly  to  assail 

Or  prove  an  arm,  that  will,  that  must  prevail,      [thrown 

I've    done,    Fve    done  ;     these    trembling   hands    have 

Their  daring  weapons  down  :  the  day's  thine  own  : 

Forbear  to  strike  where  thou  hast  won  the  field, 

The  palm,  the  palm  is  thine  :  I  yield,  I  yield. 

These  treach'rous  hands,  that  were  so  vainly  bold 

To  try  a  thriveless  combat,  and  to  hold 


EMBLEMS.  113 


Self-wounded  weapons  up,  are  now  extended 

For  mercy  from  thy  hand ;  that  knee  that  bended 

Upon  her  guardless  guard,  doth  now  repent 

Upon  this  naked  floor  ;  see  both  are  bent, 

And  sue  for  pity  :   O  my  ragged  wound 

Is  deep  and  desp'rate,  it  is  drenched  and  drown'd 

In  blood  and  briny  tears  :  it  doth  begin 

To  stink  without,  and  putrefy  within. 

Let  that  victorious  hand  that  now  appears 

Just  in  my  blood,  prove  gracious  to  my  tears  : 

Thou  great  Preserver  of  presumptuous  man, 

What  shall  I  do  ?  what  satisfaction  can 

Poor  dust  and  ashes  make  ?     O  if  that  blood, 

That  yet  remains  unshed,  were  half  as  good 

As  blood  of  oxen,  if  my  death  might  be 

An  ofPring  to  atone  my  GOD  and  me, 

I  would  disdain  injurious  life,  and  stand 

A  suitor  to  be  wounded  from  thy  hand. 

But  may  thy  wrongs  be  measur'd  by  the  span 

Of  life,  or  balanced  with  the  blood  of  man  ? 

No,  no,  eternal  sin  expects,  for  guerdon, 

Eternal  penance,  or  eternal  pardon  : 

Lay  down  thy  weapons,  turn  thy  wrath  away, 

And  pardon  him  that  hath  no  price  to  pay  ; 

Enlarge  that  soul,  which  base  presumption  binds  ; 

Thy  justice  cannot  loose  what  mercy  finds  ; 

O  thou  that  wilt  not  bruise  the  broken  reed, 

Rub  not  my  sores,  nor  prick  the  wounds  that  bleed. 

LORD,  if  the  peevish  infant  fights  and  flies, 

With  unpar'd  weapons,  at  his  mother's  eyes, 

Her  frowns  (half-mix'd  with  smiles),  may  chance  to  show 

An  angry  love-tick  on  his  arm,  or  so ; 

Where,  if  the  babe  but  make  a  lip  and  cry, 

Her  heart  begins  to  melt,  and  by  and  by 

She  coaxes  his  dewy  cheeks  ;  her  babe  she  blesses, 

And  chokes  her  language  with  a  thousand  kisses  ; 


ii4  EMBLEMS. 


I  am  that  child  :  lo,  here  I  prostrate  lie, 
Pleading  for  mercy,  I  repent,  and  cry 
For  gracious  pardon  j  let  thy  gentle  ears 
Hear  that  in  words,  what  mothers  judge  in  tears  : 
See  not  my  frailties,  LORD,  but  through  my  fear, 
And  look  on  every  trespass  through  a  tear  : 
Then  calm  thine  anger,  and  appear  more  mild  5 
Remember,  th'  art  a  father,  I  a  child. 


S.  BERN.  Ser.  xxi.  in  Cant. 

Miserable  man  !  who  shall  deliver  me  from  the  re- 
proach of  this  shameful  bondage  ?  I  am  a  miserable 
man,  but  a  free  man  :  free,  because  like  to  GOD  j  mise- 
rable, because  against  GOD  :  O  keeper  of  mankind,  why 
hast  thou  set  me  as  a  mark,  against  thee  ?  thou  hast  set 
me,  because  thou  has  not  hindered  me  :  It  is  just  that  thy 
enemy  should  be  my  enemy,  and  that  he  who  repugneth 
thee,  should  repugn  me  :  I,  who  am  against  thee,  am 
against  myself. 


EPIG.  6. 

But  form'd,  and  fight !   but  born,  and  then  rebel ! 
How  small  a  blast  will  make  a  bubble  swell  ? 
Cut  dares  the  floor  affront  the  hand  that  laid  it  ? 
So  apt  is  dust  to  fly  in  's  face  that  made  it. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  7 


JOB  XIII.  24. 

Wherefore  hldest  thou  thy  face,  and  holdest  me  for  thine 
enemy  ? 

TTlfHY  dost  thou  shade  thy  lovely  face  ;     O  why 
^  *       Does  that  eclipsing  hand  so  long  deny 
The  sunshine  of  thy  soul-enlivening  eye  ; 

Without  that  light,  what  light  remains  in  me  ? 
Thou  art  my  life,  my  way,  my  light ;  in  thee 
I  live,  I  move,  and  by  thy  beams  I  see. 

Thou  art  my  life  ;  if  thou  but  turn  away, 

My  life  's  a  thousand  deaths  :  thou  art  my  way; 

Without  thee,  LORD,  I  travel  not,  but  stray. 


•ii  6  EMBLEMS. 


My  light  them  art ;  without  thy  glorious  sight, 
My  eyes  are  darkened  with  perpetual  night. 
My  GOD,  thou  art  my  way,  my  life,  my  light. 

Thou  art  my  way  ;  I  wander,  if  thou  fly  : 
Thou  art  my  light ;  if  hid,  how  blind  am  I  ? 
Thou  art  my  life  ;  if  thou  withdraw,  I  die. 

Mine  eyes  are  blind  and  dark,  I  cannot  see ; 
To  whom,  or  whither  should  my  darkness  flee, 
But  to  the  light  ?  and  who's  that  light  but  thee  ? 

My  path  is  lost,  my  wandering  steps  do  stray  ; 

I  cannot  safely  go,  nor  safely  stay  ; 

Whom  should  I  seek  but  thee,  my  path,  my  way  ? 

O,  I  am  dead  :  to  whom  shall  I,  poor  I, 
Repair  ?  to  whom  shall  my  sad  ashes  fly 
For  life  ?  and  where  is  life  but  in  thine  eye  ? 

And  yet  thou  turn'st  away  thy  face,  and  fly'st  me  j 
And  yet  I  sue  for  grace,  and  thou  deny'st  me  ; 
Speak,  art  thou  angry,. LORD,  or  only  try'st  me  ? 

Unscreen  those  heav'nly  lamps,  or  tell  me  why 
Thou  shad'st  thy  face  ;  perhaps  thou  thinks't  no  eye 
Can  view  those  flames,  and  not  drop  down  and  die. 

If  that  be  all,  shine  forth  and  draw  thee  nigher  ; 
Let  me  behold  and  die,  for  my  desire 
Is,  phcenix-like,  to  perish  in  that  fire. 

Death-conquered  Laz'rus  was  redeem'd  by  thee ; 
If  I  am  dead,  LORD,  set  death's  prisoner  free ; 
Am  I  more  spent,  or  stink  I  worse  than  he  ? 

If  my  pufPd  life  be  out,  give  leave  to  tine 

My  shameless  snufF  at  that  bright  lamp  of  thine  ; 

O  what's  thy  light  the  less  for  light'ning  mine  ? 


EMBLEMS.  117 


If  I  have  lost  my  path,  great  Shepherd,  say, 

Shall  I  still  wander  in  a  doubtful  way  ? 

LORD,  shall  a  lamb  of  Israel's  sheep-fold  stray  ? 

Thou  art  the  Pilgrim's  path,  the  blind  man's  eye  ; 
The  dead  man's  life  :  on  thee  my  hopes  rely  ; 
If  thou  remove,  I  err,  I  grope,  I  die. 

Disclose  thy  sun-beams,  close  the  wings  and  stay  ; 
See,  see  how  I  am  blind  and  dead,  and  stray, 
O  thou  that  art  my  light,  my  life,  my  way. 


S.  AUGUST.  Soliloq.  Cap.  i. 

Why  dost  thou  hide  thy  face  :  happily  thou  wilt  say, 
None  can  see  thy  face  and  live  :  Ah,  LORD,  let  me  die, 
that  I  may  see  thee ;  let  me  see  thee,  that  I  may  die  ;  I 
would  not  live,  but  die  ;  that  I  may  see  Christ,  I  desire 
death  ;  that  I  may  live  with  Christ,  I  despise  life. 

ANSELM.  Med.  Cap.  v. 

O  excellent  hiding,  which  is  become  my  perfection  ! 
My  GOD,  thou  hidest  thy  treasure,  to  kindle  my  desire  ! 
thou  hidest  thy  pearl,  to  inflame  the  seeker  j  thou 
delayest  to  give,  that  thou  mayest  teach  me  to  impor- 
tune ;  seemest  not  to  hear,  to  make  me  persevere. 


EPIG.  7. 

If  HeavWs  all-quick'ning  eyes  vouchsafe  to  shine 
Upon  our  souls,  we  sight ;  if  not,  we  whine  : 
Our  equinoctial  hearts  can  never  lie 
Secure,  beneath  the  tropics  of  that  eye. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  8. 


JER.  IX.    I. 

Oh  that  my  head  were  waters,  and  mine  eyes  a  fountain  of 
tears^  that  I  might  weep  day  and  night. 

/~\H    that   mine   eyes  were  springs,   and  could   trans- 

^     form 

Their  drops  to  seas ;  my  sighs  into  a  storm 

Of  zeal,  and  sacred  violence,  wherein 

This  laboring  vessel,  laden  with  her  sin, 

Might  suffer  sudden  shipwreck,  and  be  split 

Upon  that  rock,  where  my  drench'd  soul  may  sit, 

Overwhelmed  with  plenteous   passion  :    Oh,  and  there 

Drop,  drop,  into  an  everlasting  tear  ! 

Ah  me  !  that  every  sliding  vein  that  wanders 

Through  this  vast  isle,  did  work  her  wild  meanders 


EMBLEMS.  119 


In  brackish  tears  instead  of  blood,  and  swell 

This  flesh  with  holy  dropsies,  from  whose  well, 

Made  warm  with  sighs,  may  fume  my  wasting  breath, 

Whilst  I  dissolve  in  streams,  and  reek  to  death  ! 

These  narrow  sluices  of  my  dribbling  eyes 

Are  much  to  strait  for  those  quick  springs  that  rise, 

And  hourly  fill  my  temples  to  the  top ; 

I  cannot  shed  for  every  sin  a  drop  ; 

Great  Builder  of  mankind,  why  hast  thou  sent 

Such  swelling  floods,  and  made  so  small  a  vent  ? 

Oh  that  this  flesh  had  been  composed  of  snow, 

Instead  of  earth  ;  and  bones  of  ice  ;  that  so, 

Feeling  the  fervour  of  my  sin,  and  loathing 

The  fire  I  feel,  I  might  have  thaw'd  to  nothing ! 

0  though  that  didst,  with  hopeful  joy,  entomb 
Me  thrice  three  moons  in  thy  laborious  womb, 
And  then,  with  joyful  pain,  brought'st  forth  a  son, 
What,  worth  thy  labour,  has  thy  labour  done  ? 
What  was  there,  ah  !  what  was  there  in  my  birth 
That  I  could  deserve  the  easiest  smile  of  mirth  ? 
A  man  was  born  :  alas  !  and  what  ;s  a  man  ! 

A  scuttle  full  of  dust,  a  measur'd  span 

Of  flitting  time  ;  a  furnishM  pack,  whose  wares 

Are  sullen  griefs,  and  soul-tormenting  cares  : 

A  vale  of  tears,  a  vessel  tunn'd  with  breath, 

By  sickners  broachM,  to  be  drawn  out  by  death  : 

A  hapless,  helpless  thing,  that,  born,  does  cry 

To  feed,  that  feeds  to  live,  that  lives  to  die. 

Great  GOD  and  man,  whose  eye  spent  drops  so  often 

For  me,  that  cannot  weep  enough  ;   O  soften 

These  marble  brains,  and  strike  this  flinty  rock  ; 

Or,  if  the  music  of  thy  Peter's  cock 

Will  more  prevail,  fill,  fill  my  hearkening  ears 

With  that  sweet  sound,  that  I  may  melt  in  tears ! 

1  cannot  weep  until  thou  broach  mine  eye ; 
O  give  me  vent,  or  else  I  burst,  and  die. 


EMBLEMS. 


! 


S.  AMBROS.  in  Psal.  cxviii. 

He  that  commits  sins  to  be  wept  for,  cannot  weep 
for  sins  committed  ;  and  being  himself  most  lamentable, 
hath  no  tears  to  lament  his  offences. 

NAZIANZ.  Orat.  iii. 
Tears  are  the  deluge  of  sin,  and  the  world's  sacrifice. 

S.  HIERON.  in  Esaiam. 

Prayer  appeases  GOD,  but  a  tear  compels  him  :  that 
moves  him,  but  this  constrains  him. 


EPIG.  8. 

Earth  is  an  island  ported  round  with  fears  ; 
Thy  way  to  Heav'n  is  through  the  sea  of  tears  ; 
It  is  a  stormy  passage,  where  is  found 
The  wreck  of  many  a  ship,  but  no  man  drown'd. 


EMBLEMS.  ia  i 


Emblem  9, 


PSALM  XVIII.   5. 

The  sorrows  of  hell  compassed  me  about^  and  the  snares  of 
death  prevented  me. 

TS  not  this  type  well  cut,  in  ev'ry  part 

•*•   Full  of  rich  cunning  !  fill'd  with  Zeuxian  art  ? 

Are  not  their  hunters,  and  the  Stygian  hounds 

Limn'd  full  to  th'  life  ?  did'st  ever  hear  the  sounds 

Of  music,  and  the  lip-dividing  breaths 

Of  the  strong  winded  horn,  recheats,  and  deaths, 

Done  more  exact  ?  th'  infernal  Nimrod's  halloo  ? 

The  lawless  purlieus  ?   and  the  game  they  follow  ! 

The  hidden  engines,  and  the  snares  that  lie 

So  undiscover'd,  so  obscure  to  th'  eye  ? 


EMBLEMS.  BOOK  in. 


The  new  drawn  net,  and  her  entangled  prey  ? 

And  him  that  closes  it  ?  Beholder,  say, 

Is  't  not  well  done !   seems  not  an  em'lous  strife 

Betwixt  the  rare  cut  picture  and  the  life  ? 

These  purlieu  men  are  devils  ;  and  the  hounds 

(Those  quick-nos'd  cannibals,  that  scour  the  grounds) 

Temptation  ;  and  the  game,  the  fiends  pursue, 

Are  human  souls,  which  still  they  have  in  view  ; 

Whose  fury  if  they  chance  to  'scape,  by  flying, 

The  skilful  hunter  plants  his  net,  close  lying 

On  the  unsuspected  earth,  baited  with  treasure, 

Ambitious  honour,  and  self-wasting  pleasure  : 

Where,  if  the  soul  but  stoop,  death  stands  prepar'd 

To  draw  the  net,  and  drown  the  souls  ensnared. 

Poor  soul  !   how  art  thou  hurried  to  and  fro  ? 

Where  canst  thou  safely  stay  ?  where  safely  go  ? 

If  stay ;  these  hot-mouth'd  hounds  are  apt  to  tear  thee  : 

If  go ;  the  snares  enclose,  the  nets  ensnare  thee  : 

What  good  in  this  bad  world  has  power  t'  invite  thee  ? 

A  willing  guest ;   wherein  can  earth  delight  thee  ? 

Her  pleasures  are  but  itch  :  her  wealth,  but  cares  : 

A  world  of  dangers,  and  a  world  of  snares  : 

The  close  pursuers'  busy  hands  do  plant 

Snares  in  thy  substance  ;  snares  attend  thy  want ; 

Snares  in  thy  credit ;  snares  in  thy  disgrace ; 

Snares  in  thy  high  estate  ;  snares  in  thy  base  ; 

Snares  tuck  thy  bed ;  and  snares  surround  thy  board  ; 

Snares  watch  thy  thoughts  ;  and  snares  attach  thy  word  ; 

Snares  in  thy  quiet ;  snares  in  thy  commotion  ; 

Snares  in  thy  diet ;  snares  in  thy  devotion  ; 

Snares  lurk  in  thy  resolves,  snares  in  thy  doubt ; 

Snares  lie  within  thy  heart,  and  snares  without ; 

Snares  are  above  thy  head,  and  snares  beneath  j 

Snares  in  thy  sickness,  snares  are  in  thy  death. 

Oh  !  if  these  purlieus  be  so  full  of  danger, 

Great  GOD  of  hearts,  the  world's  sole  sovereign  ranger, 


EMBLEMS.  123 


Preserve  thy  deer ;  and  let  my  soul  be  blest 
In  thy  safe  forest,  where  I  seek  for  rest : 
Then  let  the  hell-hounds  roar,  I  fear  no  ill ; 
Rouse  me  they  may,  but  have  no  power  to  kill. 


S.  AMBROS.  Lib.  iv.  in  Cap.  iv.  in  Luc. 

The  reward  of  honours,  the  height  of  power,  the 
delicacy  of  diet,  and  the  beauty  of  an  harlot,  are  the 
snares  of  the  devil. 

S.  AMBROS.  de  Bono  Mortis. 

Whilst  thou  seekest  pleasures,  thou  runnest  into 
snares,  for  the  eye  of  the  harlot  is  the  snare  of  the 
adulterer. 

SAVANAR. 

In  eating,  he  sets  before  us  gluttony  ;  in  generation, 
luxury  ;  in  labour,  sluggishness  ;  in  conversing,  envy ; 
in  governing,  covetousness ;  in  correcting,  anger ;  in 
honour,  pride ;  in  the  heart,  he  sets  evil  thoughts  ;  in 
the  mouth,  evil  words  ;  in  actions,  evil  works  ;  when 
awake,  he  moves  us  to  evil  actions ;  when  asleep,  to 
filthy  dreams. 


EPIG.  9. 

Be  sad,  my  heart,  deep  dangers  wait  thy  mirth  : 
Thy  soul's  waylaid  by  sea,  by  hell,  by  earth  : 
Hell  has  her  hounds  ;  earth,  snares  ;  the  sea,  a  shelf: 
But,  most  of  all,  my  heart,  beware  thyself. 


124- 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK  ITT. 


Emblem   10. 


PSALM  CXLIII.  2. 

Enter  not  Into  judgment  with  thy  servant ;  for  in  thy  sight 
shall  no  man  living  be  justified. 

Jesus.    Justice.    Dinner. 

Jes.    TARING     forth     the    pris'ner,     Justice.       Just. 

*~*     Thy  commands 

Are  done,  just  Judge  :    See  here  the  pris'ner  stands. 
yes.  What    has    the    pris'ner    done  ?      Say ;    what's 

the  cause. 

Of  his  commitment  ?  Just.  He  hath  broke  the  laws 
Of  his  too  gracious  GOD  ;  conspir'd  the  death 
Of  that  great  Majesty  that  gave  him  breath, 
And  heaps  transgression,  LORD,  upon  transgression. 


BOOK  in.  EMBLEMS.  125 

Jes.  How   know'st   thou    this  ?      Just.  E'en  by   his 

own  confession  : 

His  sins  are  crying ;  and  they  cry'd  aloud  : 
They  cry'd  to  Heav'n,  they  cr/d  to  Heav'n  for  blood. 

Jes.  What  say'st  thou,  sinner  ?    hast  thou  ought  to 

plead 

That  sentence  should  riot  pass  ?  hold  up  thy  head, 
And  show  thy  brazen-,  thy  rebellious  face. 

Sin.  Ah  me  !  I  dare  not :  I'm  too  vile  and  base 
To  tread  upon  the  earth,  much  more  to  lift 
Mine  eyes  to  Heav'n ;  I  need  no  other  shrift 
Than  mine  own  conscience  :  LORD,  I  must  confess, 
I  am  no  more  than  dust,  and  no  whit  less 
Than  my  indictment  styles  me  ;  ah  !  if  thou 
Search  too  severe,  with  too  severe  a  brow, 
What  flesh  can  stand  ?   I  have  transgress'd  thy  laws  ; 
My  merits  plead  thy  vengeance  ;  not  my  cause. 

Just.  LORD,    shall  I   strike  the   blow?       Jes.  Hold, 

Justice,  stay  : 
Sinner,  speak  on ;  what  hast  thou  more  to  say  ? 

Sin.  Vile  as  I  am,  and  of  myself  abhorr'd, 
I  am  thy  handy-work,  thy  creature,  LORD, 
Stampt  with  thy  glorious  image,  and  at  first 
Most  like  to  thee,  though  now  a  poor  accurst, 
Convicted  caitiff",  and  degen'rous  creature, 
Here   trembling  at   thy  bar.       Just.    Thy    fault 's    the 

greater. 

LORD,  shall  I  strike  the  blow  ?     Jes.  Hold,  Justice,  stay  : 
Speak,  sinner ;  hast  thou  nothing  else  to  say  ? 

Sin.  Nothing  but  mercy,  mercy,  LORD  ;  my  state 
Is  miserably  poor  arid  desperate  ; 
I  quite  renounce  myself,  the  world,  and  flee 
From  Lord  to  JESUS,  from  thyself  to  thee. 

Just.    Cease    thy    vain    hopes  ;     my  angry   GOD   has 

vow'd  ; 
Abused  mercy  must  have  blood  for  blood  : 


iz6  EMBLEMS.  BOOK  m. 

Shall  I  yet  strike  the  blow  ?     Jes.   Stay,  Justice,  hold  ; 
My  bowels  yearn,  my  fainting  blood  grows  cold, 
To  view  the  trembling  wretch  ;  methinks  I  spy 
My  Father's  image  in  the  pris'ner's  eye. 

Just.   I    cannot   hold.       Jes.  Then   turn   thy  thirsty 

blade 

Into  my  sides,  let  there  the  wound  be  made  : 
Cheer  up,  dear  soul ;  redeem  thy  life  with  mine  : 
My  soul  shall  smart,  my  heart  shall  bleed  for  thine. 

Sin.   O  groundless  deeps  !     O  love  beyond  degree  ! 
Th'  offended  dies  to  set  th'  offender  free. 


S.  AUGUST. 

LORD,  if  I  have  done  that,  for  which  thou  mayest 
damn  me  ;  thou  hast  not  lost  that,  whereby  thou 
mayest  save  me  :  remember  not,  sweet  Jesus,  thy 
justice  against  the  sinner,  but  thy  benignity  towards  thy 
creature  :  remember  not  to  proceed  against  a  guiky 
soul,  but  remember  thy  mercy  towards  a  miserable 
wretch  :  forget  the  insolence  of  the  provoker,  and  be- 
hold the  misery  of  the  invoker ;  for  what  is  Jesus  but  a 
Saviour  ? 

ANSELM. 

Have  respect  for  what  thy  Son  hath  done  for  me,  and 
forget  what  my  sins  have  done  against  thee  :  my  flesh 
hath  provoked  thee  to  vengeance  ;  let  the  flesh  of  Christ 
move  thee  to  mercy  :  It  is  much  that  my  rebellions 
have  deserved  ;  but  it  is  more  than  my  Redeemer  hath 
merited. 

EPIG.  10. 

Mercy  of  mercies  !  He  that  was  my  drudge 
Is  now  my  advocate,  is  now  my  judge  : 
He  suffers,  pleads,  and  sentences  alone : 
Three  I  adore,  and  yet  adore  but  One. 


BOOK  III. 


EMBLEMS. 


127 


Emblem   1 1 


PSALM   LXIX.    15. 

Let  not  the  water-food  overflow  me^   neither  let  the  deep 
swallow  me  up. 

'"pHE  world's  a  sea  ;  my  flesh  a  ship  that 's  mann'd 
•••      With   lab'ring   thoughts,  and    steer'd  by  reason's 

hand  : 

My  heart 's  the  seaman's  card,  whereby  she  sails ; 
My  loose  affections  are  the  greater  sails  ; 
The  top-sail  is  my  fancy,  and  the  gusts 
That  fill  these  wanton  sheets,  are  worldly  lusts. 
Pray'r  is  the  cable,  at  whose  end  appears 
The  anchor  Hope,  ne'er  slipp'd  but  in  our  fears  : 
My  will  's  the  inconstant  pilot,  that  commands 
The  stagg'ring  keel  ;  my  sins  are  like  the  sands  : 


128  EMBLEMS. 


Repentance  is  the  bucket,  and  mine  eye 

The  pump  unus'd  (but  in  extremes)  and  dry  : 

My  conscience  is  the  plummet  that  does  press 

The  deeps,  but  seldom  cries,  O  fathomless  : 

Smooth  calm  's  security ;  the  gulph,  despair  j 

My  freight's  corruption,  and  this  life  's  my  fare  : 

My  soul 's  the  passenger,  confusMly  driv'n 

From  fear  to  fright;  her  landing  port  is  Heav'n. 

My  seas  are  stormy,  and  my  ship  doth  leak ; 

My  sailor's  rude  ;  my  steersman  faint  and  weak  : 

My  canvass  torn,  it  flaps  from  side  to  side  : 

My  cable  's  crack'd,  my  anchor  's  slightly  ty'd, 

My  pilot 's  craz'd :  my  shipwreck  sands  are  cloak' d  ; 

My  bucket 's  broken,  and  my  pump  is  chok'd  ; 

My  calm's  deceitful ;  and  my  gulph  too  near ; 

My  wares  are  slubber'd,  and  my  fare  's  too  dear  : 

My  plummet 's  light,  it  cannot  sink  nor  sound : 

Oh,  shall  my  rock-bethreaten'd  soul  be  drown'd  ? 

LORD,  still  the  seas,  and  shield  my  ship  from  harm  ; 

Instruct  my  sailors,  guide  my  steersman's  arm  : 

Touch  thou  my  compass,  and  renew  my  sails, 

Send'  stiffer  courage  or  send  milder  gales  ; 

Make  strong  my  cable,  bind  my  anchor  faster  ; 

Direct  my  pilot,  and  be  thou  his  master; 

Object  the  sands  to  my  most  serious  view, 

Make  sound  my  bucket,  bore  my  pump  anew  : 

New  cast  my  plummet,  make  it  apt  to  try 

Where  the  rocks  lurk,  and  where  the  quicksands  lie ; 

Guard  thou  the  gulph  with  love,  my  calms  with  care  ; 

Cleanse  thou  my  freight  ,•  accept  my  slender  fare  ; 

Refresh  the  sea-sick  passenger  ;  cut  short 

His  voyage ;  land  him  in  his  wish'd-for  port : 

Thou,  thou,  whom  winds  and  stormy  seas  obey, 

That  through  the  deep  gav'st  grumbling  Isr'el  way, 

Say  to  my  soul,  be  safe  ;  and  then  mine  eye 

Shall  scorn  grim  death,  although  grim  death  stand  by. 


BOOK  in.  EMBLEMS.  129 

0  thou  whose  strength-reviving  arm  did  cherish 
Thy  sinking  Peter,  at  the  point  to  perish, 
Reach  forth  thy  hand,  or  bid  me  tread  the  wave, 

1  '11  come,  I  '11  come  :  the  voice  that  calls  will  save. 


S.  AMBROS.  Apol.  post.  pro.  David.  Cap.  iii. 

The  confluence  of  lust  makes  a  great  tempest,  which 
in  this  sea  disturbeth  the  seafaring  soul,  that  reason 
cannot  govern  it. 

S.  AUGUST.  Soliloq.  Cap.  xxxv. 

We  labour  in  the  boisterous  sea :  thou  standest  upon 
the  shore  and  seest  our  dangers  ;  give  us  grace  to  hold  a 
middle  course  between  Scylla  and  Charybdis,  that,  both 
dangers  escaped,  we  may  arrive  at  the  port  secure. 


EPIG.  ii. 

My  soul,  the  seas  are  rough,  and  thou  a  stranger 
In  these  false  coasts  ;  O  keep  aloof ;  there  's  danger  : 
Cast  forth  thy  plummet ;  see,  a  rock  appears  ; 
Thy  ship  wants  sea-room  ;  make  it  with  thy  tears. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem    12. 


JOB  XIV.    13. 

0    that  thou  wouldest  hide   me    in  the  grave,  that  thou 
wouldest  keep  me  in  secret  until  thy  wrath  be  past ! 

Q  WHITHER  shall  I  fly  ?  what  path  untrod 
^-^     Shall  I  seek  out  to  'scape  the  flaming  rod 
Of  my  offended,  of  my  angry  GOD  ? 

Where  shall  I  sojourn  ?  what  kind  sea  will  hide 
My  head  from  thunder  ?  where  shall  I  abide, 
Until  his  flames  be  quench'd  or  laid  aside  ? 

What,  if  my  feet  should  take  their  hasty  flight, 
And  seek  protection  in  the  shades  of  night  ? 
Alas  !  no  shades  can  blind  the  GOD  of  light. 


BOOK  in.  EMBLEMS.  131 

What,  if  my  soul  should  take  the  wings  of  day, 
And  find  some  desert  ?  If  she'  springs  away, 
The  wings  of  vengeance  clip  as  fast  as  they. 

What,  if  some  solid  rock  should  entertain 
My  frighted  soul  ?  can  solid  rocks  restrain 
The  stroke  of  Justice,  and  not  cleave  in  twain  ? 

Nor  sea,  nor  shade,  nor  shield,  nor  rock,  nor  cave, 
Nor  silent  deserts,  nor  the  sullen  grave, 
What  flame-ey'd  fury  means  to  smite,  can  save. 
The  seas  will  part,  graves  open,  rocks  will  split ; 
The  shield  will  cleave  ;  the  frighted  shadows  flit  ; 
Where  Justice  aims,  her  fiery  darts  must  hit. 

No,  no,  if  stern-brow'd  vengeance  means  to  thunder, 
There  is  no  place  above,  beneath,  or  under, 
So  close,  but  will  unlock,  or  rive  in  sunder. 

'  Tis  vain  to  flee  ;  '  tis  neither  here  nor  there 
Can  'scape  that  hand,  until  that  hand  forbear  ; 
Ah  me  !  where  is  he  not,  that 's  everywhere  ? 

'  Tis  vain  to  flee,  till  gentle  mercy  show 

Her  better  eye  ;  the  farther  off  we  go, 

The  swing  of  Justice  deals  the  mightier  blow. 

Th'  ingenuous  child,  corrected,  does  not  fly 
His  angry  mother's  hand,  but  clings  more  nigh, 
And  quenches  with  his  tears  her  flaming  eye. 

Shadows  are  faithless,  and  the  rocks  are  false  ; 
No  trust  in  brass,  no  trust  in  marble  walls  j 
Poor  cots  are  e'en  as  safe  as  princes'  halls. 

Great  GOD  !  there  is  no  safety  here  below ; 

Thou  art  my  fortress,  thou  that  seem'st  my  foe, 

'Tis  thou,  that  strikest  the  stroke,  must  guard  the  blow. 

Thou  art  my  GOD,  by  thee  I  fall  or  stand  ; 
Thy  grace  hath  giv'n  me  courage  to  withstand 
All  tortures,  but  my  conscience  and  thy  hand. 


132  EMBLEMS. 


I  know  thy  justice  is  thyself;  I  know, 
Just  GOD,  thy  very  self  is  mercy  too  ; 
If  not  to  thee,  where,  whither  shall  I  go  ? 

Then  work  thy  will ;  if  passion  bid  me  flee, 
My  reason  shall  obey  ;  my  wings  shall  be 
Stretch'd  out  no  further  than  from  thee  to  thee. 


S.  AUGUST,  in  Psal.  xxxiii. 

Whither  fly  I  ?  to  what  place  can  I  safely  fly  ?  to 
what  mountain  ?  to  what  den  ?  to  what  strong  house  ? 
what  castle  shall  I  hold  ?  what  walls  shall  hold  me  ? 
whithersoever  I  go,  myself  followeth  me  :  For  what- 
soever thou  fliest,  O  man,  thou  mayest,  but  thy  own 
conscience  :  wheresoever,  O  LORD,  I  go,  I  find  thee  ; 
if  angry,  a  revenger;  if  appeased,  a  redeemer:  what 
way  have  I,  but  to  fly  from  thee  to  thee  ?  that  thou 
mayest  avoid  thy  GOD,  address  to  thy  LORD. 


EPIG.  12. 

Hath  vengeance  found  thee  ?  can  thy  fears  command 
No  rocks  to  shield  thee  from  her  thund'ring  hand  ; 
Know'st  thou  not  where  to  'scape  ?  I  '11  tell  thee  where  : 
My  soul,  make  clean  thy  conscience  ;  hide  thee  there. 


BOOK  III. 


EMBLEMS. 


'33 


Emblem 


JOB  X.   2O. 

Are  not  my  days  few  ?     Cease  then,  and  let  me  alone  ^  that  I 
may  bewail  myself  a  little. 

glass  is  half  unspent ;  forbear  t'  arrest 
My  thriftless  day  too  soon  :  my  poor  request 
Is,  that  my  glass  may  run  but  out  the  rest. 

My  time-devoured  minutes  will  be  done 
Without  thy  help  ;  see,  see  how  swift  they  run  : 
Cut  not  my  thread  before  my  thread  be  spun. 

The  gain 's  not  great  I  purchase  by  this  stay  ; 
What  loss  sustain'st  thou  by  so  small  delay, 
To  whom  ten  thousand  years  are  but  a  day  ? 


i34  EMBLEMS. 


My  following  eye  can  hardly  make  a  shift 

To  count  my  winged  hours  ;  they  fly  so  swift, 

They  scarce  deserve  the  bounteous  name  of  gift. 

The  secret  wheels  of  hurrying  time  do  give 
So  short  a  warning,  and  so  fast  they  drive, 
That  I  am  dead  before  I  seem  to  live. 

And  what 's  a  life  ?  a  weary  pilgrimage, 
Whose  glory  in  one  day  doth  fill  thy  stage 
With  childhood,  manhood,  and  decrepit  age. 

And  what 's  a  life  ?  the  flourishing  array 
Of  the  proud  summer-meadow,  which  to-day 
Wears  her  green  plush,  and  is  to-morrow  hay. 

And  what 's  a  life  a  blast  sustain'd  with  clothing, 
Maintained  with  food,  retained  with  vile  self-loathing, 
Then  weary  of  itself,  again  to  nothing. 

Read  on  this  dial,  how  the  shades  devour 

My  short-liv'd  winter's  day;  hour  eats  up  hour; 

Alas  !  the  total  }s  but  from  eight  to  four. 

Behold  these  lilies  (which  thy  hands  have  made 

Fair  copies  of  my  life,  and  open  laid 

To  view),  how  soon  they  droop,  how  soon  they  fade  ! 

Shade  not  that  dial,  night  will  blind  too  soon  ; 

My  non-ag'd  day  already  points  to  noon : 

How  simple  is  my  suit !  how  small  my  boon  ! 

Nor  do  I  beg  this  slender  inch,  to  while 

The  time  away,  or  safely  to  beguile 

My  thoughts  with  joy,  there  's  nothing  worth  a  smile. 

No,  no  :  'tis  not  to  please  my  wanton  ears 
With  frantic  mirth,  I  beg  but  hours,  not  years  : 
And  what  thou  giv'st  me,  I  will  give  to  tears. 

Draw  not  that  soul  which  would  be  rather  led ! 
That  seed  has  yet  not  broke  my  serpent's  head  ; 
O  shall  I  die  before  my  sins  are  dead  ? 


EMBLEMS.  135 


Behold  these  rags  ;  am  I  a  fitting  guest 

To  taste  the  dainties  of  thy  royal  feast, 

With  hands  and  face  unwashed,  ungirt,  unblest? 

First,  let  the  Jordan  streams,  that  find  supplies 

From  the  deep  fountain  of  my  heart,  arise, 

And  cleanse  my  spots,  and  clear  my  lep'rous  eyes. 

I  have  a  world  of  sins  to  be. lamented  ; 
I  have  a  sea  of  tears  that  must  be  vented  : 
O  spare  till  then  ;  and  then  I  die  contented. 


S.  AUGUST.  Lib.  de  Civit.  Dei.  Cap.  x. 

The  time  wherein  we  live,  is  taken  from  the  space  of 
our  life  ;  and  what  remaineth,  is  daily  made  less,  inso- 
much that  the  time  of  our  life  is  nothing  but  a  passage  to 
death. 

S.  GREG.  Lib.  ix.  Cap.  Ixiv.  in  Job. 

As  moderate  afflictions  bring  tears,  so  immoderate  take 
away  tears  ;  insomuch  that  sorrow  becometh  no  sorrow, 
which  swallowing  up  the  mind  of  the  afflicted,  taketh 
away  the  sense  of  the  affliction. 


EPIG.  13. 

Fear'st  thou  to  go,  when  such  an  arm  invites  thee  ? 
Dread'st  thou  thy  loads  of  sin  ?  or  what  affrights  thee  ? 
If  thou  begin  to  fear,  thy  fear  begins  : 
FooU  can  he  bear  thee  hence,  and  not  thy  sins  ? 


I36 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK  III. 


Emblem   14. 


DEUT.  XXXII.  29. 

O  that  men  were  wise^  that  they  understood  this^  that  they 
would  consider  their  latter  end! 


Fl.  TT7HAT  means  my  sister's  eye  so  oft  to  pass 

Through  the  long  entry  of  that  optic  glass  ? 
Tell  me  ;  what  secret  virtue  doth  invite 
Thy  twinkled  eye  to  such  unknown  delight  ? 

S/>.  It  helps  the  sight,  makes  things  remote  appear 
In  perfect  view  ;  it  draws  the  objects  near. 

FL  What  sense-delighting  objects  dost  thou  spy  ? 
What  does  that  glass  present  before  thine  eye  ? 


EMBLEMS. 


137 


Sp.  I  see  my  foe,  thy  reconciled  friend, 
Grim  death,  e'en  standing  at  the  glass's  end  : 
His  left  hand  holds  a  branch  of  palm  ;  his  right 
Holds  forth  a  two-edg'd  sword.     FL  A  proper  sight. 
And  is  this  all  ?  doth  thy  prospective  please 
TV  abused  fancy  with  no  shapes  but  these  ? 

Sp.  Yes,  I  behold  the  darkened  sun  bereav'n 
Of  all  his  light,  the  battlements  of  Heav'n 
Swelt'ring  in  flames  ;  the  angel-guarded  Son 
Of  glory  on  his  high  tribunal-throne  ; 
I  see  a  brimstone  sea  of  boiling  fire, 
And  fiends,  with  knotted  whips  of  flaming  wire, 
Tort'ring  poor  souls,  that  gnash  their  teeth  in  vain, 
And  gnaw  their  flame-tormented  tongues  for  pain. 
Look,  sister,  how  the  queasy- stomach'd  graves 
Vomit  their  dead,  and  how  the  purple  waves 
Scald  their  consumeless  bodies,  strongly  cursing 
All  wombs  for  bearing,  and  all  paps  for  nursing. 

FL  Can  thy  distemper'd  fancy  take  delight 
In  view  of  tortures  ?  these  are  shows  t'  affright : 
Look  in  this  glass  triangular  ;  look  here, 
Here  's  that  will  ravish  eyes.     Sp.  What  seest  thou  there  ? 

FL  The  world  in  colours  ;    colours  that  distain 
The  cheeks  of  Proteus  or  the  silken  train 
Of  Flora's  nymphs;  such  various  sorts  of  hue, 
As  sun-confronting  Iris  never  knew : 
Here,  if  thou  please  to  beautify  a  town, 
Thou  may'st ;  or  with  a  hand,  turn't  upside  down  ; 
Here  may'st  thou  scant  or  widen  by  the  measure 
Of  thine  own  will ;  make  short  or  long  at  pleasure  : 
Here  may'st  thou  tire  thy  fancy,  and  advise 
With  shows  more  apt  to  please  more  curious  eyes. 

Sp.  Ah  fool !  that  doat'st  on  vain,  on  present  toys, 
And  disrespect'st  those  true,  those  future  joys  : 
How  strongly  are  thy  thoughts  befool'd,  alas  ! 
To  doat  on  goods  that  perish  with  thy  glass  ! 


138  EMBLEMS.  BOOK  in. 


Nay,  vanish  with  the  turning  of  a  hand  : 
With  painted  reason  that  they  might  devote  thee  : 
Were  they  but  painted  colours,  it  might  stand, 
But  things  that  have  no  being  to  besot  thee  ! 
Foresight  of  future  torments  is  the  way 
To  balk  those  ills  which  present  joys  betray. 
As  thou  hast  fool'd  thyself,  so  now  come  hither, 
Break  that  fond  glass,  and  let 's  be  wise  together. 


S.  BONAVENT.  de  Contemptu  Saeculi. 

O  that  men  would  be  wise,  and  understand,  and 
foresee.  Be  wise,  to  know  three  things,  the  multitude 
of  those  that  are  to  be  damned  ;  the  few  number  of 
those  that  are  to  be  saved  ;  and  the  vanity  of  transitory 
things  :  understand  three  things ;  the  multitude  of  sins, 
the  omission  of  good  things,  and  the  loss  of  time  :  foresee 
three  things  ;  the  danger  of  death,  the  last  judgment,  and 
eternal  punishment. 


EPIG.  14. 

What,  soul,  no  further  yet  ?  what,  ne'er  commence 
Master  in  faith  ?  still  bachelor  of  sense  ? 
Is  Jt  insufficiency  ?  or  what  has  made  thee 
O'erslip  thy  lost  degree  ?  thy  lusts  have  staid  thee. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem    15. 


139 


PSALM  XXXI.    IO. 


My  life  is  spent  with  grief,  and  my  years  with  sighing. 

TTTHAT  sullen  star  ruPd  my  untimely  birth, 

That  would  not  lend  my  days  one  hour  of  mirth  ? 
How  oft  have  these  bare  knees  been  bent  to  gain 
These  slender  arms  of  one  poor  smile  in  vain  ? 
How  often,  tir'd  with  the  fastidious  light, 
Have  my  faint  lips  implor'd  the  shades  of  night  ? 
How  often  have  my  nightly  torments  prayM 
For  ling'ring  twilight,  glutted  with  the  shade  ? 
Day  worse  than  night,  night  worse  than  day  appears  \ 
In  fears  I  spend  my  nights,  my  days  in  tears  : 
I  moan  unpitied,  groan  without  relief, 
There  is  no  end  or  measure  of  my  grief. 


EMBLEMS. 


The  smiling  flow'r  salutes  the  day ;  it  grows 
Untouch'd  with  care  ;  it  neither  spins  nor  sows  : 

0  that  my  tedious  life  were  like  this  flow'r, 
Or  freed  from  grief,  or  finish'd  with  an  hour : 
Why  was  I  born  ?  why  was  I  born  a  man  ? 
And  why  proportioned  by  so  large  a  span  ? 
Or  why  suspended  by  the  common  lot, 
And  being  born  to  die,  why  die  I  not  ? 

Ah  me  !  why  is  my  sorrow-wasted  breath 
Denied  the  easy  privilege  of  death  ? 
The  branded  slave,  that  tugs  the  weary  oar, 
Obtains  the  sabbath  of  a  welcome  shore ; 
His  ransom'd  stripes  are  heal'd ;  his  native  soil 
Sweetens  the  mem'ry  of  his  foreign  toil : 
But  ah  ;  my  sorrows  are  not  half  so  blest ; 
My  labour  finds  no  point,  my  pains  no  rest ; 

1  barter  sighs  for  tears,  and  tears  for  groans, 
Still  vainly  rolling  Sisyphaean  stones. 

Thou  just  observer  of  our  flying  hours, 

That,  with  thy  admantine  fangs,  devours 

The  brazen  monuments  of  renowned  kings, 

Doth  thy  glass  stand  ?  or  be  thy  moulting  wings 

Unapt  to  fly  ?  if  not,  why  dost  thou  spare 

A  willing  breast ;  a  breast  that  stands  so  fair ; 

A  dying  breast,  that  hath  but  only  breath 

To  beg  a  wound,  and  strength  to  grave  a  death  ? 

O  that  the  pleased  Heav'ns  would  once  dissolve 

These  fleshy  fetters,  that  so  fast  involve 

My  hamper'd  soul ;  then  would  my  soul  be  blest 

From  all  those  ills,  and  wrap  her  thoughts  in  rest : 

Till  then,  my  days  are  months,  my  months  are  years, 

My  years  are  ages  to  be  spent  in  tears  : 

My  griefs  entailed  upon  my  wasteful  breath, 

Which  no  recov'ry  can  cut  ofF  but  death. 

Breath  drawn  in  cottages,  pufPd  out  in  moans. 

Begins,  continues,  and  concludes  in  groans. 


EMBLEMS. 


141 


INNOCENT,  de  Vilitate  Condit.  Humanse. 

O  who  will  give  mine  eyes  a  fountain  of  tears,  that  I 
may  bewail  the  miserable  ingress  of  man's  condition  ; 
the  sinful  progress  of  man's  conversation  ;  the  damnable 
egress  in  man's  dissolution  ?  I  will  consider  with 
tears,  whereof  man  was  made,  what  man  doth,  and  what 
man  is  to  do  !  alas  !  he  is  formed  of  earth,  conceived  in 
sin,  born  to  punishment :  he  doth  evil  things,  which 
are  not  lawful ;  he  doth  filthy  things,  which  are  not 
decent  ?  he  doth  vain  things,  which  are  not  expedient. 


EPIG.  15. 

My  heart,  thy  life's  a  debt  by  bond,  which  bears 
A  secret  date  ;  the  use  is  groans  and  tears  : 
Plead  not ;  usurious  nature  will  have  all, 
As  well  the  int'rest  as  the  principal. 


14* 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK      THE      FOURTH. 


Emblem   i . 


My  soul  hath  coveted  to  desire  thy  judgments.—  PSALM  c  ix. 
ROM.  VII.   23. 

/  see  another  law  in  my  members  warring  against  the 
law  of  my  mind,  and  bringing  me  into  captivity  to  the 
law  of  sin. 

HOW  my  will  is  hurried  to  and  fro, 
And  how  my  unresolv'd  resolves  do  vary  ! 
I  know  not  where  to  fix,  sometimes  I  go 

This  way,  then  that,  and  then  the  quite  contrary  : 


EMBLEMS. 


I  like,  dislike  :  lament  for  what  I  could  not ; 
I  do,  undo  ;  yet  still  do  what  I  should  not, 
And,  at  the  selfsame  instant,  will  the  thing  I  would  not. 

Thus  are  my  weather-beaten  thoughts  opprest 

With  th'  earth-bred  winds  of  my  prodigious  will ; 
Thus  am  I  hourly  tost  from  east  to  west 
Upon  the  rolling  streams  of  good  and  ill  : 
Thus  am  I  driv'n  upon  the  slippery  suds 
From  real  ills  to  false  apparent  goods  : 
My  life  's  a  troubled  sea,  compos'd  of  ebbs  and  floods. 

The  curious  penman,  having  trimm'd  his  page 
With  the  dead  language  of  his  dabbled  quill, 
Let  fall  a  heedless  drop,  then  in  a  rage 
Cashiers  the  fruits  of  his  unlucky  skill ; 

E'en  so  my  pregnant  soul  in  th'  infant  bud     [flood 
Of  her  best  thoughts  show'rs  down  a  coal-black 
Of  unadvised  ills,  and  cancels  all  her  good. 

Sometimes  a  sudden  flash  of  sacred  heat 

Warms  my  chill  soul,  and  sets  my  thoughts  in  frame 
But  soon  that  fire  is  shoulder'd  from  her  seat 
But  lustful  Cupid's  much  inferior  flame. 
I  feel  two  flames,  and  yet  no  flame  entire ; 
Thus  are  the  mongrel  thoughts  of  mixt  desire 
Consum'd  between  that  heav'nly  and  this  earthly  fire. 

Sometimes  my  trash-disdaining  thoughts  outpass 

The  common  period  of  terrene  conceit ; 
O  then  methinks  I  scorn  the  thing  I  was, 
Whilst  I  stand  ravish'd  at  my  new  estate  : 
But  when  the  Icarian  wings  of  my  desire 
Feel  but  the  warmth  of  their  own  native  fire, 

0  then  they  melt  and  plunge  within  their  wonted  mire. 

1  know  the  nature  of  my  wav'ring  mind  ; 

I  know  the  frailty  of  my  fleshly  will  : 


144  EMBLEMS. 


My  passion  *s  eagle-ey'd  ;  my  judgment  blind  ; 
I  know  what  's  good,  and  yet  make  choice  of  ill. 
When  the  ostrich  wings  of  my  desires  shall  be 
So  dull,  they  cannot  mount  the  least  degree, 

Yet  grant  my  sole  desire,  but  of  desiring  thee. 


S.  BERN.  Med.  ix. 

My  heart  is  a  vain  heart,  a  vagabond  and  instable 
heart ;  while  it  is  led  by  its  own  judgment,  and  wanting 
divine  counsel,  cannot  subsist  in  itself;  and  whilst  it 
divers  ways  seeketh  rest,  findeth  none,  but  remaineth 
miserable  through  labour,  and  void  of  peace :  it  agreeth 
not  with  itself,  it  dissenteth  from  itself;  it  altereth  resolu- 
tions, changeth  the  judgment,  frameth  new  thoughts, 
pulleth  down  the  old,  and  buildeth  them  up  again :  it 
willeth  and  willeth  not ;  and  never  remaineth  in  the 
same  state. 

S.  AUGUST,  de  Verb.  Apost. 

When  it  would,  it  cannot ;  because  when  it  mightj 
it  would  not :  therefore  by  an  evil  will  man  lost  his 
good  power. 

EPIG.  i. 

My  soul,  how  are  thy  thoughts  disturbed,  confin'd, 
Enlarged  betwixt  thy  members  and  thy  mind  ! 
Fix  here  or  there  ;  thy  doubt-depending  cause 
Can  ne'er  expect  one  verdict  'twixt  two  laws. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem   2. 


PSALM  CXIX.  5. 

O  that  my  ways  were  directed  to  keep  thy  statutes  / 

'""PHUS  I,  the  object  of  the  world's  disdain, 
•*•       With  pilgrim  face  surround  the  weary  earth  ; 
I  only  relish  what  the  world  counts  vain  ; 

Her  mirth's  my  grief;  her  sullen  grief  my  mirth  ; 
Her  light  my  darkness  ;  and  her  truth  my  error. 
Her  freedom  is  my  gaol  ;  and  her  delight  my  terror. 

Fond  earth  !  proportion  not  my  seeming  love 

To  my  long  stay  ;  but  let  my  thoughts  deceive  thee 

Thou  art  my  prison,  and  my  home  's  above  ; 
My  life  's  a  preparation  but  to  leave  thee  : 

Like  one*  that  seeks  a  door,  I  walk  about  thee  : 

With  thee  I  cannot  live  ;  I  cannot  live  without  thee. 

L 


146  EMBLEMS. 


The  world  's  a  lab'rinth,  whose  anfractuous  ways 

Are  all  compos'd  of  rugs  and  crook' d  meanders  : 
No  resting  here  ;  he's  hurried  back  that  stays 

A  thought ;  and  he  that  goes  unguided,  wanders  : 

Her  way  is  dark,  her  path  untrod,  unev'n  ; 
So  hard 's  the  way  from  earth  j    so  hard  's  the  way  to 
Heav'n. 

This  gyring  lab'rinth  is  betrench'd  about 

On  either  hand  with  streams  of  sulph'rous  fire, 

Streams  closely  sliding,  erring  in  and  out, 
But  seeming  pleasant  to  the  fond  descrier  ; 

Where,  if  his  footsteps  trust  their  own  invention, 

He  falls  without  redress,  and  sinks  without  dimension. 

Where  shall  I  seek  a  guide  ?  where  shall  I  meet 
Some  lucky  hand  to  lead  my  trembling  paces  ? 

What  trusty  lanthorn  will  direct  my  feet 

To  'scape  the  danger  of  these  dang'rous  places  r 
What  hopes  have  I  to  pass  without  a  guide  ? 

Where  one  gets  safely  through,  a  thousand  fall  beside. 

An  unrequested  star  did  gently  slide 

Before  the  wise  men  to  a  greater  light  ; 
Backsliding  Israel  found  a  double  guide  ; 

A  pillar  and  a  cloud  ;  by  day,  by  night : 

Yet  in  my  desp'rate  dangers,  which  be  far 
More  great  than  theirs,  I  have  no  pillar,  cloud,  nor  star. 

O  that  the  pinions  of  a  clipping  dove 

Would  cut  my  passage  through  the  empty  air  ; 

Mine  eyes  being  seal'd,  how  would  I  mount  above 
The  reach  of  danger  and  forgotten  care  ! 

My  backward  eyes  should  ne'er  commit  that  fault, 

Whose  lasting  guilt  should  build  a  monument  of  salt. 


BOOK  IT.  EMBLEMS.  147 

Great  GOD,  that  art  the  flowing  spring  of  light. 
Enrich  mine  eyes  with  thy  refulgent  ray  : 

Thou  art  my  path  j  direct  my  steps  aright ; 
I  have  no  other  light,  no  other  way  : 

I'll  trust  my  GOD,  and  him  alone  pursue ; 

His  law  shall  be  my  path  ;  his  heavenly  light,  my  clue. 


S.  AUGUST.  Soliloq.  Cap.  iv. 

O  LORD  ;  Who  art  the  light,  the  way,  the  truth,  the 
life  ;  in  whom  there  is  no  darkness,  error,  vanity,  nor 
death  :  the  light,  without  which  there  is  darkness  ;  the 
way,  without  which  there  is  wandering ;  the  truth, 
without  which  there  is  error  ;  the  life,  without  which 
there  is  death  :  say,  LORD,  let  there  be  light,  and  I  shall 
see  light,  and  eschew  darkness  ;  I  shall  see  the  way,  and 
avoid  wandering  ;  I  shall  see  the  truth,  and  shun  error  ; 
I  shall  see  life,  and  escape  death  :  illuminate,  O  illuminate 
my  blind  soul,  which  sitteth  in  darkness,  and  the  shadow 
of  death  ,•  and  direct  my  feet  in  the  way  of  peace. 


EPIG.  2. 

Pilgrim,  trudge  on  :  what  makes  my  soul  complain, 
Crowns  thy  complaint  ?  the  way  to  rest  is  pain  : 
The  road  to  resolution  lies  by  doubt : 
The  next  way  home  Js  the  farthest  way  about. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem 


PSALM  XVII.   5. 

Hold  np  my  goings  in  thy  paths,  that  my  footsteps  slip  not. 

VyHENE'ER  the  old  exchange  of  profit  rings 
*  *       Her  silver  saints-bell  of  uncertain  gains  ; 
My  merchant-soul  can  stretch  both  legs  and  wings, 
How  I  can  run,  and  take  unwearied  pains ! 
The  charms  of  profit  are  so  strong,  that  I, 
Who  wanted  legs  to  go,  find  wings  to  fly. 

If  time-beguiling  pleasure  but  advance 

Her  lustful  trump,  and  blow  her  bold  alarms, 
O  how  my  sportful  soul  can  frisk  and  dance, 
And  hug  that  siren  in  her  twined  arms  ! 

The  sprightly  voice  of  sinew-strength'ning  pleasure 
Can  lend  my  bedrid  soul  both  legs  and  leisure. 


EMBLEMS. 


149 


If  blazing  honour  chance  to  fill  my  veins 

With  flattering  warmth,  and  flash  of  courtly  fire, 
My  soul  can  take  a  pleasure  in  her  pains  : 
My  lofty  strutting  steps  disdain  to  tire  ; 
My  antic  knees  can  turn  upon  the  hinges 
Of  compliment,  and  screw  a  thousand  cringes. 

But  when  I  come  to  thee,  my  GOD,  that  art 

The  royal  mine  of  everlasting  treasure, 
The  real  honour  of  my  better  part, 
And  living  fountain  of  eternal  pleasure, 

How  nerveless  are  my  limbs  !  how  faint  and  slow ! 
I  have  no  wings  to  fly,  nor  legs  to  go. 

So  when  the  streams  of  swift-foot  Rhine  convey 

Her  upland  riches  to  the  Belgic  shore, 
The  idle  vessel  slides  the  wat'ry  way, 
Without  the  blast  or  tug  of  wind  or  oar : 
Her  slipp'ry  keel  divides  the  silver  foam 
With  ease  ;  so  facile  is  the  way  from  home ! 

But  when  the  home-bound  vessel  turns  her  sails 

Against  the  breast  of  the  resisting  stream, 
O  then  she  slugs ;  nor  sail,  nor  oar  prevails  ! 
The  stream  is  sturdy,  and  her  tide  's  extreme  : 
Each  stroke  is  loss,  and  ev'ry  tug  is  vain : 
A  boat-length's  purchase  is  a  league  of  pain. 

Great  ALL  IN  ALL,  thou  art  my  rest,  my  home  ; 
M.y  way  is  tedious,  and  my  steps  are  slow  : 
Reach  forth  thy  helpful  hand,  or  bid  me  come  ; 
I  am  thy  child,  O  teach  thy  child  to  go  : 
Conjoin  thy  sweet  commands  to  my  desire, 
And  I  will  venture,  though  I  fall  or  tire. 


S.  AUGUST.  Ser.  xv.  de  Verb.  Apost. 

Be  always  displeased  at  what  thou  art,  if  thou  desirest 
to  attain  to  what  thou  art  not :    for  where  thou  hast 


1 50  EMBLEMS.  BOOK  iv. 

pleased  thyself,  there  thou  abidest.  But  if  thou  sayest, 
I  have  enough,  thou  perishest :  always  add,  always  walk, 
always  proceed ;  neither  stand  still,  nor  go  back,  nor 
deviate  :  he  that  standeth  still  proceedeth  not ;  he  goeth 
back  that  continueth  not ;  he  deviateth,  that  revolteth  ; 
he  goeth  better  that  creepeth  in  his  way  than  he  that 
runneth  out  of  his  way. 


EPIG.  3. 

Fear  not,  my  soul,  to  lose  for  want  of  cunning ; 
Weep  not ;  Heav'n  is  not  always  got  by  running  : 
Thy  thoughts  are  swift,  although  thy  legs  be  slow ; 
True  love  will  creep,  not  having  strength  to  go. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  4, 


PSALM  CXIX.    120. 

My  flesh  trembleth  for  fear  of  thee :  and  I  am  afraid  of 
thy  judgments. 

T   ET  others  boast  of  luck,  and  go  their  ways 

•^     With  their  fair  game  ;    know,  vengeance  seldom 

plays 

To  be  too  forward,  but  doth  wisely  frame 
Her  backward  tables  for  an  after-game  : 
She  gives  thee  leave  to  venture  many  a  blot ; 
And,  for  her  own  advantage,  hits  thee  not : 
But  when  her  pointed  tables  are  made  fair, 
That  she  be  ready  for  thee,  then  beware ; 
Then,  if  a  necessary  blot  be  set, 
She  hits  thee  ;  wins  the  game  ;  perchance  the  set : 


152  EMBLEMS. 


if  prosp'rous  chances  make  thy  casting  high, 

Be  wisely  template ;  cast  a  serious  eye 

On  after  dangers,  and  keep  back  thy  game ; 

Too  forward  seed-times  make  thy  harvest  lame. 

If  left-hand  fortune  give  the  left-hand  chances, 

Be  wisely  patient ;  let  not  envious  glances 

Repine,  to  view  thy  gamester's  heap  so  fair ; 

The  hindmost  hound  oft  takes  the  doubling  hare. 

The  world's  great  dice  are  false  ;  sometimes  they  go 

Extremely  high,  sometimes  extremely  low  : 

Of  all  her  gamesters,  he  that  plays  the  least, 

Lives  most  at  ease,  plays  most  secure  and  best : 

The  way  to  win,  is  to  play  fair,  and  swear 

Thyself  a  servant  to  the  crown  of  fear  : 

Fear  is  the  primer  of  a  gamester's  skill : 

Who  fears  not  bad,  stands  most  unarm'd  to  ill. 

The  ill  that's  wisely  fear'd,  is  half  withstood ; 

And  fear  of  bad  is  the  best  soil  to  good. 

True  fear's  th'  Elixir,  which  in  days  of  old 

Turn'd  leaden  crosses  into  crowns  of  gold : 

The  world's  the  tables  ;  stakes,  eternal  life ; 

The  gamesters  Heav'n  and  I ;  unequal  strife  ! 

My  fortunes  are  the  dice,  whereby  I  frame 

My  indisposed  life  :  this  life's  the  game  ; 

My  sins  are  several  blots  ;  the  lookers-on 

Are  angels  ;  and  in  death  the  game  is  done. 

LORD,  I'm  a  bungler,  and  my  game  doth  grow 

Still  more  and  more  unshap'd  ;  my  dice  run  low  : 

The  stakes  are  great ;  my  careless  blots  are  many  : 

And  yet  thou  passest  by  and  hitt'st  not  any  : 

Thou  art  too  strong  ;  and  I  have  none  to  guide  me 

With  the  least  jog  ;  the  lookers-on  deride  me  : 

It  is  a  conquest  undeserving  thee, 

To  win  a  stake  from  such  a  worm  as  me  : 

1  have  no  more  to  lose  ;  if  we  persever, 

'Tis  lost :  and  that  once  lost  I'm  lost  for  ever. 


EMBLEMS.  153 


LORD,  wink  at  faults,  and  be  not  too  severe, 
And  I  will  play  my  game  with  greater  fear  ; 
O  give  me  fear,  ere  fear  has  past  her  date  : 
Whose  blot  being  hit,  then  fears,  fears  then  too  late. 


S.  BERN.  Ser.  liv.  in  Cant. 

There  is  nothing  so  effectual  to  obtain  grace,  to 
retain  grace,  and  to  regain  grace,  as  always  to  be  found 
before  GOD  not  over  wife,  but  to  fear :  happy  art  thou, 
if  thy  heart  be  replenished  with  three  fears  ;  a  fear  for 
received  grace,  a  greater  fear  for  lost  grace,  a  greatest 
fear  to  recover  grace. 

S.  AUGUST,  super  Psal. 

Present  fear  begetteth  eternal  security ;  fear  GOD, 
which  is  above  all,  and  no  need  to  fear  man  at  all. 


EPIG.  4. 

Lord,  shall  we  grumble  when  the  flames  do  scourge  us  ? 
Our  sins  breathe  fire  ;  that  fire  returns  to  purge  us. 
LORD,  what  an  alchymist  art  thou,  whose  skill 
Transmutes  to  perfect  good  from  perfect  ill  ! 


154- 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK  IV. 


Emblem  5. 


PSALM  CXIX.   37. 

Turn  away  mine  eyes  from  beholding  vanity. 

TjOW  like  the  threads  of  flax 

•*-*•   That  touch  the  flame,  are  my  inflam'd  desires  ! 

How  like  to  yielding  wax, 
My  soul  dissolves  before  these  wanton  fires  ! 
The  fire  but  touch'd,  the  flame  but  felt, 
Like  flax,  I  burn  ;  like  wax,  I  melt. 

O  how  this  flesh  doth  draw 
My  fetter'd  soul  to  that  deceitful  fire  ! 

And  how  the  eternal  law 
Is  baffled  by  the  law  of  my  desire  ! 
How  truly  bad,  how  seeming  good, 
Are  all  the  laws  of  flesh  and  blood  ! 


BOOK  iv.  EMBLEMS.  155 


O  wretched  state  of  men, 

The  height  of  whose  ambition  is  to  borrow 

What  must  be  paid  again, 
With  griping  interest  of  the  next  day's  sorrow  ! 

How  wild  his  thought !  how  apt  to  range 

How  apt  to  vary  !  apt  to  change  ! 

How  intricate  and  nice 

Is  man's  perplexed  way  to  man's  desire ; 

Sometimes  upon  the  ice 
He  slips,  and  sometimes  falls  into  the  fire  ; 

His  progress  is  extreme  and  bold, 

Or  very  hot,  or  very  cold. 

The  common  food  he  doth 
Sustain  his  soul-tormenting  thoughts  withal, 

Is  honey  in  his  mouth 
To-night,  and  in  his  heart  to-morrow,  gall ; 

'Tis  oftentimes,  within  an  hour, 

Both  very  sweet  and  very  sour. 

If  sweet  Corinna  smile, 
A  Heav'n  of  joys  breaks  down  into  his  heart  : 

Corinna  frown  awhile, 
Hell's  torments  are  but  copies  of  his  smart : 

Within  a  lustful  heart  doth  dwell 

A  seeming  Heav'n,  a  very  hell. 

Thus  worthless,  vain'  and  void 
Of  comfort,  are  the  fruits  of  earth's  employment, 

Which,  ere  they  be  enjoy'd 
Distract  us,  and  destroy  us  in  th'  enjoyment ; 

These  be  the  pleasures  that  are  prizM, 

When  Heav'n's  cheap  penn'worth  stands  despis'd. 

LORD,  quench  these  hasty  flashes, 
Which  dart  as  lightning  from  the  thund'ring  skies, 
And  ev'ry  minute  dashes 


I 
156  EMBLEMS.  BOOK  iv. 

Against  the  wanton  windows  of  mine  eyes  : 
LORD,  close  the  casement,  whilst  I  stand 
Behind  the  curtain  of  thy  hand. 


S.  AUGUST.  Soliloq.  Cap.  iv. 

O  thou  sun,  that  illuminateth  both  Heaven  and  earth  !'' 
woe  be  unto  those  eyes  which  do  not  behold  thee  :  woe 
be  unto  those  blind  eyes  which  cannot  behold  thee ;  woe  be 
unto  those  which  turn  away  their  eyes  that  they  will  not 
behold  thee  :  woe  be  unto  those  that  turn  away  their 
eyes  that  they  may  behold  vanity. 

S.  CHRYS.  Sup.  Mat.  xix. 

What  is  the  evil  woman  but  the  enemy  of  friendship, 
an  avoidable  pain,  a  necessary  mischief,  a  natural  tempta- 
tion, a  desirable  calamity,  a  domestic  danger,  a  delectable 
inconvenience,  and  the  nature  of  evil,  painted  over  with 
the  colour  of  good  ? 


EPIG.  5. 

JTis  vain,  great  GOD,  to  close  mine  eyes  from  ill, 
When  I  resolve  to  keep  the  old  man  still ; 
My  rambling  heart  must  covenant  first  with  thee, 
Or  none  can  pass  betwixt  mine  eye  and  me. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  6 


157 


ESTHER  VII.  3. 

If  I  have  found  favour  in  thy  sight^  and  if  it  phase  the 
)  let  my  life  be  given  me  at  my  petition. 


art  the  great  Ahasuerus,  whose  command 
Doth    stretch    from    pole    to    pole  ;    the    world's 

thy  land  ; 

Rebellious  Vashti  's  the  corrupted  will, 
Which,  being  call'd,  refuses  to  fulfil 
Thy  just  command  ;  Esther,  whose  tears  condole 
The  razed  city,  is  the  regenerate  soul  ; 
A  captive  maid,  whom  thou  wilt  please  to  grace  : 
With  nuptial  honours  in  stout  Vashti's  place  : 
Her  kinsman,  whose  unbended  knee  did  thwart 
Proud  Haman's  glory,  is  the  fleshly  part  j 


1 58  EMBLEMS. 


The  sober  eunuch,  that  recall'd  to  mind 
The  new-built  gibbet  (Haman  had  divin'd 
For  his  own  ruin),  fifty  cubits  high, 
Is  lustful  thought-controlling  chastity  ; 
Insulting  Haman  is  that  fleshly  lust 
Whose  red-hot  fury,  for  a  season,  must 
Triumph  in  pride,  and  study  how  to  tread 
On  Mordecai,  till  royal  Esther  plead. 

Great  King,  thy  sent-for  Vashti  will  not  come  ; 
O  let  the  oil  of  the  biess'd  virgin's  womb 
Cleanse  my  poor  Esther  ;  look,  O  look  upon  her 
With  gracious  eyes  ;  and  let  thy  beam  of  honour 
So  scour  her  captain  stains,  that  she  may  prove 
An  holy  object  of  thy  heavenly  love  : 
Anoint  her  with  the  spikenard  of  thy  graces, 
Then  try  the  sweetness  of  her  chaste  embraces  : 
Make  her  the  partner  of  thy  nuptial  bed, 
And  set  thy  royal  crown  upon  her  head  ; 
If  then  ambitious  Haman  chance  to  spend 
His  spleen  on  Mordecai,  that  scorns  to  bend 
The  wilful  stiffness  of  his  stubborn  knee, 
Or  basely  crouch  to  any  Lord  but  thee ; 
If  weeping  Esther  should  prefer  a  groan 
Before  the  high  tribunal  of  thy  throne, 
Hold  forth  the  golden  sceptre,  and  afford 
The  gentle  audience  of  a  gracious  LORD  : 
And  let  thy  royal  Esther  be  possest 
Of  half  thy  kingdom,  at  her  dear  request : 
Curb  lustful  Haman,  him  that  would  disgrace, 
Nay,  ravish  thy  fair  queen  before  thy  face  : 
And  as  proud  Haman  was  himself  ensnar'd 
On  that  self-gibbet  himself  prepared  ; 
So  nail  my  lust,  both  punishment  and  guilt, 
On  that  dear  cross  that  mine  own  lusts  have  built. 


EMBLEMS.  159 


S.  AUGUST,  in  Ep. 

O  holy  Spirit,  always  inspire  me  with  holy  works. 
Constrain  me,  that  I  may  do  :  counsel  me,  that  I  may 
love  thee  ;  confirm  me,  that  I  may  hold  thee  ;  conserve 
me,  that  I  may  not  lose  thee. 

S.  AUGUST.  Sup.  Joan. 

The  spirit  lusts  where  the  flesh  resteth  :  for  as  the 
flesh  is  nourished  with  sweet  things,  the  spirit  is  refreshed 
with  sour. 

Ibidem. 

Wouldest  thou  that  thy  flesh  obey  thy  spirit  ?  then 
let  thy  spirit  obey  thy  GOD.  Thou  must  be  governed, 
that  thou  mayest  govern. 

EPIG.  6. 

Of  mercy  and  justice  is  thy  kingdom  built ; 
This  plagues  my  sin,  and  that  removes  my  guilt ; 
Whene'er  I  sue,  Ahasuerus-like,  decline 
Thy  sceptre ;  LORD,  say,  half  my  kingdom's  thine. 


i6o 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  7. 


CANTICLES    VII.    II. 


Come  ,  my  beloved,  let  us  go  forth  into  the  f  eld  ;  let  us  lodge 
in  the  villages. 


Chr.   /^OME,  come,  my  dear,  and  let  us  both  retire, 
^  And  whiff  the  dainties  of  the  fragrant  field  : 
Where  warbling  Phil'mel,  and  the  shril-mouthM  choir 
Chaunt  forth  their  raptures  ;  where  the  turtle  builds 
Her  lovely  nest  ;  and  where  the  new-born  brier 
Breathes  forth  the  sweetness  that  her  April  yields  : 
Come,  come,  my  lovely  fair,  and  let  us  try 
These  rural  delicates  ;  where  thou  and  I 
May  melt  in  private  flames,  and  fear  no  stander-by. 


BOOK  IV. 


EMBLEMS. 


161 


Soul.  My  heart's  eternal  joy,  in  lieu  of  whom 

The  earth  's  a  blast,  and  all  the  world  's  a  bubble  ; 
Our  city-mansion  is  the  fairest  home, 

But  country  sweets  are  ting'd  with  lesser  trouble : 
Let's  try  them  both,  and  choose  the  better  ;  come  ; 
A  change  in  pleasure  makes  the  pleasure  double  ; 
On  thy  commands  depends  my  go  or  tarry, 
I'll  stir  with  Martha,  or  I'll  stay  with  Mary  ; 
Our  hearts  are  firmly  fit,  altho'  our  pleasures  vary. 

Chr.  Our  country-mansion  (situate  on  high) 
With  various  objects,  still  renews  delight ; 
Her  arched  roof's  of  unstain'd  ivory  : 

Her  walls  of  fiery-sparkling  chrysolite  ; 
Her  pavement  is  of  hardest  porphyry ; 

Her  spacious  windows  are  all  glazM  with  bright 
And  flaming  carbuncles  ;  no  need  require 
Titan's  faint  rays,  or  Vulcan's  feeble  fire ; 
And  ev'ry  gate  's  a  pearl  ;  and  ev'ry  pearl  entire. 

SouL  Fool  that   I  was  !    how   were    my   thoughts    de- 

ceiv'd  ! 

How  falsely  was  my  fond  conceit  possest ! 
I  took  it  for  an  hermitage,  but  pav'd 

And    daub'd  with    neighb'ring    dirt,    and    thatch'd    at 

best. 

Alas  !   I  ne'er  expected  more  nor  crav'd 
A  turtle  ;  hop'd  but  for  a  turtle's  nest : 
Come,  come,  my  dear,  and  let  no  idle  stay 
Neglect  th'  advantage  of  the  head-strong  day  ; 
How  pleasure  grates,  that  feels  the  curb  of  dull  delay  ! 

Chr.  Come,  then,  my  joy  ;  let  our  divided  paces 

Conduct  us  to  our  fairest  territory ; 
O  there  we  '11  twine  our  souls  in  sweet  embraces  •, 

Soul.  And  in  thine  arms  I  '11  tell  my  passion's  story  : 
Ghr.   O  there  I'll  crown  thy  head  with  all  my  graces  ; 


I 


M 


1 62  EMBLEMS. 


Soul.  And  all  these  graces  shall  reflect  thy  glory  : 
Chr.  O  there  I'll  feed  thee  with  celestial  manna  j 

I  '11  be  thy  Elkanah.     Soul.  And  I,  thy  Hannah. 
Chr.  I'll  sound  my  trump  of  joy.     Soul.  And  I  '11  resound 
Hosannah. 


S.  BERN. 

O  blessed  contemplation  !  the  death  of  vices,  and 
the  life  of  virtues  !  thee  the  law  and  the  prophets 
admire  :  who  ever  attained  perfection,  if  not  by  thee  ? 
O  blessed  solitude,  the  magazine  of  celestial  treasure  ! 
by  thee,  things  earthly  a*nd  transitory  are  changed  into 
heavenly  and  eternal. 

S.  BERN,  in  Ep. 

Happy  is  that  house,  and  blessed  is  that  congregation, 
where  Martha  still  complaineth  of  Mary. 


EPIG.  7. 

Mechanic  soul,  thou  must  not  only  do 
With  Martha,  but  with  Mary  ponder  too  : 
Happy 's  that  house  where  these  fair  sisters  vary ; 
But  most,  when  Martha 's  reconciled  to  Mary. 


BOOK  IV. 


EMBLEMS. 


163 


Emblem   8 


CANTICLES  I.   3,  4. 

Draw  me ;  we  will  run  after  thee  because  of  the  savour  of 
thy  good  ointments. 

/~|~*HUS,  like  a  lump  of  che  corrupted  mass, 
A       I  lie  secure,  long  lost  before  1  was  : 
And  like  a  block,  beneath  whose  burthen  lies 
That  undiscover'd  worm  that  never  dies, 

I  have  no  will  to  rouse,  I  have  no  power  to  rise. 

Can  stinking  Lazarus  compound  or  strive 
With  death's  entangling  fetters,  and  revive  ? 

Or  can  the  water-buried  axe  implore 

A  hand  to  raise  it,  or  itself  restore, 
And  from  her  sandy  deeps  approach  the  dry-foot  shore  ? 


i54  EMBLEMS. 


So  hard 's  the  task  for  sinful  flesh  and  blood 
To  lend  the  smallest  step  to  what  is  good, 

My  GOD  !  I  cannot  move  the  least  degree  : 

Ah  !  if,  but  only  those  that  active  be, 
None  should  thy  glory  see,  none  should  thy  glory  see. 

But,  if  the  potter  please  t'  inform  the  clay  : 
Or  some  strong  hand  remove  the  block  away  : 

Their  lowly  fortunes  soon  are  mounted  higher; 

That  proves  a  vessel,  which  before  was  mire  ; 
And   this,  being  hewn,   may  serve  for  better  use   than 
fire. 

And  if  that  life-restoring  voice  command 

Dead  Laz'rus  forth  ;  or  that  great  Prophet's  hand 

Should  charm  the  sullen  waters,  and  begin 

To  beckon,  or  to  dart  a  stick  but  in, 
Dead  Laz'rus  must  revive,  and   the  axe  must  float  again. 

LORD,  as  I  am,  I  have  no  pow'r  at  all 
To  hear  thy  voice,  or  echo  to  thy  call  ; 

Thy  gloomy  clouds  of  mine  own  guilt  benight  me  ; 

Thy  glorious  beams,  not  dainty  sweets,  invite  me  ; 
They  neither  can  direct,  nor  these  at  all  delight  me. 

See  how  my  sin  be-mangled  body  lies, 
Not  having  pow'r  to  will,  nor  will  to  rise  ! 

Shine  home  upon  thy  creature,  and  inspire 

My  lifeless  will  with  thy  regen'rate  fire  ; 
The  first  degree  to  do,  is  only  to  desire. 

Give  me  the  pow'r  to  will,  the  will  to  do  ; 

O  raise  me  up,  and  I  will  strive  to  go : 

Draw  me,  O  draw  me  with  thy  treble  twist, 
That  have  no  pow'r  but  merely  to  resist  ; 

O  lend  me  strength  to  do,  and  then  command  thy  list. 


EMBLEMS. 


165 


My  soul's  a  clock,  whose  wheels  (for  want  of  use 
And  winding  up,  being  subject  to  th'  abuse 

Of  eating  rust,)  want  vigour  to  fulfil 

Her  twelve  hours  task,  and  show  her  Maker's  skill, 
But  idly  sleeps  unmov'd,  and  standeth  vainly  still. 

Great  GOD,  it  is  thy  work,  and  therefore  good, 
If  thou  be  pleas'd  to  cleanse  it  with  thy  blood, 
And  wind  it  up  with  thy  soul-moving  keys, 
Her  busy  wheels  shall  serve  thee  all  her  days  ; 
Her  hand  shall  point  thy  pow'r,  her  hammer  strike  thy 
praise. 


S.  BERN.  Ser.  xxi.  in  Cant. 

Let  us  run,  let  us  run  but  in  the  savour  of  thy  oint- 
ment, not  in  the  confidence  of  our  merits,  not  in  the 
greatness  of  our  strength  :  we  trust  to  run,  but  in  the 
multitude  of  thy  mercies,  for  though  we  run  and  .are 
willing,  it  is  not  in  him  that  willeth,  nor  in  him  that 
runneth,  but  in  GOD  that  showeth  mercy.  O  let  thy 
mercy  return,  and  we  will  run :  thou,  like  a  giant, 
runnest  by  thy  own  power;  we,  unless  thy  ointment 
breathe  upon  us,  cannot  run. 


EPIC.  8. 

Look  not,  my  watch,  being  once  repaired,  to  stand 
Expecting  motion  from  thy  Maker's  hand. 
He's  wound  thee  up,  and  cleans'd   thy  clogs  with  blood  : 
If  now  thy  wheels  stand  still,  thou  art  not  good. 


i66 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  9. 


CANTICLES  VIII.    I. 

O  that  thou  wert  as  my  brother,  that  sucked  the  breasts 
of  my  mother!  when  I  should  find  thee  without,  I  would 
kiss  thee. 

OOME,  come,  my  blessed  infant,  and  immure  thee 
\*  Within  the  temple  of  my  sacred  arms  ; 
Secure  mine  arms,  mine  arms  shall  then  secure  thee 
From  Herod's  fury,  or  the  high-priest's  harms  : 
Or  if  thy  danger'd  life  sustain  a  loss, 
My  folded  srms  shall  turn  thy  dying  cross. 

But  ah !  what  savage  tyrant  can  behold 
The  beauty  of  so  sweet  a  face  as  this  is, 


EMBLEMS.  167 


And  not  himself  be  by  himself  controlled, 
And  change  his  fury  to  a  thousand  kisses  ? 

One  smile  of  thine  is  worth  more  mines  of  treasure 
Than  there  were  myriads  in  the  days  of  Caesar. 

O  had  the  tetrarch,  as  he  knew  thy  birth, 

So  known  thy  stock,  he  had  not  thought  to  paddle 
In  thy  dear  blood  ;  but  prostrate  on  the  earth, 
Had  vail'd  his  crown  before  thy  royal  cradle, 
And  laid  the  sceptre  of  his  glory  down, 
And  begg'd  a  heav'nly  for  an  earthly  crown. 

Illustrious  babe  !  how  is  thy  handmaid  grac'd 
With  a  rich  armful !  how  dost  thou  decline 
Thy  majesty,  that  wert  so  late  embraced 

In  thy  great  Father's  arms,  and  now  in  mine  ! 
How  humbly  gracious  art  thou,  to  refresh 
Me  with  thy  spirit,  and  assume  my  flesh ! 

But  must  the  treason  of  a  traitor's  hail 

Abuse  the  sweetness  of  these  ruby  lips  ? 
Shall  marble-hearted  cruelty  assail 

These  alabaster  sides  with  knotted  whips  ? 
And  must  these  smiling  roses  entertain 
The  blows  of  scorn,  and  flirts  of  base  disdain  ? 

Ah  !   must  these  dainty  little  springs,  that  twine 

So  fast  about  my  neck,  be  pierc'd  and  torn 
With  ragged  nails  ?  and  must  these  brows  resign 
Their  crown  of  glory  for  a  crown  of  thorn  ? 
Ah  !  must  the  blessed  infant  taste  fhe  pain 
Of  death's  injurious  pangs ;  nay,  worse,  be  slain  ? 

Sweet  babe  !  at  what  dear  rates  do  wretched  I 

Commit  a  sin  !  LORD,  ev'ry  sin 's  a  dart ; 
And  ev'ry  trespass  lets  a  jav'lin  fly ; 

And  ev'ry  jav'lin  wounds  thy  bleeding  heart : 
Pardon,  sweet  babe,  what  I  have  done  amiss  ; 
And  seal  that  granted  pardon  with  a  kiss. 


1 68  EMBLEMS. 


S.  BONAVENT.  Soliloq.  Cap.  i. 

O  sweet  Jesu,  I  knew  not  that  thy'  kisses  were  so 
sweet,  nor  thy  society  so  delectable,  nor  thy  attraction  so 
virtuous  :  for  when  I  love  thee,  I  am  clean  ;  when  I 
touch  thee,  I  am  chaste  ;  when  I  receive  thee,  1  am  a 
virgin  :  O  most  sweet  Jesu,  thy  embraces  defile  not,  but 
cleanse  ;  thy  attraction  polluteth  not,  but  sanctifieth  :  O 
Jesu,  the  fountain  of  universal  sweetness,  pardon  me 
that  I  believed  so  late,  that  so  much  sweetness  is  in  thy 
embraces. 

EPIG.  9. 

My  burden's  greatest  ;  let  not  Atlas  boast : 

Impartial  reader,  judge  which  bears  the  most : 

He  bears  but  Heav'n,  my  folded  arms  sustain 

Heav'n' s  Maker,  whom  Heav'n's  Heav'n  cannot  contain. 


EMBLEMS. 


169 


Emblem   10. 


CANTICLES  III.    I. 


By  night  on  my  bed  I  sought  him  whom  my  soul  loveth  ; 
I  sought  him^  but  I  found  him  not. 

>~pHE  learned  Cynic  having  lost  the  way 
^       To  honest  men,  did,  in  the  height  of  day, 
By  taper-light,  divide  his  steps  about 
The  peopled-streets,  to  find  this  dainty  out ; 
But  fail'd  :  the  Cynic  search'd  not  where  he  ought ; 
The  thing  he  sought  for  was  not  where  he  sought. 
The  wise  men's  task  seem'd  harder  to  be  done ; 
The  wise  men  did  by  star-light  seek  the  Sun,, 
And  found  :  the  wise  men  search'd  it  where  they  ought ; 
The  thing  they  hop'd  to  find  was  where  they  sought. 


1 70  EMBLEMS. 


One  seeks  his  wishes  where  he  should  j  but  then 

Perchance  he  seeks  not  as  he  should ;    nor  when. 

Another  searches  when  he  should  ;  but  there 

He  fails  ;  not  seeking  as  he  should,  nor  where. 

Whose  soul  desires  the  good  it  wants,  and  would 

Obtain,  must  seek  where,  as,  and  when  he  should. 

How  often  have  my  wild  affections  led 

My  wasted  soul  to  this  my  widow'd  bed, 

To  seek  my  lover,  whom  my  soul  desires  ! 

(I  speak  not,  Cupid,  of  thy  wanton  fires : 

Thy  fires  are  all  but  dying  sparks  to  mine ; 

My  flames  are  full  of  Heav'n,  and  all  divine.) 

How  often  have  I  sought  this  bed  by  night, 

To  find  that  greater  by  this  lesser  light  ! 

How  oft  have  my  unwitness'd  groans  lamented 

Thy  dearest  absence  !  ah  !  how  often  vented 

The  bitter  tempest  of  despairing  breath, 

And  toss'd  my  soul  upon  the  waves  of  death ! 

How  often  has  my  melting  heart  made  choice 

Of  silent  tears  (tears  louder  than  a  voice) 

To  plead  my  grief,  and  woo  thy  absent  ear  ! 

And  yet  thou  wilt  not  come,  thou  wilt  not  hear. 

O,  is  thy  wonted  love  become  so  cold  ? 

Or  do  mine  eyes  not  seek  thee  where  they  should  ? 

Why  do  I  seek  thee  if  thou  art  not  here  ? 

Or  find  thee  not,  if  thou  art  everywhere  ? 

I  see  my  error  ;  'tis  not  strange  I  could  not 

Find  out  my  love ;  I  sought  him  where  I  should  not. 

Thou  art  not  found  on  downy  beds  of  ease ; 

Alas  !  thy  music  strikes  on  harder  keys  : 

Nor  art  thou  found  by  that  false  feeble  light 

Of  nature's  candle  ;  our  Egyptian  night 

Is  more  than  common  darkness  ;  nor  can  we 

Expect  a  morning  but  what  breaks  from  thee. 

Well  may  my  empty  bed  bewail  thy  loss, 

When  thou  art  lodgM  upon  thy  shameful  cross  : 


EMBLEMS. 


171 


If  thou  refuse  to  share  a  bed  with  me, 
We'll  never  part,  I'll  share  a  cross  with  thee. 


ANSELM.  in  Protolog.  i. 

LORD,  if  thou  are  not  present,  where  shall  I  seek  thee 
absent  ?  if  everywhere,  why  do  I  not  see  thee  present  ? 
thou  dwellest  in  light  inaccessible ;  and  where  is  that 
inaccessible  light  ?  or  how  shall  I  have  access  to  light 
inaccessible  ?  I  beseech  thee,  LORD,  teach  me  to  seek 
thee,  and  show  thyself  to  the  seeker ;  because  I  can 
neither  seek  thee,  unless  thou  teach  me  ;  nor  find  thee, 
unless  thou  show  thyself  to  me  :  let  me  seek  thee  in 
desiring  thee,  and  desire  thee  in  seeking  thee  :  let  me 
find  thee  in  loving  thee,  and  love  thee  in  finding  thee. 


EPIG.  10. 

Where  should  thou  seek  for  rest,  but  in  thy  bed  ? 
But  now  thy  rest  is  gone,  thy  rest  is  fled  : 
'Tis  vain  to  seek  him  there  :  my  soul,  be  wise  ; 
Go  ask  thy  sins,  they  '11  tell  thee  where  he  lies. 


172 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK  IV. 


Emblem   1 1 


CANTICLES  III.   2. 

/  will  rise,  and  go  about  the  city,  and  will  seek  him 
whom  my  soul  loveth  :  I  sought  him^  but  I  found  him 
not. 

r\  HOW  my  disappointed  soul  's  perplex'd  ! 

^^     iiow    restless    thoughts    swarm   in    my     troubled 

breast ! 
How  vainly  pleas'd  with  hopes,  then  crossly  vext 

With  fears !  and  how  betwixt  them  both  distrest ! 
What  place  is  left  unransack'd     Oh  !  where  next 
Shall  I  go  seek  the  author  of  my  rest  ? 

Of  what  bless'd  angel  shall  my  lips  inquire 
The  undiscover'd  way  to  that  entire 
And  everlasting  solace  of  my  heart's  desire  ? 


HOOK    IV. 


EMBLEMS. 


173 


Look  how  the  stricken  hart,  that  wounded  flies 

O'er  hills  and  dales,  and  seeks  the  lower  grounds 
For  running  streams,  the  whilst  his  weeping  eyes 

Beg  silent  mercy  from  the  following  hounds  ; 
At  length,  embost,  he  droops,  drops  down,  and  lies 
Beneath  the  burthen  of  his  bleeding  wounds  : 
E'en  so  my  gasping  soul,  dissolved  in  tears, 
Doth  search  for  thee,  my  God,  whose  deafen'd  ears 
Leave  me  the  unransom'd  prisoner  to  my  panic  fears. 

Where  have  my  busy  eyes  not  pry'd  ?     O  where, 

Of  whom  hath  not  my  threadbare  tongue  demanded  ? 
I  search'd  this  glorious  city  ;  he  's  not  here  : 

I  sought  the  country ;  she  stands  empty-handed  : 
I  searched  the  court ;  he  is  a  stranger  there  : 

I  ask'd  the  land  ;  he  's  ship'd  :  the  sea,  he  's  landed  : 
I  climbM  the  air,  my  thoughts  began  t'aspire  : 
But  ah !  the  wings  of  my  too  bold  desire, 
Soaring  too  near  the  sun,  were  sing'd  with  sacred  fire. 

I  movM  the  merchant's  ear,  alas  !  but  he 

Knew  neither  what  I  said,  nor  what  to  say  : 
I  ask'd  the  lawyer,  he  demands  a  fee, 

And  then  demurs  me  with  a  vain  delay  : 
I  ask'd  the  schoolman,  his  advice  was  free, 
But  scor'd  me  out  too  intricate  a  way  : 

I  ask'd  the  watchman  (best  of  all  the  four), 
Whose  gentle  answer  could  resolve  no  more, 
But  that  he  lately  left  him  at  at  temple  door. 

Thus  having  sought,  ajid  made  my  great  inquest 
In  ev'ry  place,  and  search'd  in  ev'ry  ear  : 

I  threw  me  on  my  bed  ;  but  ah  !   my  rest 

Was  poisonM  with  th'  extremes  of  grief  and  fear  ; 

Where  looking  down  into  my  troubled  breast, 
The  magazine  of  wounds,  I  found  him  there  : 


174  EMBLEMS. 


Let  others  hunt,  and  show  their  sportful  art ; 
I  wish  to  catch  the  hare  before  she  start, 
As    poachers    use  to  do ;  Heav'n's    form 's   a  troubled 
heart. 


S.  AMBROS.  Lib.  iii.  de  Virg. 

Christ  is  not  in  the  market,  nor  in  the  streets  :  for 
Christ  is  peace,  in  the  market  are  strifes:  Christ  is 
justice,  in  the  market  is  iniquity  :  Christ  is  a  labourer, 
in  the  market  is  idleness :  Christ  is  charity,  in  the 
market  is  slander :  Christ  is  faith,  in  the  market  is 
fraud.  Let  us  not  therefore  seek  Christ,  where  we 
cannot  find  Christ. 

S.  HIERON.  Ser.  ix.  Ep.  xxii.  ad  Eustoch. 

Jesus  is  jealous  :  he  will  not  have  thy  face  seen  : 
Let  foolish  virgins  ramble  abroad,  seek  thou  thy  love 
at  home. 

EPIG.  ii. 

What,  lost  thy  love  ?  will  neither  bed  nor  board 
Receive  him  ?  not  by  tears  to  be  implor'd  ? 
It  is  the  ship  that  moves,  and  not  the  coast  ; 
I  fear,  I  fear,  my  soul,  'tis  thou  art  lost. 


EMBLEMS. 


'75 


Emblem   1 2 


CANTICLES  III.   3,  4. 

Have  you  seen  him  whom  my  soul  loveth  ?  When  I  had 
past  a  little  from  them^  then  I  found  him;  I  took  hold 
on  him^  and  left  him  not. 

"V\7"HAT  secret  corner  ?  what  unwonted  way 

*  ^     Has  'scap'd  the  ransack  of  my  rambling  thought  ? 
The  fox  by  night,  nor  the  dull  owl  by  day, 

Have  never  search'd  those  places  I  have  sought. 
Whilst  they  lamented,  absence  taught  my  breast 
The  ready  road  to  grief,  without  request ; 
My  day  had  neither  comfort,  nor  my  night  had  rest. 

How  hath  my  unregarded  language  vented 
The  sad  tautologies  of  lavish  passion  ! 


IT 6  EMBLEMS.  KOOK  iv. 


How  often  have  I  languish'd  unlamented  ! 

How  oft  have  I  complain'd,  without  compassion  ! 
I  ask'd  the  city-watch,  but  some  deny'd  me 
The  common  street,  whilst  others  would  misguide 

me  ; 
Some  would  debar  me  ;  some  divert  me  ;  some  deride  me. 

Mark  how  the  widow'd  turtle,  having  lost 
The  faithful  partner  of  her  royal  heart, 
Stretches  her  feeble  wings  from  coast  to  coast, 
Hunts  ev'ry  part ;  thinks  ev'ry  shade  doth  part 
Her  absent  love  and  her  ;  at  length,  unsped, 
She  re-betakes  her  to  her  lonely  bed, 
And  there  bewails  her  everlasting  widow-head. 

So  when  my  soul  had  progress'd  ev'ry  place, 

That  love  and  dear  affection  could  contrive, 
I  threw  me  on  my  couch,  resolvM  t'  ehibrace 
A  death  for  him  in  whom  I  ceas'd  to  live  : 
But  there  injurious  Hymen  did  present 
His  landscape  joys  ;  my  pickled  eyes  did  vent 
Full  streams  of  briny  tears,  tears  never  to  be  spent. 

Whilst  thus  my  sorrow- wasting  soul  was  feeding 

Upon  the  radical  humour  of  her  thought, 
E'en  whilst  mine  eyes  were  blind,  and  heart  was  bleeding, 
He  that  was  sought  unfound,  was  found  unsought : 
As  if  the  sun  should  dart  his  orb  of  light 
Into  the  secrets  of  the  black-brow'd  night : 
E'en  so  appeared  my  love,  my  soul's  delight. 

O  how  mine  eyes,  now  ravish'd  at  the  sight 

Of  my  bright  sun,  shot  flames  of  equal  fire  ! 
Ah  !  how  my  soul  dissolved  with  o'er-delight, 
To  re-enjoy  the  crown  of  chaste  desire ! 
How  sovereign  joy  deposM  and  dispossest 
Rebellious  grief !  and  how  my  ravished  breast ! 
But  who  can  express  those  heights,  that  cannot  be  exprest ! 


BOOK  iv.  EMBLEMS.  177 

O  how  these  arms,  these  greedy  arms  did  twine 

And  strongly  twist  about  his  yielding  waist  ! 
The  sappy  branches  of  the  Thespian  vine 
Ne'er  cling  their  less  belov'd  elm  so  fast ; 

Boast  not  thy  flames,  blind  boy,  thy  feather'd  shot ; 
Let  Hymen's  easy  snarls  be  quite  forgot ; 
Time  cannot  quench  our  fires,  nor  death  dissolve  our 
knot. 


ORIG.  Horn.  x.  in  Divers. 

O  most  holy  LORD,  and  sweetest  Master,  how  good 
art  thou  to  those  that  are  of  upright  heart,  and  humble 
spirit !  O  how  blessed  are  they  that  seek  thee  with 
a  simple  heart !  how  happy  that  trust  in  thee  !  it  is  a 
most  certain  truth,  that  thou  lovest  all  that  love  thee, 
and  never  forsakest  those  that  trust  in  thee  :  for,  behold, 
thy  love  simply  sought  thee,  and  undoubtedly  found  thee  : 
she  trusted  in  thee,  and  is  not  forsaken  of  thee,  but  hath 
obtained  more  by  thee,  than  she  expected  from  thee. 

BEDA  in  Cap.  iii.  Cant. 

The  longer  I  was  in  finding  whom  I  sought,  the  more 
earnestly  I  beheld  him  being  found. 


EPIG.  12. 

What  ?  found  him  out  ?  let  strong  embraces  bind  him  ; 
He  '11  fly,  perchance,  where  tears  can  never  find  him  : 
New  sins  will  lose  what  old  repentance  gains. 
Wisdom  not  only  gets,  but  got,  retains. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem    1 3 


PSALM  LXX1II.  28. 

//   is  good  for  me   to  draw   near  to  God ;  I  have  put  my 
trust  In  the  Lord  God. 

TTfHERE  is   that  good,  which  wise    men  please  to 

call 

The  chiefest  ?  doth  there  any  such  befall 
Within  man's  reach  ?  or  is  there  such  a  good  at  all  ? 

If  such  there  be,  it  neither  must  expire, 
Nor  change  ;  than  which  there  can  be  nothing  high'r : 
Such  good  must  be  the  utter  point  of  man's  desire 

It  is  the  mark,  to  which  all  hearts  must  tend ; 
Can  be  desired  for  no  other  end, 
Than  for  itself,  on  which  all  other  goods  depend. 


BOOK  IT.  EMBLEMS.  179 

What  may  this  exc'lence  be  ?  doth  it  subsist 
A  real  essence  clouded  in  the  mist 
Of  curious  art,  or  clear  to  ev'ry  eye  that  list  ? 

Or  is 't  a  tart  idea,  to  procure 
An  edge,  and  keep  the  practic  soul  in  ure, 
Like  that  dear  chymic  dust,  or  puzzling  quadrature  ? 

Where  shall  I  seek  this  good  ?  where  shall  I  find 
This  catholic  pleasure,  whose  extremes  may  blind 
My  thoughts  ?  and  fill  the  gulf  of  my  insatiate  mind  ? 

Lies  it  in  treasure  ?  in  full  heaps  untold  ? 
Doth  gouty  Mammon's  griping  hand  infold 
This  secret  saint  in  sacred  shrines  of  sovereign  gold  ? 

No,  no,  she  lies  not  there  ;  wealth  often  sours 
In  keeping ;  makes  us  hers,  in  seeming  ours  ; 
She    slides    from    Heav'n    indeed,    but   not   in    Danae's 
show'rs. 

Lives  she  in  honour  ?     No.     The  royal  crown 
Builds  up  a  creature,  and  then  batters  down  : 
Kings  raise    thee  with  a  smile,   and  raze  thee  with  a 
frown. 

In  pleasure  ?     No.      Pleasure  begins  in  rage  ; 
Acts  the  fooPs  part  on  earth's  uncertain  stage  ; 
Begins  the  play  in  youth,  and  epilogues  in  age. 

These,  these  are  bastard  goods  ;  the  best  of  these 
Torment  the  soul  with  pleasing  it ;  and  please, 
Like  waters  gulp'd  in  fevers  with  deceitful  ease. 

Earth's  flatt'ring  dainties  are  but  sweet  distresses  : 
Mole-hills  perform  the  mountains  she  professes, 
Alas  !  can  earth  confer  more  good  than  earth  possesses  ? 

Mount,  mount,  my  soul,  and  let  my  thoughts  cashier 
Earth's  vain  delights,  and  make  thy  full  career 
At  Heav'n's  eternal  joys  ;  stop,  stop,  thy  courser  there. 


1 


EMBLEMS. 


There  shall  thy  soul  possess  uncareful  treasure : 
There  shalt  thou  swim  in  never-fading  pleasure, 

And  blaze  in  honour  far  above  the  frowns  of  Caesar. 
Lord,  if  my  hope  dare  let  her  anchor  fall 
On  thee,  the  chiefest  good,  no  need  to  call 

For  earth's  inferior  trash  ;  thou,  thou  art  ALL  IN  ALL. 


S.  AUGUST.  Soliloq.  Cap.  xiii. 

I  follow  this  thing,  I  pursue  that,  but  I  am  filled 
,vith  nothing.  But  when  I  found  thee,  who  art  that 
immutable,  undivided,  and  only  good  in  thyself,  what 
I  obtained,  I  wanted  not ;  for  what  I  obtained  not,  I 
grieved  not ;  with  what  I  was  possessed,  my  whole 
desire  was  satisfied. 

S.  BERN.  Ser.  ix.  Sup.  Beati  qui  habent,  &c. 
Let  others  pretend  merit ;  let  him  brag  of  the  bur- 
then of  the  day  j  let  him  boast  of  his  Sabbath-fasts, 
and  let  him  glory  in  that  he  is  not  as  other  men  :  but 
for  me,  it  is  good  to  cleave  unto  the  LORD,  and  to  put 
my  trust  in  my  LORD  GOD. 


EPIG.  13. 

Let  Boreas'  blasts,  and  Neptune's  waves  be  join'd, 
Thy  ./Eolus  commands  the  waves,  the  wind  : 
Fear  not  the  rocks,  or  world's  imperious  waves  ; 
Thou  climb'st  a  Rock,  my  soul,  a  Rock  that  saves. 


EMBLEMS.  181 


Emblem   14. 


CANTICLES  II.   3. 

/  sat  down  under  his  shadow  with  great  delight,  and  his 
fruit  was  sweet  to  my  taste. 

T   OOK    how    the    sheep,    whose   rambling   steps   do 
*-*     stray 

From  the  safe  blessing  of  her  shepherd's  eyes, 
Eft-soon  becomes  the  unprotected  prey 

To  the  wing'd  squadron  of  beleag'ring  flies  ; 
Where,  swelter'd  with  the  scorching  beams  of  day, 

She  frisks  from  bush  to  brake,  and  wildly  flies  away 
From  her  own  self,  e'en  of  herself  afraid  ; 
She  shrouds  her  troubled  brow  in  ev'ry  glade, 
And  craves  the  mercy  of  the  soft  removing  shade. 


i8a  EMBLEMS.  BOOK  iv 


E'en  so  my  wand'ring  soul,  that  hath  digress'd 
From  her  great  Shepherd,  is  the  hourly  prey 
Of  all  my  sins ;  these  vultures  in  my  breast 

Gripe  my  Promethean  heart ;  both  night  and  day 
I  hunt  from  place  to  place,  but  find  no  rest ; 
I  know  not  where  to  go,  nor  where  to  stay  : 
The  eye  of  vengeance  burns,  her  flames  invade 
My  swelt'ring  soul  :  my  soul  hath  oft  assayed, 
Yet  she  can  find  no  shroud,  yet  can  she  feel  no  shade  ? 

I  sought  the  shades  of  mirth,  to  wear  away 

My  slow-pac'd  hours  of  soul-consuming  grief; 
I  search'd  the  shades  of  sleep,  to  ease  my  day 

Of  griping  sorrows  with  a  night's  reprieve. 
I  sought  the  shades  of  death  ;  thought  there  t*  allay 

My  final  torments  with  a  full  relief : 

But   mirth,    nor   sleep,    nor   death,    can    hide   my 
hours 

In  the  false  shades  of  their  deceitful  bowers  ; 
The  first  distracts,  the  next  disturbs,  the  last  devours. 

Where  shall  I  turn  ?  to  whom  shall  I  apply  me  ? 

Are  there  no  streams  where  a  faint  soul  may  wade  ? 
Thy  Godhead,  Jesus,  are  the  flames  that  fry  me  ; 

Hath  thy  all-glorious  Deity  ne'er  a  shade, 
Where  I  may  sit  and  vengeance  never  eye  me  ; 
Where  I  might  sit  refresh'd  or  unafraid  ? 
Is  there  no  comfort  ?  is  there  no  refection  ; 
Is  there  no  cover  that  will  give  protection 
T*  a  fainting  soul,  the  subject  of  thy  wrath's  reflection  ? 

Look  up,  my  soul,  advance  the  lowly  stature 
Of  thy  sad  thoughts  ;  advance  thy  humble  eye  : 

See,  here  's  a  shadow  found  :  the  human  nature 
Is  made  th'  umbrella  to  the  Deity, 

To  catch  the  sunbeams  of  thy  just  Creator: 
Beneath  this  covert  thou  may'st  safely  lie : 


BOOK  iv.  EMBLEMS.  183 

Permit  thine  eyes  to  climb  this  fruitful  tree, 

As  quick  Zacchaeus  did,  and  thou  shalt  see 

A  cloud  of  dying  flesh  betwixt  those  beams  and  thee. 


GUIL.  in  Cap.  ii.  Cant. 

Who  can  endure  the  fierce  rays  of  the  Sun  of  justice  ? 
who  shall  not  be  consumed  by  his  beams  ?  therefore  the 
Sun  of  justice  took  flesh,  that,  through  the  conjunction 
of  that  Sun  and  this  human  body,  a  shadow  may  be 
made. 

S.  AUGUST.  Med.  Cap.  xxxiv. 

LORD,  let  my  soul  flee  from  the  scorching  thoughts 
of  the  world,  under  the  covert  of  thy  wings,  that,  being 
refreshed  by  the  moderation  of  thy  shadow,  she  may  sing 
merrily.  In  peace  will  I  lay  me  down  and  rest. 


EPIG.  14. 

Ah  !  treach'rous  soul,  would  not  thy  pleasures  give 
That  LORD,  which  made  thee  living,  leave  to  live  ? 
See  what  thy  sins  have  done :  thy  sins  have  made 
The  Sun  of  Glory  now  become  thy  shade 


i84 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK  IT. 


Emblem 


PSALM  CXXXVII.  4. 

How  shall  we  sing  the  Lord's  song  in  a  strange  land? 


T  TRGE  me  no  more 


this  airy  mirth  belongs 

To  better  times  :  these  times  are  not  for  songs. 
The  sprightly  twang  of  the  melodious  lute 
Agrees  not  with  my  voice  :  and  both  unsuit 
My  untun'd  fortunes  :  the  affected  measure 
Of  strains  that  are  constraint,  afford  no  pleasure. 
Music's  the  child  of  mirth  ?  where  griefs  assail 
The  troubled  soul,  both  voice  and  fingers  fail : 
Let  such  as  revel  out  their  lavish  days 
In  honourable  riot  j  that  can  raise 
Dejected  hearts,  and  conjure  up  a  sp'rit 
Of  madness  by  the  magic  of  delight ; 


EMBLEMS.  185 


Let  those  of  Cupid's  hospital,  that  lie 

Impatient  patients  to  a  smiling  eye, 

That  cannot  rest,  until  vain  hope  beguile 

Their  flatter'd  torment  with  a  wanton  smile  : 

Let  such  redeem  their  peace,  and  salve  the  wrongs 

Of  froward  fortune  with  their  frolic  songs  : 

My  grief,  my  grief's  too  great  for  smiling  eyes 

To  cure,  or  counter-charms  to  exorcise. 

The  raven's  dismal  croaks,  the  midnight  howls,     qf 

Of  empty  wolves,  mix'd  with  the  screech  of  owls, 

The  nine  sad  knells  of  a  dull  passing  bell, 

With  the  loud  language  of  a  nightly  knell, 

And  horrid  outcries  of  revenged  crimes, 

Join'd  in  a  medley's  music  for  these  times ; 

These  are  no  times  to  touch  the  merry  string 

Of  Orpheus  ;  no,  these  are  no  times  to  sing. 

Can  hide-bound  pris'ners,  that  have  spent  their  souls, 

And  famish'd  bodies  in  the  noisome  holes 

Of  hell-black  dungeons,  apt  their  rougher  throats, 

Grown  hoarse  with  begging  alms,  to  warble  notes  ? 

Can  the  sad  pilgrim,  that  hath  lost  his  way 

In  the  vast  desert ;  there  condemned  a  prey 

To  the  wild  subject,  or  his  savage  king, 

Rouse  up  his  palsy-smitten  sp'rits  and  sing  ? 

Can  I,  a  pilgrim,  and  a  pris'ner  too, 

Alas  !  where  I  am  neither  known,  nor  know 

Aught  but  my  torments,  an  unransom'd  stranger 

In  this  strange  climate,  in  a  land  of  danger  ? 

O,  can  my  voice  be  pleasant,  or  my  hand, 

Thus  made  a  pris'ner  to  a  foreign  land  ? 

How  can  my  music  relish  in  your  ears, 

That  cannot  speak  for  sobs,  nor  sing  for  tears  ? 

Ah  !  if  my  voice  could,  Orpheus-like,  unspell 

My  poor  Eurydice,  my  soul,  from  hell 

Of  earth's  misconstrued  Heav'n,  O  then  my  breast 

Should  warble  airs,  whose  rhapsodies  should  feast 


1 86  EMBLEMS. 


The  ears  of  seraphims,  and  entertain 
HeavVs  highest  Deity  with  their  lofty  strain  : 
A  strain  well  drench'd  in  the  true  Thespian  well, 
Till  then,  earth's  semiquaver,  mirth,  farewell. 


S.  AUGUST.  Med.  Cap.  xxxiii. 

O  infinitely  happy  are  those  heavenly  virtues,  which 
are  ||blc  to  praise  thee  in  holiness  and  purity  with  ex- 
cessive sweetness,  and  unutterable  exaltation !  from 
thence  they  praise  thee,  from  whence  they  rejoice, 
because  they  continually  see  for  what  they  rejoice,  for 
what  tney  praise  thee  :  but  we,  pressed  down  with  this 
burden  of  flesh,  far  removed  from  thy  countenance  in 
this  pilgrimage,  and  blown  up  with  worldly  vanities, 
cannot  worthily  praise  thee  :  we  praise  thee  by  faith, 
not  face  to  face ;  but  those  angelical  spirits  praise  thee 
face  to  face,  and  not  by  faith. 


EPIG.  15. 

Did  I  refuse  to  sing  ?  Said  I,  these  times 
Were  not  for  songs  :  nor  music  for  these  climes  j 
It  was  my  error  :  are  not  groans  and  tears 
Harmonious  raptures  in  th*  Almighty's  ears  ? 


EMBLEMS. 


187 


BOOK      THE      FIFTH, 


Emblem    i . 


CANTICLES  V.  8. 

/  charge  you,    O   daughters  of  Jerusalem,  if  you  find  my 
beloved,  that  you  tell  him  that  I  am  sick  of  love. 

X^E  holy  virgins,  that  so  oft  surround 
•*•      The  city's  sapphire  walls  ;  whose  snowy  feet 
Measure  the  pearly  paths  of  sacred  ground, 

And  trace  the  new  Jerusalem's  jasper  street ; 
Ah !  you  whose  care-forsaken  hearts  are  crown' d 

With  your  best  wishes  ;  that  enjoy  the  sweet 


i83  EMBLEMS.  BOOK  v. 

Of  all  your  hopes  ;  if  e'er  you  chance  to  spy 
My  absent  love,  O  tell  him  that  I  lie 
Deep  wounr.ed  with  the  flames  that  furnac'd   from  his 
eye. 

I  charge  you,  virgins,  as  you  hope  to  hear 

The  heav'nly  music  of  your  Lover's  voice  ; 
I  charge  you,  by  the  solemn  faith  you  bear 

To  plighted  vows,  and  to  that  loyal  choice 
Of  your  affections,  or  if  aught  more  dear 

You  hold  ;  by  Hymen,  by  your  marriage  joys  ; 
I  charge  you  tell  him,  that  a  flaming  dart, 
Shot  from  his  eye,  hath  pierced  my  bleeding  heart, 
And  I  am  sick  of  love,  and  languish  in  my  smart. 

Tell  him,  O  tell  him,  how  my  panting  breast 

Is  scorch'd  with  flames,  and  how  my  soul  is  piri'd  ; 
Tell  him,  O  tell  him,  how  I  lie  opprest 

With  the  full  torments  of  a  troubled  mind ; 
O  tell  him,  tell  him  that  he  loves  in  jest, 
But  I  in  earnest ;  tell  him  he's  unkind  : 
But  if  a  discontented  frown  appears 
Upon  his  angry  brow,  accost  his  ears 
With  soft  and  fewer  words,  and  act  the  rest  in  tears. 

O  tell  him,  that  his  cruelties  deprive 

My  soul  of  peace,  while  peace  in  vain  she  seeks  ; 
Tell  him,  those  damask  roses  that  did  strive 

With  white,  both  fade  upon  my  sallow  cheeks  j 
Tell  him,  no  token  doth  proclaim  I  live, 

But  tears,  and  sighs,  and  sobs,  and  sudden  shrieks  ; 
Thus  if  your  piercing  words  should  chance  to  bore 
His  heark'ning  ear,  and  move  a  sigh,  give  o'er 
To   speak;    and   tell    him,    tell    him   that    I    could    no 
more. 

If  your  elegious  breath  should  hap  to  rouse 
A  happy  tear,  close  har'bring  in  his  eye, 


EMBLEMS.  189 


Then  urge  his  plighted  faith,  the  sacred  vows, 

Which  neither  I  can  break,  nor  he  deny  ; 
Bewail  the  torment  of  his  loyal  spouse, 

That  for  his  sake  would  make  a  sport  to  die 
O  blessed  virgins,  how  my  passion  tires 
Beneath  the  burden  of  her  fond  desires  ! 
Heav'n  never  shot  such   flames,  earth  never  felt  such 
fires  ! 


S.  AUGUST.  Med.  Cap.  xl. 

What  shall  I  say  ?  what  shall  I  do  ?  whither  shall  I 
go  ?  where  shall  I  seek  him  ?  or  when  shall  I  find  him  ? 
whom  shall  I  ask  ?  who  will  tell  my  beloved  that  I  am 
sick  of  love  ? 

GULIEL.  in  Cap.  v.  Cant. 

I  live,  but  not  I  :  it  is  my  beloved  that  liveth  in 
me  :  I  love  myself,  not  with  my  own  love,  but  with 
the  love  of  my  beloved  that  loveth  me  :  I  love  not  myself 
in  myself,  but  myself  in  him,  and  him  in  me. 


EPIG.  i. 

Grieve  not,  my  soul,  nor  let  thy  love  wax  faint : 
Weep'st  thou  to  lose  the  cause  of  thy  complaint  ? 
He'll  come  ;  love  ne'er  was  bound  to  times  nor  laws  ? 
Till  then  thy  tears  complain  without  a  cause. 


1 9o 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK  V. 


Emblem  2 


CANTICLES  II.   5. 

Stay  me  with  flower s^  and  comfort  me  with  apples,  for  I 
am  sick  of  love. 


O 


TYRANT    love!  how  doth   thy  sov'reign 
Subject  poor  souls  to  the  imperious  thrall ! 
They  say,  thy  cup's  composed  of  sweet  and  sour ; 
They  say,  thy  diet 's  honey  mix'd  with  gall ; 
How  comes  it  then  to  pass,  these  lips  of  ours 
Still  trade  in  bitter  :  taste  no  sweet  at  all  ? 
O  tyrant  love  !   shall  our  perpetual  toil 
Ne'er  find  a  sabbath  to  refresh  awhile 
Our  drooping  souls  ?    art  thou  all   frowns,  and  i 
smile  ? 


powr 


EMBLEMS.  191 


Ye  blessed  maids  of  honour,  that  frequent 

The  royal  courts  of  our  renown'd  Jehove, 
With  flowers  restore  my  spirits  faint  and  spent ; 
O  fetch  me  apples  from  love's  fruitful  grove, 
To  cool  my  palate  and  renew  my  scent, 
For  I  am  sick,  for  I  am  sick  of  love  : 

These  will  revive  my  dry,  my  wasted  powers, 
And  they  will  sweeten  my  unsav'ry  hours  ; 
Refresh  me  then  with  fruit,  and  comfort  me  with  flowers. 

O  bring  me  apples  to  assuage  that  fire, 

Which,  .^Etna-like,  inflames  my  flaming  breast  ; 
Nor  is  it  every  apple  I  desire, 

Nor  that  which  pleases  evVy  palate  best  : 
'Tis  not  the  lasting  deuzan  I  require  : 

Nor  yet  the  red-cheek'd  queening  I  request  : 

Nor  that  which  first  beshrew'd  the  name  of  wife, 
Nor  that  whose  beauty  caus'd  the  golden  strife  ; 
No,  no,  bring  me  an  apple  from  the  tree  of  life. 

Virgins,  tuck  up  your  silken  laps,  and  fill  ye 
With  the  fair  wealth  of  Flora's  magazine  ; 
The  purple  violet,  and  the  pale-fac'd  lily  : 

The  pansy  and  the  organ  columbine  ; 
The  flow'ring  thyme,  the  gilt  bowl  daffodilly  ; 
The  lowly  pink,  the  lofty  eglantine  : 

The  blushing  rose,  the  queen  of  flow'rs,  and  best 
Of  Flora's  beauty  ;  but  above  the  rest, 
Let  Jesse's  sov'reign  flow'r  perfume  my  qualming  breast. 

Haste,  virgins,  haste,  for  I  lie  weak,  and  faint 
Beneath  the  pangs  of  love  ;  why  stand  ye  mute, 

As  if  your  silence  neither  cared  to  grant, 
Nor  yet  your  language  to  deny  my  suit  ? 

No  key  can  lock  the  door  of  my  complaint, 
Until  I  smell  this  flow'r,  or  taste  that  fruit. 


192  EMBLEMS. 


Go,  virgins,  seek  this  tree,  and  search  that  bower  ; 
O,  how  my  soul  shall  bless  that  happy  hour, 
That  brings  to  me  such   fruit,  that  brings   me  such   a 
flower  ! 


GISTEN,  in  Cap.  ii.  Cant.  Expos.  3. 

O  happy  sickness,  where  the  infirmity  is  not  to  death, 
but  to  life,  that  GOD  may  be  glorified  by  it !  O  happy 
fever,  that  proceedeth  not  from  a  consuming,  but  a 
calcining  fire  !  O  happy  distemper,  wherein  the  soul 
relisheth  no  earthly  things,  but  only  savoureth  divine 
nourishment ! 

S.  BERN,  in  Serm.  li.  Cant. 

By  flowers,  understand  faith  ;  by  fruit,  good  works. 
As  the  flower  or  blossom  is  before  the  fruit,  so  is  faith 
before  good  works :  so  neither  is  the  fruit  without  the 
flower,  nor  good  works  without  faith. 


EPIG.  2. 

Why  apples,  O  my  soul  ?  can  they  remove 
The  pains  of  grief,  or  ease  the  flames  of  love  ? 
It  was  that  fruit  which  gave  the  first  offence  ; 
That  sent  him  hither  ;  that  removed  him  hence. 


BOOK  V. 


EMBLEMS. 


J93 


Emblem 


CANTICLES  II.    l6. 

My  beloved  is  mine^  and   I  am  his;    he  feedeth  among 
the  lilies. 


like  two  little  bank-dividing  brooks, 
*"*  That  wash  the  pebbles  with  their  wanton  streams, 
And  having  rang'd  and  search'd  a  thousand  nooks, 
Meet  both  at  length  in  silver-breasted  Thames, 

Where  in  a  greater  current  they  conjoin  : 
So  I  my  best  beloved's  am  ;  so  he  is  mine. 

E'en  so  we  met  ;  and  after  long  pursuit, 

E'en  so  we  join'd,  we  both  became  entire  j 
No  need  for  either  to  renew  a  suit, 

For  I  was  flax,  and  he  was  flames  of  fire. 

Our  firm  united  souls  did  more  than  twine  ; 
So  I  my  best  beloved's  am  ;  so  he  is  mine. 

O 


1 94  EMBLEMS. 


If  all  those  glittering  monarchs,  that  command 

The  servile  quarters  of  this  earthly  ball, 
Should  tender,  in  exchange,  their  shares  of  land, 

I  would  not  change  my  fortunes  for  them  all : 
Their  wealth  is  but  a  counter  to  my  coin  ; 
The  world's  but  theirs  ;  but  my  beloved  's  mine. 

Nay,  more ;  if  the  fair  Thespian  ladies  all 
Should  heap  together  their  diviner  treasure, 

That  treasure  should  be  deemed  a  price  too  small 
To  buy  a  minute's  lease  of  half  my  pleasure  ; 
'Tis  not  the  sacred  wealth  of  all  the  nine 

Can  buy  my  heart  from  him,  or  his  from  being  mine. 

Nor  time,  nor  place,  nor  chance,  nor  death  can  bow 

My  least  desires  unto  the  least  remove 
He  's  firmly  mine  by  oath  -y  I  his  by  vow 

He  's  mine  by  faith  ;  and  I  am  his  by  love  ; 
He  's  mine  by  water  ;  I  am  his  by  wine  ; 
Thus  I  my  best  beloved's  am  ;  thus  he  is  mine. 

He  is  my  altar  ;  I  his  holy  place ; 

I  am  his  guest,  and  he  my  living  food  ; 
I'm  his  by  penitence  ;  he  mine  by  grace  ; 

I'm  his  by  purchase  ;  he  is  mine  by  blood ; 

He  's  my  supporting  helm  ;  and  I  his  vine  : 
Thus  I  my  best  beloved's  am  ;  thus  he  is  mine. 

He  gives  me  wealth,  I  give  him  all  my  vows  : 
I  give  him  songs  ;  he  gives  me  length  of  days  : 

With  wreaths  of  grace  he  crowns  my  conquering  brows  : 
And  I  his  temples  with  a  crown  of  praise, 
Which  he  accepts  ;  an  everlasting  sign, 

That  I  my  best  beloved's  am ;  that  he  is  mine. 


S.  AUGUST.  Manu.  Cap.  xxiv. 

O  my  soul,   stamped  with  the    image  of  thy  GOD, 
love  him  of  whom  thou   art  so   much   beloved :    bend 


BOOK  V. 


EMBLEMS. 


'95 


to  him  that  boweth  to  thee,  seek  him  that  seeketh 
thee  :  love  the  lover,  by  whose  love  thou  art  pre- 
vented, begin  the  cause  of  thy  love  :  be  careful  with 
those  that  are  careful,  want  with  those  that  want ;  be 
clean  with  the  clean,  and  holy  with  the  holy  :  choose 
this  friend  above  all  friends,  who  when  all  are  taken 
away,  remaineth  only  faithful  to  thee  :  in  the  day  of 
thy  burial,  when  all  leave  thee,  he  will  not  deceive 
thee,  but  defend  thee  from  the  roaring  lions  prepared 
for  their  prey. 

EPIG.  3. 

Sing,  Hymen,  to  my  soul :  what,  lost  and  found  ? 
Welcomed,  espous'd,  enjoy'd  so  soon  and  crown'd ! 
He  did  but  climb  the  cross,  and  then  came  down 
To  the  gates  of  hell ;  triumph'd,  and  fetched  a  crown 


196 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  4. 


CANTICLES  VII.    IO. 

I  am  my  beloved's,  and  his  desire  is  towards  me, 

T   IKE  to  the  arctic  needle,  that  doth  guide 

•^  The  wand'ring  shade  by  his  magnetic  pow'r, 

And  leaves  his  silken  gnomon  to  decide 
The  question  of  the  controverted  hour, 

First  frantics  up  and  down  from  side  to  side, 
And  restless  beats  his  crystal'd  iv'ry  case, 
With  vain  impatience  jets  from  place  to  place, 

And  seeks  the  bosom  of  his  frozen  bride  ; 

At  length  he  slacks  his  motion,  and  doth  rest 

His  trembling  point  at  his  bright  pole's  beloved  breast. 


BOOK  v.  EMBLEMS.  137 

E'en  so  my  soul,  being  hurried  here  and  there, 
By  ev'ry  object  that  presents  delight, 

Fain  would  be  settled,  but  she  knows  not  where ; 
She  likes  at  morning  what  she  loaths  at  night : 

She  bows  to  honour  ;  then  she  lends  an  ear 

To  that  sweet  swan-like  voice  of  dying  pleasure, 
Then  tumbles  in  the  scatter'd  heaps  of  treasure  ; 

Now  flatter' d  with  false  hope  ;  now  foil'd  with  fear  : 
Thus  finding  all  the  world's  delight  to  be 

But  empty  toys,  good  GOD,  she  points  alone  to  thee. 

But  hath  the  virtued  steel  a  power  to  move  ? 
Or  can  the  untouch'd  needle  point  aright  ? 

Or  can  my  wand'ring  thoughts  forbear  to  rove, 
Unguided  by  the  virtue  of  thy  sp'rit  ? 

O  hath  my  leaden  soul  the  art  't  improve 
Her  wasted  talent,  and,  unrais'd,  aspire 
In  this  sad  moulting  time  of  her  desire  ? 

Not  first  belov'd,  have  I  the  power  to  love ; 

I  cannot  stir,  but  as  thou  please  to  move  me, 

Nor  can  my  heart  return  the  love,  until  thou  love  me. 

The  still  commandress  of  the  silent  night 

Borrows  her  beams  from  her  bright  brother's  eye  ; 

His  fair  aspect  fills  her  sharp  horns  with  light, 
If  he  withdraw,  her  flames  are  quench'd  and  die  : 

E'en  so  the  beams  of  thy  enlight'ning  sp'rit, 
Infus'd  and  shot  into  my  dark  desire, 
Inflame  my  thoughts,  and  fill  my  soul  with  fire, 

That  I  am  ravish'd  with  a  new  delight ; 

But  if  thou  shroud  thy  face,  my  glory  fades, 

And  I  remain  a  nothing,  all  compos'd  of  shades. 

Eternal  GOD  !  O  thou  that  only  art 

The  sacred  fountain  of  eternal  light, 
And  blessed  loadstone  of  my  better  part, 

O  thou,  my  heart's  desire,  my  soul's  delight ! 
Reflect  upon  my  soul,  and  touch  my  heart, 


198  EMBLEMS.  BOOK  v. 

And   then    my   heart    shall  prize  no  good   above 

thee  ; 
And   then    my    soul    shall    know   thee ;    knowing, 

love  thee ; 
And  then  my  trembling  thoughts  shall  never  start 

From  thy  commands,  or  swerve  the  least  degree, 
Or  once  presume  to  move,  but  as  they  move  in  thee. 


S.  AUGUST.  Med.  Cap.  x. 

If  man  can  love  man  with  so  entire  affection,  that 
the  one  can  scarce  brook  the  other's  absence ;  if  a 
bride  can  be  joined  to  her  bridegroom  with  so  great 
an  ardency  of  mind,  that  for  the  extremity  of  love 
she  can  enjoy  no  rest,  nor  suffer  his  absence  without 
great  anxiety,  with  what  affection,  with  what  fervency 
ought  the  soul,  whom  thou  hast  espoused  by  faith  and 
compassion,  to  love  thee,  her  true  GOD,  and  glorious 
bridegroom  ? 

EPIG.  4. 

My  soul,  thy  love  is  dear  :  'twas  thought  a  good 
And  easy  penri' worth  of  thy  Saviour's  blood  : 
But  be  not  proud  ;  all  matters  rightly  scann'd, 
'Twas  over-bought :  'twas  sold  at  second-hand. 


BOOK  V. 


EMBLEMS. 


199 


Emblem  5 


•— i—^-j 
— 


CANTICLES  V.  6. 

My  soul  melted  whilst  my  beloved  spake. 

T    ORD,  has  the  feeble  voice  of  flesh  and  blood 
*-*  The  pow'r  to  work  thine  ears  into  a  flood 
Of  melted  mercy  ?  or  the  strength  t'  unlock 
The  gates  of  Heav'n,  and  to  dissolve  a  rock 
Of  marble  clouds  into  a  morning  show'r  ? 
Or  hath  the  breath  of  whining  dust  the  pow'r 
To  stop  or  snatch  a  falling  thunderbolt 
From  thy  fierce  hand,  and  make  thy  hand  revolt 
From  resolute  confusion,  and,  instead 
Of  vials,  pour  full  blessings  on  our  head  ? 
Or  shall  the  want  of  famish'd  ravens  cry, 
And  move  thy  mercy  to  a  quick  supply  ? 


EMBLEMS. 


Or  shall  the  silent  suits  of  drooping  flow'rs 

Woo  thee  for  drops,  and  be  refreshed  with  show'rs  ? 

Alas  !  what  marvel,  then,  great  GOD,  what  wonder, 

If  thy  hell-rousing  voice,  that  splits  in  sunder 

The  brazen  portals  of  eternal  death  ; 

What  wonder  if  that  life-restoring  breath, 

Which  dragg'd  me  from  th'  infernal  shades  of  night, 

Should  melt  my  ravish'd  soul  with  o'er-delight  ? 

O  can  my  frozen  gutters  choose  but  run, 

That  feel  the  warmth  of  such  a  glorious  sun  ? 

Methinks  his  language,  like  a  flaming  arrow, 

Doth  pierce  my  bones,  and  melts  their  wounded  marrow. 

Thy  flames,  O  Cupid,  (though  the  joyful  heart 

Feels  neither  tang  of  grief,  nor  fears  the  smart 

Of  jealous  doubts,  but  drunk  with  full  desires) 

Are  torments,  weighed  with  these  celestial  fires  ; 

Pleasures  that  ravish  in  so  high  a  measure, 

That  O,  I  languish  in  excess  of  pleasure  : 

What  ravish'd  heart  that  feels  these  melting  joys, 

Would  not  despise  and  loathe  the  treach'rous  toys 

Of  dunghill  earth  ?  what  soul  would  not  be  proud 

Of  wry-mouth'd  scorns,  the  worst  that  flesh  and  blood 

Had  rancour  to  devise  ?  who  would  not  bear 

The  world's  derision  with  a  thankful  ear  ? 

What  palate  would  refuse  full  bowls  of  spite 

To  gain  a  minute's  taste  of  such  delight  ? 

Great  spring  of  light,  in  whom  there  is  no  shade 

But  what  my  interposed  sins  have  made ; 

Whose  marrow-melting  fires  admit  no  screen 

But  what  my  own  rebellions  put  between 

Their  precious  flames  and  my  obdurate  ear ; 

Disperse  this  plague-distilling  cloud,  and  clear 

My  mungy  soul  into  a  glorious  day  : 

Transplant  this  screen,  remove  this  bar  away  ; 

Then,  then  my  fluent  soul  shall  feel  the  fires 

Of  thy  sweet  voice,  and  my  dissolved  desires 


EMBLEMS. 


201 


Shall  turn  a  sov'reign  balsam,  to  make  whole 
Those  wounds  my  sins  inflicted  on  thy  soul. 


S.  AUGUST.  Soliloq.  Cap.  xxxiv. 

What  fire  is  this  that  so  warmeth  my  heart  ?  what 
light  is  this  that  so  enlighteneth  my  soul !  O  fire  !  that 
always  burneth,  and  never  goeth  out,  kindle  me  :  O 
light,  which  ever  shineth,  and  art  never  darkened,  illu- 
minate me :  O  that  I  had  my  heat  from  thee,  most  holy 
fire  !  how  sweetly  dost  thou  burn  !  how  secretly  dost 
thou  shine  !  how  desiredly  dost  thou  inflame  me  ! 

S.  BONAVENT.  Stim.  Amoris.  Cap.  viii. 

It  maketh  GOD  man,  and  man  GOD  j  things  temporal, 
eternal ;  mortal,  immortal ;  it  maketh  an  emeny,  a 
friend  ;  a  servant,  a  son ;  vile  things,  glorious ;  cold 
hearts,  fiery ;  and  hard  things,  liquid. 


EPIG.  5. 

My  soul,  thy  gold  is  true,  but  full  of  dross ; 
Thy  Saviour's  breath  refines  thee  with  some  loss ; 
His  gentle  furnace  makes  thee  pure  as  true  ; 
Thou  must  be  melted  ere  th'  art  cast  anew. 


202 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  6, 


PSALM  LXXIII.  25. 

W^hom   have   I  In    heaven  but   thee?    and  there   is    none 
upon  earth  that  I  desire  beside  thee. 

T  LOVE  (and  have  some  cause  to  love)  the  earth  ; 
*   She  is  my  Maker's  creature,  therefore  good : 
She  is  my  mother,  for  she  gave  me  birth  ; 
She  is  my  tender  nurse  ;  she  gives  me  food  • 

But  what 's  a  creature,  LORD,  compared  with  thee  ? 

Or  what 's  my  mother,  or  my  nurse,  to  me  ? 

I  love  the  air  j  her  dainty  sweets  refresh 

My  drooping  soul,  and  to  new  sweets  invite  me ; 

Her  shrill-mouth' d  choir  sustain  me  with  their  flesh, 


EMBLEMS.  203 


And  with  their  Polyphonian  notes  delight  me : 
But  what's  the  air,  or  all  the  sweets,  that  she 
Can  bless  my  soul  withal,  compar'd  to  thee  ? 

I  love  the  sea ;  she  is  my  fellow-creature, 
My  careful  purveyor  ;  she  provides  me  store  : 
She  walls  me  round  j  she  makes  my  diet  greater  $ 
She  wafts  my  treasure  from  a  foreign  shore  : 

But,  LORD  of  oceans,  when  compar'd  with  thee, 
What  is  the  ocean,  or  her  wealth,  to  me  ? 

To  Heav'n's  high  city  I  direct  my  journey, 
Whose  spangled  suburbs  entertain  mine  eye  ; 
Mine  eye,  by  contemplation's  great  attorney, 
Transcends  the  crystal  pavement  of  the  sky: 

But  what  is  Heav'n,  great  GOD,  compar'd  to  thee  ? 

Without  thy  presence,  Heav'n  's  no  Heav'n  to  me. 

Without  thy  presence,  earth  gives  no  refection ; 

Without  thy  presence,  sea  affords  no  treasure  j 

Without  thy  presence,  air 's  a  rank  infection  ; 

Without  thy  presence,  Heav'n  itself  's  no  pleasure  ; 
If  not  possess'd,  if  not  enjoy'd  in  thee, 
What 's  earth,  or  sea,  or  air,  or  Heav'n,  to  me  ? 

The  highest  honours  that  the  world  can  boast 

Are  subjects  far  too  low  for  my  desire  j 

The  brightest  beams  of  glory  are  (at  most) 

But  dying  sparkles  of  thy  living  fire  : 

The  proudest  flames  that  earth  can  kindle  bs 
But  nightly  glow-worms,  if  compar'd  to  thee. 

Without  thy  presence,  wealth  are  bags  of  cares ; 

Wisdom,  but  folly  ;  joy,  disquiet  sadness  : 

Friendship  is  tieason,  and  delights  are  snares ; 

Pleasure's  but  pain,  and  mirth  but  pleasing  madness ; 
Without  thee,  LORD,  things  be  not  what  they  be, 
Nor  have  their  being  when  compar'd  with  thee. 


204  EMBLEMS. 


In  having  all  things,  and  not  thee,  what  have  I  ? 

Not  having  thee,  what  have  my  labours  got  ? 

Let  me  enjoy  but  thee,  what  farther  crave  I  ? 

And  having  thee  alone,  what  have  I  not  ? 
I  wish  nor  sea,  nor  land  ;  nor  would  I  be 
Possess'd  of  Heav'n,  Heav'n  unpossess'd  of  thee. 


BONAVENT.  Soliloq.  Cap.  i. 

Alas !  my  GOD,  now  I  understand  (but  blush  to  con- 
fess) that  the  beauty  of  thy  creatures  hath  deceived  mine 
eyes,  and  I  have  not  observed  that  thou  art  more  amiable 
than  all  the  creatures  ;  to  which  thou  hast  communicated 
but  one  drop  of  thy  inestimable  beauty  :  for  who 
hath  adorned  the  heavens  with  stars  ?  who  hath  stored 
the  air  with  fowl,  the  waters  with  fish,  the  earth  with 
plants  and  flowers  ?  but  what  are  all  these  but  a  small 
spark  of  divine  beauty. 

S.  CHRYS.  Horn.  v.  in  Ep.  ad  Rom. 

In  having  nothing,  I  have  all  things,  because  I  have 
Christ.  Having  therefore  all  things  in  him,  I  seek  no 
other  reward  ;  for  he  is  the  universal  reward. 


EPIG.  6. 

Who  would  not  throw  his  better  thoughts  about  him  ? 
And  scorn  this  dross  within  him ;  that  without  him  ? 
Cast  up,  my  soul,  thy  clearer  eye  ;  behold, 
If  thou  be  fully  melted,  there's  the  mould. 


I 

BOOK  y.  EMBLEMS. 


205 


Emblem  7. 


PSALM  CXX.  5. 

B 

Woe  is  me,  .  **at  I  sojourn  In  Afesech^  that  I  dwell  in  the 
tents  of  Kedar  ! 

jS  nature's  course  dissolved  ?  doth  time's  glass  stand  ? 

Or  hath  some  frolic  heart  set  back  the  hand 
Of  fate's  perpetual  clock  ?  will 't  never  strike  ? 
Is  crazy  time  grown  lazy,  faint  or  sick, 
With  very  age  ?  or  hath  that  great  pair-royal 
Of  adamantine  sisters  late  made  trial 
Of  some  new  trade  ?  shall  mortal  hearts  grow  old 
In  sorrow  ?   shall  my  weary  arms  i)  fold, 
And  under-prop  my  panting  sides  for  ever  ? 
Is  there  no  charitable  hand  will  sever 


206  EMBLEMS.  BOOK  v. 

My  well-spun  thread,  that  my  imprisoned  soul 

May  be  delivered  from  this  dull  dark  hole 

Of  dungeon  flesh  ?     O  shall  I,  shall  I  never 

Be  ransom'd,  but  remain  a  slave  for  ever  ? 

It  is  the  lot  of  man  but  once  to  die, 

But  ere  that  death,  how  many  deaths  have  I  ? 

What  human  madness  makes  the  world  afraid 

To  entertain  Heaven's  joys,  because  convey' d 

By  the  hand  of  death  ?  will  nakedness  refuse 

Rich  change  of  robes,  because  the  man's  not  spruce 

That  brought  them  ?  or  will  poverty  send  back 

Full  bags  of  gold,  because  the  bringer  's  black  ? 

Life  is  a  bubble,  blown  with  whining  breaths, 

Fill'd  with  a  torment  of  a  thousand  deaths  ; 

Which  being  prick' d  by  death  (while  death  deprives 

One  life)  presents  the  soul  a  thousand  lives  : 

O  frantic  mortal,  how  hath  earth  bewitch'd 

Thy  bedlam  soul,  which  hath  so  fondly  pitched 

Upon  her  false  delights !  delights  that  cease 

Before  enjoyment  finds  a  time  to  please  : 

Her  fickle  joys  breed  doubtful  fears ;  her  fears 

Bring  hopeful  griefs  ;  her  griefs  weep  fearful  tears  : 

Tears  coin  deceitful  hopes  ;  hopes  careful  doubt, 

And  surly  passion  justles  passion  out : 

To-day  we  pamper  with  a  full  repast 

Of  lavish  mirth,  at  night  we  weep  as  fast : 

To-night  we  swim  in  wealth,  and  lend  ;  to-morrow, 

We  sink  in  want,  and  find  no  friend  to  borrow. 

In  what  a  climate  doth  my  soul  reside  ? 

Where  pale-fac'd  murder,  the  first-born  of  pride, 

Sets  up  her  kingdom  in  the  very  smiles, 

And  plighted  faiths  of  men  like  crocodiles  : 

And  land,  where  each  embroider'd  sattin  word 

Is  lined  with  fraud  ;  where  Mars  his  lawless  sword, 

Exiles  Astrae's  balance  ;  where  that  hand 

Now  slays  his  brother,  that  new-sow'd  his  land  ; 


EMBLEMS.  207 


O  that  my  days  of  bondage  would  expire 

In  this  lewd  soil !  LORD,  how  my  soul's  on  fire 

To  be  dissolv'd,  that  I  might  once  obtain 

Those  long'd-for  joys,  long'd  for  so  oft  in  vain  ! 

If,  Moses-like,  I  may  not  live  possest 

Of  this  fair  land,  LORD,  let  me  see't  at  least. 


S.  AUGUST.  Soliloq.  Cap.  xii. 
My  life  is  a  frail  life  ;  a  corruptible  life  ;  a  life  which  j 
the  more  it  increaseth,  the  more  it  decreaseth  :  the 
farther  it  goeth,  the  nearer  it  cometh  to  death.  A 
deceitful  lite,  and  like  a  shadow,  full  of  the  snares  of 
death  :  now  I  rejoice,  now  I  languish,  now  I  flourish, 
now  infirm,  now  I  live,  and  straight  I  die ;  now  I  seem 
happy,  always  miserable  ;  now  I  laugh,  now  I  weep  : 
thus  all  things  are  subject  to  mutability,  that  nothing 
continueth  an  hour  in  one  estate :  O  joy  above  joy, 
exceeding  all  joy,  without  which  there  is  no  joy,  when 
shall  I  enter  into  thee,  that  I  may  see  my  GOD,  that 
dwelleth  in  thee  ? 


EPIC.  7. 

Art  thou  so  weak  ?  O  canst  thou  not  digest 
An  hour  of  travel  for  a  night  of  rest  ? 
Cheer  up,  my  soul,  call  home  thy  sp'rits,  and  bear 
One  bad  Good-Friday,  full-mouth'd  Easter's  near. 


20S 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  8 


ROM.  VII.   24. 

O  wretched  man  that  I  am  !  who  shall  deliver  me  from 
the  body  of  this  death  ? 

DEHOLD  thy  darling,  which  thy  lustful  care 

**  Pampers,  for  which  thy  restless  thoughts  prepare 

Such  early  cares  ;  for  whom  thy  bubbling  brow 

So  often  sweats,  and  bankrupt  eyes  do  owe 

Such  midnight  scores  to  nature,  for  whose  sake 

Base  earth  is  sainted,  the  infernal  lake 

Unfear'd,  the  crown  of  glory  poorly  rated  : 

Thy  GOD  neglected,  and  thy  brother  hated ; 

Behold  thy  darling,  whom  my  soul  affects 

So  dearly  ;  whom  thy  fond  indulgence  decks 


BOOK  v.  EMBLEMS.  209 

And  puppets  up  in  soft,  in  silken  weeds  ; 
Behold  the  darling,  whom  thy  fondness  feeds 
With  far-fetch'd  delicates,  the  dear-bought  gains 
Of  ill-spent  time,  the  price  of  half  my  pains  : 
Behold  thy  darling,  who,  when  clad  by  thee, 
Derides  thy  nakedness  ;  and  when  most  free, 
Proclaims  her  lover  slave  ;  and  being  fed 
Most  full,  then  strikes  the  indulgent  feeder  dead. 
What  mean'st  thou  thus,  my  poor  deluded  soul, 
To  love  so  fondly  ?  can  the  burning  coal 
Of  thy  affection  last  without  the  fuel 
Of  counter  love  ?  is  thy  compeer  so  cruel, 
And  thou  so  kind  to  love,  unlov'd  again  ? 
Canst  thou  sow  favours,  and  thus  reap  disdain  ? 
Remember,  O  remember  thou  art  born 
Of  royal  blood  ;  remember  thou  art  sworn 
A  maid  of  honour  in  the  court  of  Heav'n  ; 
Remember  what  a  costly  price  was  giv'n 
To  ransom  thee  from  slav'ry  thou  wert  in : 
And  wilt  thou  now,  my  soul,  turn  slave  again  ? 
The  Son  and  Heir  to  Heav'n's  Triune  JEHOVE 
Would  fain  become  a  suitor  for  thy  love, 
And  offers  for  thy  dow'r  his  father's  throne, 
To  sit  for  seraphims  to  gaze  upon ; 
He  '11  give  thee  honour,  pleasure,  wealth,  and  things- 
Transcending  far  the  majesty  of  kings, 
And  wilt  thou  prostrate  to  the  odious  charms 
Of  this  base  scullion  ?  shall  his  hollow  arms 
Hug  thy  soft  sides  ?  shall  these  coarse  hands  untie 
The  sacred  zone  of  thy  virginity  ? 
For  shame,  degen'rous  soul,  let  thy  desire 
Be  quickened  up  with  more  heroic  fire  ; 
Be  wisely  proud,  let  thy  ambitious  eye 
Read  noble  objects  ;  let  thy  thoughts  defy 
Such  am'rous  baseness  ;  let  thy  soul  disdain 
Thr*  ignoble  proffers  of  so  base  a  swain ; 

p 


210  EMBLEMS. 


Or  if  thy  vows  be  past,  and  Hymen's  bands 
Have  ceremonied  your  unequal  hands, 
Annul,  at  least  avoid,  thy  lawless  act 
With  insufficiency,  or,  pre-contract : 
Or  if  the  act  be  good,  yet  may'st  thou  plead 
A  second  freedom  ;  or  the  flesh  is  dead. 


NAZIANZ.  Orat.  xvi. 

How  I  am  joined  to  this  body  I  know  not ;  which, 
when  it  is  healthful,  provoketh  me  to  war,  and,  being 
damaged  by  war,  afFecteth  me  with  grief;  which  I  both 
love  as  a  fellow-servant,  and  hate  as  an  utter  enemy : 
it  is  a  pleasant  foe,  and  a  perfidious  friend.  O  strange 
conjunction  and  alienation  :  what  I  fear  I  embrace,  and 
what  I  love  I  am  afraid  of;  before  I  make  war,  I  am 
reconciled  ;  before  I  enjoy  peace,  I  am  at  variance. 


.Epic.  8. 

What  need  that  house  be  daub'd  with  flesh  and  blood  ? 
Hang'd  round  with  silks  and  gold  ?  repaired  with  food  ? 
Cost  idly  spent !  that  cost  doth  but  prolong 
Thy  thraldom.     Fool,  thou  mak'st  thy  jail  too  strong. 


BOOK  V. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  9. 


PHILIPPIANS  I.   23. 

/  am  in  a  strait  betwixt  two^   having  a  desire  to  depart^ 
and  to  be  with  Christ. 

"1T7HAT  meant  our  careful  parents  so  to  wear, 

*  *     And  lavish  out  their  ill-extended  hours, 
To  purchase  for  us  large  possessions  here, 

Which  (though  unpurchas'd)  are  too  truly  ours  ? 
What    meant     they,    ah  !    what   meant    they    to 

endure 

Such  loads  of  needless  labour,  to  procure 
And  make    that  thing  our    own,  which  was  our  own 

too  sure  ? 
What  mean  these  liv'ries  and  possessive  keys  ? 

What  mean  these  bargains,  and  these  needless  sales  ? 


ZI2 


EMBLEMS. 


What  mean  these  jealous,  these  suspicious  ways 
Of  law  devis'd,  and  law  dissolv'd  entails  ? 

No  need  to  sweat  for  gold,  wherewith  to  buy 
Estates  of  high-priz'd   land  ;  no  need  to  tie 
Earth  to  their  heirs,  were  they  but  clogg'd  with  earth 
as  I. 

0  were  their  souls  but  cloggM  with  earth  as  I, 
They  would  not  purchase  with  so  salt  an  itch ; 

They  would  not  take  of  alms,  what  now  they  buy  ; 
Nor  call  him  happy  whom  the  world  counts  rich  ; 
They  would  not  take  such  pains,  project  and  prog, 
To  charge  their  shoulders  with  so  great  a  log : 

Who  hath  the  greater  lands,  hath  but  the  greater  clog. 

1  cannot  do  an  act  which  earth  disdains  not ; 

I  cannot  think  a  thought  which  earth  corrupts  not ; 
I  cannot  speak  a  word  which  earth  profanes  not ; 
I  cannot  make  a  vow  earth  interrupts  not : 
If  I  but  offer  up  an  early  groan, 
Or  spread  my  wings  to  HeavVs  long  long'd-for 

throne, 
She  darkens  my  complaints,  and  drags  my  ofPring  down. 

E'en  like  the  hawk,  (whose  keeper's  wary  hands 
Have  made  a  pris'ner  to  her  weath'ring  stock) 
Forgetting  quite  the  pow'r  of  her  fast  bands, 
Makes  a  rank  bate  from  her  forsaken  block ; 
But  her  too  faithful  leash  doth  soon  retain 
Her  broken  flight,  attempted  oft  in  vain  ; 
It  gives  her  loins  a  twitch,  and  tugs  her  back  again. 

""So,  when  my  soul  directs  her  better  eye 

To  HeavVs  bright  palace,  where  my  treasure  lies, 
I  spread  my  willing  wings,  but  cannot  fly  j 
Earth  hales  me  down,  I  cannot,  cannot  rise : 
When  I  but  strive  to  mount  the  least  degree, 
Earth  gives  a  jerk,  and  foils  me  on  my  knee ; 
LORD,  how  my  soul  is  rack'd  betwixt  the  world  and  thee  ! 


EMBLEMS. 


Great  GOD,  I  spread  my  feeble  wings  in  vain ; 

In  vain  I  offer  my  extended  hands  : 
I  cannot  mount  till  thou  unlink  my  chain : 
I  cannot  come  till  thou  release  my  bands : 

Which  if  thou  please  to  break,  and  then  supply 
My  wings  with  spirit,  th'  eagle  shall  not  fly 
A  pitch  that's  half  so  fair,  nor  half  so  swift  as  I. 


S.  BONAVENT.  Soliloq.  Cap.  i. 

Ah  !  sweet  Jesus,  pierce  the  marrow  of  my  soul 
with  the  heartful  shafts  of  thy  love,  that  it  may  truly 
burn,  and  melt,  and  languish,  with  the  only  desire  of 
thee :  that  it  may  desire  to  be  dissolved,  and  to  be 
with  thee  :  let  it  hunger  alone  for  the  bread  of  life  : 
let  it  thirst  after  thee,  the  spring  and  fountain  of 
eternal  light,  the  stream  of  true  pleasure  :  let  it  always 
desire  the,  seek  thee,  and  find  thee,  and  sweetly  rest 
in  thee. 

EPIG.  9, 

What,  will  thy  shackles  neither  loose  nor  break  ? 
Are  they  too  strong,  or  is  thine  arm  too  weak  ? 
Art  will  prevail  where  knotty  strength  denies  ; 
My  soul,  there 's  aquafortis  in  thine  eyes. 


2I4 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK  T. 


Emblem   10. 


PSALM  CXLII. 


Bring  my  soul  out  of  prison  that  I  may  praise  thy  name. 


soul  is  like  a  bird,  my  flesh  the  cage, 
Wherein  she  wears  her  weary  pilgrimage 
Of  hours,  as  few  as  evil,  daily  fed 
With  sacred  wine  and  sacramental  bread  ; 
The  keys  that  lock  her  in  and  let  her  out, 
Are  birth  and  death  ;  'twixt  both  she  hops  about 
From  perch  to  perch,  from  sense  to  reason  ;  then 
From  higher  reason  down  to  sense  again  : 
From  sense  she  climbs  to  faith  ;  where  for  a  season 
She  sits  and  sings  ;  then  down  again  to  reason  : 
From  reason  back  to  faith,  and  straight  from  thence 
She  rudely  flutters  to  the  perch  of  sense  : 


BOOK  v.  EMBLEMS.  215 

From  sense  to  hope ;  then  hops  from  hope  to  doubt, 
From  doubt  to  dull  despair ;  there  seeks  about 
For  desp'rate  freedom,  and  at  ev'ry  grate 
She  wildly  thrusts,  and  begs  the  untimely  date 
Of  th'  unexpir'd  thraldom,  to  release 
The  afflicted  captive,  that  can  find  no  peace. 
Thus  am  I  coopM ;  within  this  fleshly  cage 
I  wear  my  youth,  and  waste  my  weary  age  ; 
Spending  that  breath,  which  was  ordainM  to  chant 
Heaven's  praises  forth,  in  sighs  and  sad  complaint : 
Whilst  happier  birds  can  spread  their  nimble  wing 
From  shrubs  to  cedars,  and  there  chirp  and  sing, 
In  choice  of  raptures,  the  harmonious  story 
Of  man's  redemption,  and  his  Maker's  glory : 
You  glorious  martyrs,  you  illustrious  stoops, 
That  once  were  cloistered  in  your  fleshly  coops 
As  fast  as  I,  what  rhet'ric  had  your  tongues  ? 
What  dext'rous  art  had  your  elegiac  songs  ? 
What  Paul-like  pow'r  had  your  admir'd  devotion  ? 
What  shackle-breaking  faith  infus'd  such  motion 
To  your  strong  pray'r,  that  could  obtain  the  boon 
To  be  enlarged ;  to  be  uncagM  so  soon  ? 
Whilst  I,  poor  I,  can  sing  my  daily  tears, 
Grown  old  in  bondage,  and  can  find  no  ears  ; 
You  great  partakers  of  eternal  glory, 
That  with  your  Heaven-prevailing  oratory 
Releas'd  your  souls  from  your  terrestrial  cage, 
Permit  the  passion  of  my  holy  rage 
To  recommend  my  sorrows,  dearly  known 
To  you,  in  days  of  old,  and  once  your  own, 
To  your  best  thoughts,  (but  oh 't  doth  not  befit  ye 
To  move  your  prayers  ;  you  love  joy,  not  pity  :) 
Great  LORD  of  souls,  to  whom  should  pris'ners  fly 
But  thee  ?  thou  hadst  a  cage  as  well  as  I ; 
And,  for  my  sake,  thy  pleasure  was  to  know 
The  sorrows  that  it  brought,  and  felt'st  them  too  : 


2l6 


EMBLEMS. 


O  let  me  free,  and  I  will  spend  those  days, 
Which  now  I  waste  in  begging,  in  thy  praise. 


ANSELM.  in  Protolog.  Cap.  i. 

O  miserable  condition  of  mankind,  that  has  lost  that 
for  which  he  was  created  !  alas  !  what  hath  he  lost  ? 
and  what  hath  he  found  ?  he  hath  lost  happiness  for 
which  he  was  made,  and  found  misery  for  which  he 
was  not  made  :  what  is  gone  ?  and  what  is  left  ?  that 
thing  is  gone,  without  which  he  is  unhappy ;  that  thing 
is  left,  by  which  he  is  miserable  :  O  wretched  men ! 
from  whence  are  we  expelled  ?  to  what  are  we  im- 
pelled ?  whence  are  we  thrown  ?  and  whither  are  we 
hurried  ?  from  our  home  into  banishment ;  from  the 
sight  of  GOD  into  our  own  blindness;  from  the  pleasure 
of  immortality  to  the  bitterness  of  death  :  miserable 
change  ;  from  how  great  a  good,  to  how  great  an  evil  ! 
ah  me  !  what  have  I  enterprised  ?  what  have  I  done  ? 
whither  did  I  go  ?  whither  am  I  come  ? 


EPIG.  10. 

Paul's  midnight  voice  prevail'd  ;  his  music  Js  thunder 
Unhing'd  the  prison-doors,  split  bolts  in  sunder  : 
And  sitt/st  thou  here,  and  hang'st  the  feeble  wing  ? 
And  whin'st  to  be  enlarged  ?  soul,  learn  to  sing. 


EMBLEMS. 


217 


Emblem   1 1 . 


PSALM  XLII.  1. 

As  the  hart  panteth  after  the  water-brooks^  so  panteth  my 
soul  after  thee^  O  God. 

TjOW  shall  my  tongue  express  that  hallowM  fire, 

Which  Heav'n  hath  kindled  in  my  ravish'd  heart ! 
What  muse  shall  I  invoke,  that  will  inspire 

My  lowly  quill  to  act  a  lofty  part ! 
What  art  shall  I  devise  t'  express  desire. 
Too  intricate  to  be  expressed  by  art ! 
Let  all  the  nine  be  silent ;  I  refuse 
Their  aid  in  this  high  task,  for  they  abuse 
The  flames  of  love  too  much  :  assist  me,  David's  muse. 


218 


EMBLEMS. 


Not  as  the  thirsty  soil  desires  soft  show'rs 

To  quicken  and  refresh  her  embiyon  grain  j 
Nor  as  the  drooping  crests  of  fading  flow'rs 

Request  the  bounty  of  a  morning  rain, 
Do  I  desire  my  GOD  :  these  in  few  hours 
E  e-wish  what  late  their  wishes  did  obtain ; 
But  as  the  swift- foot  hart  doth  wounded  fly 
To  th'  much-desired  streams,  even  so  do  I 
Pant  after  thee,  my  GOD,  whom  I  must  find,  or  die. 

Before  a  pack  of  deep-mouthM  lusts  I  flee ; 

O,  they  have  singled  out  my  panting  heart, 
And  wanton  Cupid,  sitting  in  the  tree, 

Hath  piercM  my  bosom  with  a  flaming  dart ; 
My  soul  being  spent,  for  refuge  seeks  to  thee, 
But  cannot  find  where  thou  my  refuge  art : 
Like  as  the  swift-foot  hart  doth  wounded  fly 
To  the  desired  streams,  e'en  so  do  I 
Pant  after  thee,  my  GOD,  whom  I  must  find,  or  die. 

At  length,  by  flight,  I  overwent  the  pack  ; 

Thou  drew'st  the  wanton  dart  from  out  my  wound 
The  blood  that  followed  left  a  purple  track, 

Which  brought  a  serpent,  but  in  shape  a  hound : 
We  strove,  he  bit  me ;  but  thou  break'st  his  back, 
I  left  him  grov'ling  on  th'  envenomed  ground  j 
But  as  the  serpent-bitten  hart  doth  fly 
To  the  long  long'd-for  streams,  e'en  so  do  I 
Pant  after  thee,  my  GOD,  whom  I  must  find,  or  die. 

If  love  should  chase  my  soul,  made  swift  by  fright, 
Thou  art  the  stream  whereto  my  soul  is  bound  : 

Or  if  a  jav'lin  wound  my  sides  in  flight, 

Thou  art  the  balsam  that  must  cure  my  wound : 

If  poison  chance  t'  infest  my  soul  in  fight, 

Thou  art  the  treacle  that  must  make  me  sound  : 


BOOK  V. 


EMBLEMS. 


219 


E'en  as  the  wounded  hart,  embost,  doth  fly 
To  th'  streams  extremely  long'd-for,  so  do  I 
Pant  after  thee,  my  GOD,  whom  I  must  find,  or  die. 


S.  CYRIL.  Lib.  v.  in  Joh.  Cap.  x. 

O  precious  water,  which  quencheth  the  noisome 
thirst  of  this  world,  scoureth  all  the  stains  of  sinners, 
that  watereth  the  earth  of  our  souls  with  heavenly 
showers,  and  bringeth  back  the  thirsty  heart  of  man  to 
his  only  GOD. 

S.  AUGUST.  Soliloq.  Cap.  xxxv. 

O  fountain  of  life,  and  vein  of  living  waters,  when 
shall  I  leave  this  forsaken,  impassable,  and  dry  earth, 
and  taste  the  waters  of  thy  sweetness,  that  I  may 
behold  thy  virtue  and  thy  glory,  and  slake  my  thirst 
with  the  streams  of  thy  mercy  !  LORD,  I  thirst,  thou 
art  the  spring  of  life,  satisfy  me :  I  thirst,  LORD,  I  thirst 
after  thee,  the  living  GOD  ! 


EPIG.  ii. 

The  arrow-smitten  hart,  deep-wounded,  flies 
To  th'  springs,  with  water  in  his  weeping  eyes : 
Heav'n  is  thy  spring  :  if  Satan's  fiery  dart 
Pierce  thy  faint  sides  :  do  so,  my  wounded  heart. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem   12. 


PSALM  XLII.  2. 

When  shall  I  come  and  appear  before  God  ? 

"\T7HAT  is  my  soul  the  better  to  be  tin'd 

*  *     With  holy  fire  ?  what  boots  it  to  be  coin'd 
With  Heav'n's  own  stamp  ?  what  'vantage  can  there  be 
To  souls  of  Heav'n-descended  pedigree, 
More  than  to  beasts  that  grovel  ?  are  not  they 
Fed  by  the  Almighty's  hand  ?  and  ev'ry  day 
Fill'd  with  his  blessings  too  ?  do  they  not  see 
GOD  in  his  creatures,  as  direct  as  we  ? 
Do  they  not  taste  thee  ?  hear  thee  ?  nay,  what  sense 
Is  not  partaker  of  thine  excellence  ? 
What  more  do  we  ?  alas  !  what  serves  our  reason, 
But,  like  dark  lanthorns,  to  accomplish  treason 


BOOK  V. 


EMBLEMS. 


With  greater  closeness  ?    It  affords  no  light, 

Brings  thee  no  nearer  to  our  purblind  sight : 

No  pleasure  rises  up  the  least  degree, 

Great  GOD,  but  in  the  clearer  view  of  thee  : 

What  priv'lege  more  than  sense  hath  reason  then  ? 

What  "Vantage  is  it  to  be  born  a  man  ? 

How  often  hath  my  patience  built,  dear  LORD, 

Vain  tow'rs  of  hope  upon  thy  gracious  word  ? 

How  often  hath  thy  hope-reviving  grace 

Woo'd  my  suspicious  eyes  to  seek  thy  face  ? 

How  often  have  I  sought  the  ?  O  how  long 

Hath  expectation  taught  my  perfect  tongue 

Repeated  prayers,  yet  pray'rs  could  ne'er  obtain  ! 

In  vain  I  seek  thee,  and  I  beg  in  vain  : 

If  it  be  high  presumption  to  behold 

Thy  face,  why  didst  thou  make  mine  eyes  so  bold 

To  seek  it?  if  that  object  be  too  bright 

For  man's  aspect,  why  did  thy  lips  invite 

Mine  eye  t'  expect  it?     If  it  might  be  seen, 

Why  is  this  envious  curtain  drawn  between 

My  darkened  eye  and  it  ?     O  tell  me,  why 

Thou  dost  command  the  thing  thou  dost  deny  ? 

Why  dost  thou  give  me  so  unpriz'd  a  treasure, 

And  then  deny'st  my  greedy  soul  the  pleasure 

To  view  my  gift  ?     Alas  !  that  gift  is  void, 

And  is  no  gift,  that  may  not  be  enjoy'd : 

If  thqse  refulgent  beams  of  Heav'n's  great  light 

Gild  not  the  day,  what  is  the  day  but  night  ? 

The  drowsy  shepherd  sleeps,  flow'rs  droop  and  fade  ; 

The  birds  are  sullen,  and  the  beasts  are  sad  : 

But  if  bright  Titan  dart  his  golden  ray, 

And  with  his  riches  glorify  the  day, 

The  jolly  shepherd  pipes  ;  flow'rs  freshly  spring ; 

The  beasts  grow  gamesome,  and  the  birds  they  sing. 

Thou  art  my  sun,  great  GOD  !  O  when  shall  I 

View  the  full  beams  of  thy  meridian  eye  ? 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK  V, 


Draw,  draw  this  fleshly  curtain,  that  denies 
The  gracious  presence  of  thy  glorious  eyes; 
Or  give  me  faith  ;  and,  by  the  eye  of  grace, 
I  shall  behold  thee,  though  not  face  to  face. 


S.  AUGUST  in  Psal.  xxxix. 

Who  created  all  things  is  better  than  all  things :  who 
beautified  all  things,  is  more  beautiful  than  all  things  : 
who  made  strength,  is  stronger  than  all  things: 
who  made  great  things,  is  greater  than  all  things  : 
whatsoever  thou  lovest,  he  is  that  to  thee :  learn  to 
love  the  workman  in  his  work,  the  Creator  in  his 
creature :  let  not  that  which  was  made  by  him  pos- 
sess thee,  lest  thou  lose  him  by  whom  thy  self  was 
made. 

S.  AUGUST.  Med.  Cap.  xxxvii. 

O  thou  most  sweet,  most  gracious,  most  amiable, 
most  fair,  when  shall  I  see  thee  ?  when  shall  I  be 
satisfied  with  thy  beauty?  when  wilt  thou  lead  me 
from  this  dark  dungeon,  that  I  may  confess  thy  name  ? 


EPIG.  12. 

How  art  thou  shaded,  in  this  veil  of  night, 
Behind  thy  curtain  flesh  ?     Thou  seest  no  light, 
But  what  thy  pride  doth  challenge  as  her  own  ; 
Thy  flesh  is  high  :  Soul,  take  this  curtain  down. 


BOOK  T. 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem  13. 


PSALM  LV.  6. 

0  that  I  had  wings  like  a  dove,  for  then  would  I  fly 
and  be  at  rest ! 


ND  am  I  sworn  a  dunghill-slave  for  ever 

To  earth's  base  drudg'ry  ?  Shall  I  never  find 
A  night  of  rest  ?  shall  my  indentures  never 
Be  cancell'd  ?  Did  injurious  nature  bind 
My  soul  earth's  •'prentice,  with  no  clause  to  leave  her  ? 
No  day  of  freedom  ?  Must  I  ever  grind  ? 
O  that  I  had  the  pinions  of  a  dove, 
That  I  might  quit  my  bands,  and  soar  above, 
And  pour  my  just  complaints  before  the  great  JEHOVE  ! 


244  EMBLEMS.  BOOK  v. 

How  happy  are  the  doves,  that  have  the  pow*r 

Whene'er  they  please,  to  spread  their  airy  wings  ! 
Or  cloud-dividing  eagles,  that  can  tow'r 

Above  the  scent  of  these  inferior  things  ! 
How  happy  is  the  lark,  that  ev'ry  hour 

Leaves  earth,  and  then  for  joy  mounts  up  and  sings ! 
Had  my  dull  soul  but  wings  as  well  as  they, 
How  I  would  spring  from  earth,  and  clip  away, 
As  wise  Astraea  did,  and  scorn  this  ball  of  clay ! 

O  how  my  soul  would  spurn  this  ball  of  clay, 

And  loathe  the  dainties  of  earth's  painful  pleasure  ! 
O  how  I'd.  laugh  to  see  men  night  and  day 

Turmoil  to  gain  that  trash,  they  call  their  treasure  ! 
O  how  Pd  smile  to  see  what  plots  they  lay 
To  catch  a  blast,  or  own  a  smile  from  Caesar ! 
Had  I  the  pinions  of  a  mounting  dove, 
How  I  would  soar  and  sing,  and  hate  the  love 
Of  transitory  toys,  and  feed  on  joys  above  ! 

There  should  I  find  that  everlasting  pleasure, 

Which  change  removes  not,  and  which  chance  pre- 
vents not ; 
There  should  I  find  that  everlasting  treasure, 

Which  force  deprives  not,  fortune  disaugments  not ; 
There  should  I  find  that  everlasting  Caesar, 

Whose  hand  recals  not,  and  whose  heart  repents  not ; 
Had  I  the  pinions  of  a  clipping  dove, 
How  I  would  climb  the  skies,  and  hate  the  love 
Of  transitory  toys,  and  joys  in  things  above  ! 

No  rank-mouthM  slander  there  shall  give  offence, 
Or  blast  our  blooming  names,  as  here  they  do  ; 

No  liver-scalding  lust  shall  there  incense 

Our  boiling  veins  j  there  is  no  Cupid's  bow  : 

LORD,  give  my  soul  the  milk-white  innocence 
Of  doves,  and  I  shall  have  the  pinions  too : 


EMBLEMS. 


Had  I  the  pinions  of  a  clipping  dove, 
How  I  would  quit  this  earth,  and  soar  above, 
And     Heav'n's    bless'd    kingdom    find,    and    HeavVs 
blessM  King  JEHOVE  ! 


S.  AUGUST,  in  Psal.  cxxxviii. 

What  wings  should  I  desire,  but  the  two  precepts  of 
love,  on  which  the  law  and  the  prophets  depend  !  O 
if  I  could  obtain  these  wings,  I  could  fly  from  thy  face 
to  thy  face,  from  the  face  of  thy  justice  to  the  face  of  thy 
mercy  :  let  us  find  those  wings  by  love,  which  we  have 
lost  by  lust. 

S.  AUGUST,  in  Psal.  Ixxvi. 

Let  us  cast  off  whatsoever  hindereth,  entangleth,  or 
burdeneth  our  flight,  until  we  obtain  that  which  satisfieth  ; 
beyond  which  nothing  is  ;  beneath  which  all  things  are  j 
of  which  all  things  are. 


EPIG.  13. 

Tell  me,  my  wishing  soul,  did'st  ever  try 
How  fast  the  wings  of  red-cross'd  faith  can  fly  ? 
Why  begg'st  thou,  then,  the  pinions  of  a  dove  ? 
Faith's  wings  are  swifter,  but  the  swiftest,  love. 


226 


EMBLEMS. 


Emblem   14, 


PSALM  LXXXIV.    I. 

How  amiable  are  thy  tabernacles^  O  Lord  of  hosts  ! 

A  NCIENT  of  days,  to  whom  all  things  are  NOW, 
"•  Before  whose  glory  seraphims  do  bow 
Their  blushing  cheeks,  and  veil  their  blemished  faces, 
That,  uncontain'd,  at  once  doth  fill  all  places  ; 
How  glorious,  O  how  far  beyond  the  height 
Of  puzzled  quills,  or  the  obtuse  conceit 
Of  flesh  and  blood,  or  the  two  flat  reports 
Of  mortal  tongues,  are  they  expressless  courts ! 
Whose  glory  to  paint  forth  with  greater  art, 
Ravish  my  fancy,  and  inspire  my  heart ; 
Excuse  my  bold  attempt,  and  pardon  me 
For  showing  sense,  what  faith  alone  should  see. 


EMBLEMS. 


227 


Ten  thousand  millions,  and  ten  thousand  more 

Of  angel-measured  leagues,  from  the  eastern  shore 

Of  dungeon-earth,  his  glorious  palace  stands, 

Before  whose  pearly  gates  ten  thousand  bands 

Of  armed  angels  wait  to  entertain 

Those  purged  souls,  for  which  the  Lamb  was  slain  ; 

Whose  guiltless  death,  and  voluntary  yielding 

Of  whose  giv'n  life,  gave  the  brave  court  her  building; 

The  lukewarm  blood  of  this  dear  Lamb,  being  spilt, 

To  rubies  turn'd  whereof  her  posts  were  built ; 

And  what  dropp'd  down  in  a  kind  gelid  gore, 

Did  turn  rich  sapphires,  and  did  pave  her  floor : 

The  brighter  flames,  that  from  his  eye-balls  ray'd 

Grew  chrysolities,  whereof  her  walls  were  made  : 

The  milder  glances  sparkled  on  the  ground, 

And  groundsill'd  ev'ry  door  with  diamond  ; 

But  dying,  darted  upwards,  and  did  fix 

A  battlement  of  purest  sardonyx. 

Her  streets  with  burnish'd  gold  are  paved  round  ; 

Stars  lie  like  pebbles  scatter'd  on  the  ground ; 

Pearl  mixt  with  onyx,  and  the  jasper  stone, 

Made  gravell'd  causeways  to  be  trampled  on. 

There  shines  no  sun  by  day,  no  moon  by  night ; 

The  palace  glory  is,  the  palace  light : 

There  is  no  time  to  measure  motion  by, 

There  time  is  swallowed  in  eternity : 

Wry-mouth'd  disdain,  and  corner-hunting  lust, 

And  twy-fac'd  fraud,  and  beetle-browM  distrust. 

Soul-boiling  rage,  and  trouble-state  sedition, 

And  giddy  doubt,  and  goggle-eyM  suspicion, 

And  lumpish  sorrow,  and  degen'rous  fear, 

Are  banishM  thence,  and  death  's  a  stranger  there  : 

But  simple  love,  and  sempiternal  joys, 

Whose  sweetness  never  gluts,  nor  fulness  cloys : 

Where  face  to  face  our  ravishM  eye  shall  see 

Great  ELOHIM,  that  glorious  One  in  Three, 


228 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK  v. 


And  Three  in  One,  and  seeing  him  shall  bless  him, 
And  blessing,  love  him ;  and  in  love  possess  him. 
Here  stay,  my  soul,  and,  ravish'd  in  relation, 
The  words  being  spent,  spend  now  in  contemplation. 


S.  GREG,  in  Psal.  vii.  Pcenitent. ' 

Sweet  Jesus,  the  word  of  the  Father,  the  brightness 
of  paternal  glory,  whom  angels  delight  to  view,  teach 
me  to  do  thy  will ;  that,  led  by  thy  good  spirit,  I  may 
come  to  that  blessed  city,  where  day  is  eternal,  where 
there  is  certain  security,  and  secure  eternity  ;  and  eternal 
peace,  and  peaceful  happiness  ;  and  happy  sweetness,  and 
sweet  pleasure,  where  thou,  O  GOD,  with  the  Father 
and  the  Holy  Spirit,  livest  and  reignest  world  without 
end. 

Ibidem. 

There  is  light  without  darkness ;  joy  without  grief, 
desire  without  punishment ;  love  without  sadness ; 
satiety  without  loathing ;  safety  without  fear ;  health 
without  disease  j  and  life  without  death. 


EPIG.  14. 

My  soul,  pry  not  too  nearly  ;  the  complexion 
Of  Sol's  bright  face  is  seen  by  the  reflection  : 
But  would'st  thou  know  what's  Heav'n  ?  I'll  tell  thee 

what: 
Think  what  thou  canst  not  think,  and  Heav'n  is  that. 


BDOK  V. 


EMBLEMS. 


229 


Emblem   1 5 


CANTICLES  VIII.   14. 

Make  haste,  my  beloved,  and  be  like  the  roe,  or  the  young 
hart  upon  the  mountains  of  spices. 

,  gentle  tyrant,  go;  thy  flames  do  pierce 
My  soul  too  deep  ;  thy  flames  are  too,  too  fierce  ; 
My  marrow  melts,  my  fainting  spirits  fry 
In  th'  torrid  zone  of  thy  meridian  eye : 
Away,  away,  thy  sweets  are  too  perfuming : 
Turn,  turn  thy  face,  thy  fires  are  too  consuming : 
Haste  hence,  and  let  thy  winged  steps  outgo 
The  frighted  roebuck,  and  his  flying  roe 

But  wilt  thou  leave  me,  then  ?  O  thou,  that  art 
Life  of  my  soul,  soul  of  my  dying  heart, 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK  V. 


Without  the  sweet  aspect  of  whose  fair  eyes 
My  soul  doth  languish,  and  her  solace  dies  ?    * 
Art  thou  so  easily  woo'd  ?  so  apt  to  hear 
The  frantic  language  of  thy  foolish  fear  ? 

Leave,  leave,  me  not,  nor  turn  thy  beauty  from  me ; 

Look,  look  upon  me,  tho'  thine  eyes  overcome  me. 

0  how  they  wound  !  but  how  my  wounds  content  me  ! 
How  sweetly  these  delightful  pains  torment  me  ! 

How  am  I  tortur'd  in  excessive  measure 
Of  pleasing  cruelties  !  too  cruel  treasure  ! 
Turn,  turn  away,  remove  thy  scorching  beams ; 

1  languish  with  these  bitter-sweet  extremes  : 

Haste,  then,  and  let  thy  winged  steps  outgo 
The  flying  roebuck,  and  his  frighted  roe. 

Turn  back,  my  dear ;  O  let  my  ravish'd  eye 
Once  more  behold  thy  face  before  thou  fly : 
What,  shall  we  part  without  a  mutual  kiss  ? 

0  who  can  leave  so  sweet  a  face  as  this  ? 
Look  full  upon  me  ;  for  my  soul  desires 
To  turn  a  holy  martyr  in  those  fires  : 

O  leave  me  not,  nor  turn  thy  beauty  from  me  ; 
Look,  look  upon  me,  tho'  thy  flames  o'ercome  me. 

If  those  becloud  the  sunshine  of  thine  eye, 

1  freeze  to  death  ;  and  if  it  shine,  I  fry  ; 
Which,  like  a  fever,  that  my  soul  hath  got, 
Makes  me  to  burn  too  cold,  or  freeze  too  hot : 
Alas !  I  cannot  bear  so  sweet  a  smart, 

Nor  canst  thou  be  less  glorious  than  thou  art. 
Haste,  then,  and  let  thy  winged  steps  outgo 
The  frighted  roebuck,  and  his  flying  roe. 

But  go  not  far  beyond  the  reach  of  breath  ; 
Too  large  a  distance  makes  another  death  : 
My  youth  is  in  her  spring  ;  autumnal  vows 
Will  make  me  riper  for  so  sweet  a  spouse  ; 


EMBLEMS.  231 


When  after-times  have  burnish'd  my  desire, 
I'll  shoot  thee  flames  for  flames,  and  fire  for  fire. 

O  leave  me  not,  nor  turn  thy  beauty  from  me ; 

Look,  look  upon  me,  through  thy  flames  o'ercome  me  ! 


Autor  Scalae  Paradisi.  Tom.  ix.  Aug.  Cap.  viii. 

Fear  not,  O  bride,  nor  despair  ;  think  not  thyself 
contemned  if  thy  Bridegroom  withdraw  his  face  a  while, 
all  things  co-operate  for  the  best ;  both  from  his  absence, 
and  his  presence,  thou  gainest  light  :  he  cometh  to  thee, 
and  he  goeth  from  thee  ;  he  cometh  to  make  thee 
consolate  ;  he  goeth,  to  make  thee  cautious,  lest  thy 
abundant  consolation  puff  thee  up :  he  cometh  that 
thy  languishing  soul  may  be  comforted ;  he  goeth,  lest 
his  familiarity  should  be  contemned  ;  and  being  absent, 
to  be  more  desired ;  and  being  desired,  to  be  more 
earnestly  sought ;  and  being  long  sought,  to  be  more 
acceptably  found. 


EPIG,  15, 

My  soul,  sin's  monster,  whom  with  greater  ease 
Ten  thousand  fold  thy  GOD  could  make  than  please, 
What  would'st  thou  have  ?     Nor  pleasM  with  sun  nor 

shade  ? 
Heav'n  knows  not  what  to  make  of  what  he  made. 


EMBLEMS. 


BOOK  V. 


THE   FAREWELL. 


Fidesque  coronat  ad  aras. 
REV.  II.    10. 

Be  thou  faithful  unto  death,  and  I  will  give   thee  a 
crown  of  life. 

T>E  faithful ;  LORD,  what's  that  ? 

-*-*  Believe  :  'Tis  easy  to  believe  ;  but  what  ? 

That  he  whom  thy  hard  heart  hath  wounded. 

And  whom  thy  scorn  hath  spit  upon, 
Hath  paid  thy  fine,  and  hath  compounded 

For  these  foul  deeds  thy  hands  have  done : 
Believe  that  he  whose  gentle  palms 

Thy  needle-pointed  sins  have  nail'd, 
Hath  borne  thy  slavish  load  (of  alms) 

And  made  supply  where  thou  hast  fail'd  : 


BOOK  V. 


EMBLEMS. 


233 


Did  ever  mis'ry  find  so  strange  relief  ? 
It  is  a  love  too  strange  for  man's  belief. 

Believe  that  he,  whose  side 

Thy  crimes  have  pierc'd  with  their  rebellions,  died 
To  save  thy  guilty  soul  from  dying 

Ten  thousand  horrid  deaths,  from  whence 
There  was  no  'scape,  there  was  no  flying, 

But  through  his  dearest  blood's  expense ; 
Believe,  this  dying  friend  requires 

No  other  thanks  for  all  his  pain, 
But  e'en  the  truth  of  weak  desires, 
And,  for  his  love,  but  love  again  : 
Did  ever  mis'ry  find  so  true  a  friend  ? 
It  is  a  love  too  vast  to  comprehend. 

With  floods  of  tears  baptize 
And  drench  these  dry,  these  unregen'rate  eyes  ; 
LORD,  whet  my  dull,  my  blunt  belief, 

And  break  this  fleshly  rock  in  sunder, 
That  from  this  heart,  this  hell  of  grief, 

May  spring  a  Heav'n  of  love  and  wonder  : 
O,  if  thy  mercies  will  remove 

And  melt  this  lead  from  my  belief, 
My  grief  will  then  refine  my  love, 

My  love  will  then  refesh  my  grief: 
Then  weep,  mine  eyes,  as  he  hath  bled  ;  vouchsafe 
To  drop  for  ev'ry  drop  an  epitaph. 

But  is  the  crown  of  glory 
The  wages  of  a  lamentabe  story  ? 
Or  can  so  great  a  purchase  rise 

For  a  salt  humour  ?     Can  mine  eyes 
Run  fast  enough  t'  obtain  tbiis  prize  ' 

If  so,  Lord,  who's  so  mad  to  die  ? 
Thy  tears  are  trifles  ;  thou  must  do  : 

Alas  !  I  cannot  j  then  endeavour  : 


234  •  EMBLEMS.  BOOK  v. 


I  will ;  but  will  a  tug  or  two 

Suffice  the  turn  ?     Thou  must  persevere  : 
I'll  strive  till  death  ;  and  shall  my  feeble  strife 
Be  crown'd  ?     I'll  crown  it  with  a  crown  of  life. 

But  is  there  such  a  dearth, 
That  thou  must  buy  what  is  thy  due  by  birth  ? 
He  whom  thy  hands  did  form  of  dust, 

And  give  him  breath,  upon  condition 
To  love  his  great  Creator ;  must 

He  now  be  thine  by  composition  ? 
Art  thou  a  gracious  GOD  and  mild, 

Or  headstrong  man,  rebellious,  rather  ? 
O,  man 's  a  base  rebellious  child, 

And  thou  a  very  gracious  Father. 
The  gift  is  thine  ;  we  strive,  thou  crown'st  our  strife  ; 
Thou  giv'st  us  faith  :  and  faith  a  crown  of  life. 


END   OF    EMBLEMS. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Peruse  this  little  Book  ;  and  thou  wilt  see 
What  thy  heart  is,  and  what  it  ought  to  be. 

'"T^URN  in,  my  mind,  wander  not  abroad  : 

Here's  work  enough  at  home  ;  lay  by  that  load 
Of  scattered  thought,  that  clogs  and  cumbers  thee  : 
Resume  thy  long-neglected  liberty 
Of  self-examination  :  bend  thine  eye 
Inward  ;  consider  where  thy  HEART  doth  lie, 
How  'tis  affected,  how  'tis  busied  ;  look 
What  thou  hast  writ  thyself  in  thine  own  book, 
Thy  conscience  :  here  set  thou  thyself  to  school ; 
Self-knowledge,  'twixt  a  wise  man  and  a  fool, 


INTRODUCTION. 


Doth  make  the  difference  ;  he  that  neglects 

This  learning,  sideth  with  his  own  defects. 

Dost  thou  draw  back  ?     Hath  custom  charm' d  thee  so, 

That  thou  canst  relish  nothing  but  thy  woe  ? 

Find'st  thou  such  sweetness  in  these  sugar' d  lies  ? 

Have  foreign  objects  so  engross'd  thine  eyes  ? 

Canst  thou  not  hold  them  off  ?     Hast  thou  an  ear 

To  listen,  but  to  what  thou  shouldst  not  hear  ? 

Art  thou  incapable  of  everything, 

But  what  thy  senses  to  thy  fancy  bring  ? 

Remember  that  thy  birth  and  constitution 

Both  promise  better  than  such  base  confusion. 

Thy  birth's  divine,  from  Heaven  :  thy  composure 

Is  spirit,  and  immortal :  thine  inclosure 

In  walls  of  flesh  ;  not  to  make  thee  debtor 

For  houseroom  to  them,  but  to  make  them  better : 

Thy  body  's  thy  freehold,  live  then  as  lord, 

Not  tenant  to  thy  own  :  some  time  afford 

To  view  what  state  'tis  in :  survey  each  part, 

And,  above  all,  take  notice  of  thine  HEART. 

Such  as  that  is,  the  rest  is,  or  will  be, 

Better  or  worse,  blame-worthy  or  fault-free. 

What !  are  the  ruins  such,  thou  art  afraid, 

Or  else  ashamed,  to  see  how  'tis  decay'd  ? 

Is  't  therefore  thou  art  loath  to  see  it  such 

As  now  it  is,  because  it  is  so  much 

Pegenerated  now  from  what  it  was, 

And  should  have  been  ?     Thine  ignorance,  alas  ! 

Will  make  it  nothing  better  :  and  the  longer 

Evils  are  suffer'd  to  grow,  they  grow  the  stronger  : 


INTBODUCTION.  z37 


Or  hath  thy  understanding  lost  its  light  ? 

Hath  the  dark  night  of  error  dimm'd  thy  sight, 

So  that  thou  canst  not,  though  thou  would'st,  observe 

All  things  amiss  within  thee,  how  they  swerve 

From  the  straight  rules  of  righteousness  and  reason  ? 

If  so,  omit  not  then  this  precious  season  : 

'Tis  yet  school-time  ;  as  yet  the  door's  not  shut. 

Hark  how  the  Master  calls.     Come,  let  us  put 

Up  our  requests  to  him,  whose  will  alone 

Limits  his  power  of  teaching,  from  whom  none 

Returns  unlearn'd  that  hath  once  a  will 

To  be  his  scholar,  and  implore  his  skill. 

Great  Searcher  of  the  heart,  whose  boundless  sight 

Discovers  secrets,  and  doth  bring  to  light 

The  hidden  things  of  darkness,  who  alone 

Perfectly  know'st  all  things  that  can  be  known  ; 

Thou  know'st  I  do  not,  cannot,  have  no  mind 

To  know  mine  heart :  I  am  not  only  blind, 

But  lame,  and  listless  :  thou  alone  canst  make 

Me  able,  willing :  and  the  pains  I  take, 

As  well  as  the  success,  must  come  from  thee, 

Who  workest  both  to  will  and  do  in  me  : 

Having  made  me  now  willing  to  be  taught, 

Make  me  as  willing  to  learn  what  I  ought. 

Or,  if  thou  wilt  allow  thy  scholar  leave, 

To  choose  his  lesson,  lest  I  should  deceive 

Myself  again,  as  I  have  done  too  often 

Teach  me  to  KNOW  my  HEART.      Thou,  thou  canst 

Lighten,  enliven,  purify,  restore,  [soften, 

And  make  more  fruitful  than  it  was  before, 


238  INTRODUCTION. 


Its  hardness,  darkness,  death,  uncleanness,  loss, 
And  barrenness  :  refine  it  from  the  dross, 
And  draw  out  all  the  dregs,  heal  every  sore, 
Teach  it  to  know  itself,  and  love  thee  more. 
LORD,  if  thou  wilt,  thou  canst  impart  this  skill: 
And  as  for  other  learning,  take  't  who  will. 


THE 

SCHOOL    OF    THE    HEART, 


JETfte  Infection  of  tfte 

While  Satan  thus  deceives  with  flatt'ring  breath, 
Thy  heart  drinks  poison  in,  disease,  and  death. 

ACTS  V.  3. 

Why  hath  Satan  filled  thine  heart? 

EPIG.   i. 

thou  iriclin'st  thy  voice-inveigled  ear, 
The  subtle  serpent's  syren  songs  to  hear, 
Thy  heart  drinks  deadly  poison  drawn  from  hell, 
And  with  a  vip'rous  brood  of  sin  doth  swell. 


240  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE  I. 

The  Soul. 

PROFIT  and  pleasure,  comfort  and  content, 
Wisdom  and  honour ;  and,  when  these  are  spent, 
A  fresh  supply  of  more  !  Oh  heav'nly  words  ! 
Are  these  the  dainty  fruits  that  this  fair  tree  affords  ? 

The  Serpent. 

Yes,  these  and  many  more,  if  more  may  be, 
All  that  this  world  contains,  in  this  one  tree, 
Contracted  is.     Take  but  a  taste,  and  try ; 
Thou  may'st  believe  thyself,  experience  cannot  lie. 

The  Soul. 

But  thou  may'st  lie  :  and,  with  a  false  pretence 
Of  friendship,  rob  me  of  that  excellence 
Which  my  Creator's  bounty  hath  bestowM, 
And  freely  given  me,  to  whom  he  nothing  ow'd. 

The  Serpent. 

Strange  composition  !  so  credulous, 
And  at  the  same  time  so  suspicious ! 
This  is  the  tree  of  knowledge  ;  and  until 
Thou  eat  thereof,  how  canst  thou  know  what 's  goo 
or  ill  ? 

The  Soul. 

God  infinitely  good  my  Maker  is, 
Who  neither  will  nor  can  do  aught  amiss. 
The  being  I  received,  was  that  he  sent, 
And  therefore  I  am  sure  must  needs  be  excellent. 

The  Serpent. 

Suppose  it  be  :  yet  doubtless  he  that  gave 
Thee  such  a  being  must  himself  needs  have 
A  better  far,  more  excellent  by  much  : 
Or  else  be  sure  that  he  could  not  have  made  thee  such. 


THE  HEAET.  241 


The  Soul. 

Such  as  he  made  me,  I  am  well  content 
Still  to  continue  :  for,  if  he  had  meant 
I  should  enjoy  a  better  state,  he  could 
As  easily  have  giv'n  it,  if  he  would. 

The  Serpent. 

And  is  it  not  all  one,  if  he  have  giv'n 
The  means  to  get  it  ?     Must  he  still  be  driv'n 
To  new  works  of  creation  for  thy  sake  ? 

Wilt  thou  not  what  he  sets  before  thee  deign  to  take  ? 

• 

The  Soul. 

Yes,  of  the  fruits  of  all  the  other  trees 
I  freely  take  and  eat :  they  are  the  fees 
Allowed  me  for  the  dressing,  by  the  Maker  : 
But  of  this  fatal  fruit  I  must  not  be  partaker. 

The  Serpent. 

And  why  ?     What  danger  can  it  be  to  eat 
That  which  is  good,  being  ordain' d  for  meat  ? 
What  wilt  thou  say  ?     GOD  made  it  not  for  food  P 
Or  dar'st  thou  think  that,  made  by  him,  it  is  not  good  ? 

The  Soul. 

Yes,  good  it  is,  no  doubt,  and  good  for  meat  •: 
But  I  am  not  allowed  thereof  to  eat. 
My  Maker's  prohibition,  under  pain 
Of  death,  the  day  I  eat  thereof,  makes  me  refrain. 

The  Serpent. 

Faint-hearted  fondling  !  canst  thou  fear  to  die, 
Being  a  spirit  and  immortal  ?     Fie. 
GOD  knows  this  fruit  once  eaten  will  refine 
Thy  grosser  parts  alone,  and  make  thee  all  divine. 

The  Soul. 

There's  something  in  it,  sure  :  were  it  not  good, 
It  had  not  in  the  midst  of  the  garden  stood  ; 

R 


242  THE  SCHOOL  OF 

And  being  good,  I  can  no  more  refrain 

From  wishing,  than  I  can  the  fire  to  burn,  restrain. 

Why  do  I  trifle  then  ?     What  I  desire 

Why  do  I  not  ?     Nothing  can  quench  the  fire 

Of  longing,  but  fruition.      Come  what  will, 

Eat  it  I  must,  that  I  may  know  what's  good  and  ill. 

The  Serpent. 

So,  thou  art  taken  now  :  that  resolution 
Gives  an  eternal  date  to  thy  confusion. 
The  knowledge  thou  hast  got  of  good  and  ill, 
Is  of  good  gone,  and  past ;  of  evil,  present  still. 


THE  HEART. 


243 


tafctng  atoag 


While  lust  and  wine  their  beastly  joys  impart, 
The  mind  grows  dead  j  the  heart's  without  a  heart. 


HOS.  IV.   II. 
Whoredom  and  wine,  and  new  wine,  take  away  the  heart 

EPIG.  2. 

t>  ASE  lust  and  luxury,  the  scum  and  dross 
*-*     Of  hell-born  pleasures,  please  thee,  to  the  loss 
Of  thy  soul's  precious  eyesight,  reason ;  so 
Mindless  thy  mind,  heartless  thine  heart  doth  grow. 


244  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE  II. 

LAID  down  already  ?  and  so  fast  asleep  ? 

Thy  precious  heart  left  loosely  on  thine  hand, 
Which  with  all  diligence  thou  shouldst  keep, 
And  guard  against  those  enemies,  that  stand 
Ready  prepared  to  plunge  it  in  the  deep 

Of  all  distress  ?     Rouse  thee,  and  understand 
In  time,  what  in  the  end  thou  must  confess, 
That  misery  at  last  and  wretchedness 
Is  all  the  fruit  that  springs  from  slothful  idleness. 

Whilst  thou  liest  soaking  in  security, 

Thou  drown'st  thyself  in  sensual  delight, 
And  wallow'st  in  debauched  luxury, 

Which,  when  thou  art  awake  and  seest,  will  fright 
Thine  heart  with  horror.     When  thou  shalt  descry, 
By  the  daylight,  the  danger  of  the  night, 

Then,  then,  if  not  too  late,  thou  wilt  confess, 
That  endless  misery  and  wretchedness 
Is  all  the  fruit  that  springs  from  riotous  excess. 

Whilst  thou  dost  pamper  thy  proud  flesh,  and  thrust  • 

Into  thy  paunch  the  prime  of  all  thy  store, 
Thou  dost  but  gather  fuel  for  that  lust, 

Which,  boiling  in  thy  liver,  runneth  o'er, 
And  frieth  in  thy  throbbing  veins,  which  must 

Needs  vent,  or  burst,  when  they  can  hold  no  more, 
But  oh,  consider  what  thou  shalt  confess 
At  last,  that  misery  and  wretchedness 
Is  all  the  fruit  that  springs  from  lustful  wantonness. 

Whilst  thou  dost  feed  effeminate  desires 

With  spumy  pleasures,  whilst  fruition 
The  coals  of  lust  fans  into  flaming  fires, 

And  spurious  delights  thou  dotest  on, 
Thy  mind  through  cold  remissness  e'  en  expires, 

And  all  the  active  vigour  of  it  's  gone, 


THE  HEART. 


245 


Take  heed  in  time,  or  else  thou  shalt  confess 
At  last,  that  misery  and  wretchedness 
Is  all  the  fruit  that  springs  from  careless-mindedness. 

Whilst  thy  regardless  sense-dissolved  mind 

Lies  by  unbent,  that  should  have  been  thy  spring 
Of  motion,  all  thy  headstrong  passions  find 

Themselves  let  loose,  and  follow  their  own  swing ; 
Forgetful  of  the  great  account  behind, 

As  though  there  never  would  be  such  a  thing, 
But,  when  it  comes  indeed,  thou  wilt  confess 
That  misery  alone  and  wretchedness 
Is  all  the  fruit  that  springs  from  soul-forgetfulness. 

Whilst  thou  remember'st  not  thy  latter  end, 

Nor  what  a  reck'ning  thou  one  day  must  make, 
Putting  no  difference  'twixt  foe  and  friend, 

Thou  suffer'st  hellish  fiends  thine  heart  to  take  ; 
Who,  all  the  while  thou  triflest,  do  attend, 
Ready  to  bring  it  to  the  lake 

Of  fire  and  brimstone  :  where  thou  shalt  confess 
That  endless  misery  and  wretchedness 
Is  all  the  fruit  that  springs  from  stupid  heartlessness. 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


iBarfuug*  nf  tf)e 


O  the  heart's  darkness  !  which,  without  my  light, 
Would  lead  to  deeper  glooms,  and  endless  night. 


ROM.  I.  21. 

Their  foolish  heart  was  darkened* 

EPIG.  3. 

CUCH  cloudy  shadows  have  eclips'd  thine  heart, 

As  nature  cannot  parallel,  nor  art : 
Unless  thou  take  my  light  of  truth  to  guide  thee, 
Blackness  of  darkness  will  at  length  betide  thee. 


THE  HEAKT, 


247 


ODE  III. 

!TARRY,  O  tarry,  lest  thine  heedless  haste 
I  Hurry  thee  headlong  unto  hell  at  last  : 

See,  see,  thine  heart 's  already  half-way  there  5 
(Those  gloomy  shadows  that  encompass  it 
[Are  the  vast  confines  of  th'  infernal  pit. 

O  stay  ;  and  if  thou  lov'st  not  light,  yet  fear 
That  fatal  darkness,  where 
Such  danger  doth  appear. 

A  night  of  ignorance  hath  overspread 
Thy  mind  and  understanding :  thou  art  led 

Blindfolded  by  unbridled  passion  : 
I  Thou  wand'rest  in  the  crooked  ways  of  error, 
Leading  directly  to  the  king  of  terror  : 

The  course  thou  tak'st,  if  thou  holdest  on, 
Will  bury  thee  anon 
In  deep  destruction. 

Whilst  thou  art  thus  deprived  of  thy  sight, 

Thou  know'st  no  difference  between  noon  and  night. 

Though  the  sun  shine,  yet  thou  regard'st  it  not. 
My  love-alluring  beauty  cannot  draw  thee, 
Nor  doth  my  mind-amazing  terror  awe  thee : 
Like  one  that  had  both  good  and  ill  forgot, 
Thou  carest  not  a  jot 
What  falleth  to  thy  lot. 

||Thou  art  become  unto  thyself  a  stranger, 
Observest  not  thine  own  desert,  or  danger  j 

Thou  know'st  not  what  thou  dost,  nor  canst  thou  tell 
Whither  thou  goest :  shooting  in  the  dark, 
How  canst  thou  ever  hope  to  hit  the  mark  ? 
What  expectation  hast  thou  to  do  well, 
Thou  art  content  to  dwell 
Within  the  verge  of  hell  ? 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


Alas,  thou  hast  not  so  much  knowledge  left, 
As  to  consider  that  thou  art  bereft 

Of  thine  own  eyesight.     But  thou  runn'st,  as  though 
Thou  sawest  all  before  thee  :  whilst  thy  mind 
To  nearest  necessary  things  is  blind. 

Thou  knowest  nothing  as  thou  oughtst  to  know, 
Whilst  thou  esteemest  so 
The  things  that  are  below. 

Would  ever  any,  that  had  eyes,  mistake 
As  thou  art  wont  to  do  :  no  difference  make 

Betwixt  the  way  to  heaven  and  to  hell  ? 
But,  desperately  devoted  to  destruction, 
Rebel  against  the  light,  abhor  instruction  ? 

As  though  thou  didst  desire  with  death  to  dwell, 
Thou  hatest  to  hear  tell 
How  yet  thou  may'st  do  well. 

Oh,  that  thou  didst  but  see  how  blind  thou  art, 
And  feel  the  dismal  darkness  of  thine  heart ! 

Then  wouldst  thou  labour  for,  and  I  would  lend 
My  light  to  guide  thee  ;  that 's  not  light  alone, 
But  life,' eyes,  sight,  grace,  glory,  all  in  one. 

Then  should'st  thou  know  whither  those  bye-ways  bend, 
And  that  death  in  the  end 
On  darkness  doth  attend. 


THE  HEAET. 


249 


jFUgijt  of  tfje 


Where  's  thy  heart  flown  ?  if  thou  a  heart  hast  got, 
Who  both  thyself  and  me  rememb'rest  not. 

THE  ABSENCE  OF  THE  HEART. 


PROV.  XVII. 


16. 


Wherefore  is  there  a  price  In  the  hand  of  a  fool  to  get 
wisdom^  seeing  he  hath  no  heart  to  it? 

EPIG.  4. 

TTADST  thou  an  heart,  thou  fickle  fugitive, 
^     How  would  thine  heart  hate  and  disdain  to  live 
Mindful  of  such  vain  trifles  as  these  be  ! 


250  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE   IV. 
The  Soul. 

BRAVE,  dainty,  curious,  rare,  rich,  precious  things ! 
Able  to  make  fate-blasted  mortals  blest, 
Peculiar  treasures,  and  delights  for  kings, 
That  having  pow'r  of  all,  would  choose  the  best. 
How  do  I  hug  mine  happiness,  that  have 
Present  possession  of  what  others  crave  ! 

Christ. 

Poor,  silly,  simple,  sense-besotted  soul, 
Why  dost  thou  hug  thy  self-procured  woes  ? 
Release  thy  freeborn  thoughts,  at  least  control 
Those  passions  that  enslave  thee  to  thy  foes. 

How  wouldst  thou  hate  thyself,  if  thou  didst  know 
The  baseness  of  those  things  thou  prizest  so  ! 

The  Soul. 

They  talk  of  goodness,  virtue,  piety, 
Religion,  honesty,  I  know  not  what ; 
So  let  them  talk  for  me  :  so  long  as  I 
Have  goods  and  lands,  and  gold  and  jewels,  that 

Both  equal  and  excel  all  other  treasure, 

Why  should  I  strive  to  make  their  pain  my  pleasure  ? 

Christ. 

So  swine  neglect  the  pearls  that  lie  before  them. 
Trample  them  under  foot,  and  feed  on  draff: 
So  fools  gild  rotten  idols,  and  adore  {hem, 
Cast  all  the  corn  away,  and  keep  the  chaff. 
That  ever  reason  should  be  blinded  so  j 
To  grasp  the  shadow,  let  the  substance  go ! 

The  Soul. 

AH  Js  but  opinion  that  the  world  accounts 
Matter  of  worth  :  as  this  or  that  man  sets 
A  value  on  it,  so  the  price  amounts : 


THE  HEAET.  251 


The  sound  of  strings  is  vary'd  by  the  frets, 

My  mind  's  my  kingdom  :  why  should  I  withstand, 
Or  question  that,  which  I  myself  command  ? 

Christ. 

Thy  tyrant  passions  captivate  thy  reason  : 
Thy  lusts  usurp  the  guidance  of  the  mind  : 
Thy  sense-led  fancy  barters  good  for  geason  : 
Thy  seed  is  vanity,  thine  harvest  wind  : 

Thy  rules  are  crooked,  and  thou  writ'st  awry  : 
Thy  ways  are  wand'ring,  and  thy  mind  to  die. 

The  Soul. 

This  table  sums  me  myriads  of  pleasure  ; 
That  book  enrols  mine  honour's  inventory : 
These  bags  are  stufFd  with  millions  of  treasure  : 
Those  writings  evidence  my  state  of  glory  : 
These  bells  ring  heav'nly  music  in  mine  ears, 
To  drown  the  noise  of  cumb'rous  cares  and  fears. 

Christ. 

Those  pleasures  one  day  will  procure  thy  pain  : 
That  which  thou  gloriest  in,  will  be  thy  shame  : 
Thou  'It  find  thy  loss  in  what  thou  thought'st  thy  gain 
Thine  honour  will  put  on  another  name. 

That  music,  in  the  close,  will  ring  thy  knell ; 

Instead  of  heaven,  toll  thee  into  hell. 

But  why  do  I  thus  waste  my  words  in  vain 

On  one  that 's  wholly  taken  up  with  toys  ; 

That  will  not  lose  one  dram  of  earth,  to  gain 

A  full  eternal  weight  of  heav'nly  joys  ? 
All's  to  no  purpose  :  'tis  as  good  forbear, 
As  speak  to  one  that  hath  no  heart  to  hear. 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


Uanttg  of  tfje 


Blown  up  with  honour's  wind,  the  heart  grows  vain, 
Though  a  great  nothing  is  the  whole  you  gain. 

JOB  XV.   31. 

Let  not  him   that  is  deceived  trust  in  vanity  ,  for  vanity 
shall  be  his  recommence. 

EPIG.  5. 

A  MBITION  bellows  with  the  wind  of  honour, 
*"*  Puffs  up  the  swelling  heart  that  dotes  upon  her  : 
Which,  filPd  with  empty  vanity,  breathes  forth 
Nothing,  but  such  things  as  are  nothing  worth. 


THE  HEART.  253 


ODE  V. 

THE  bane  of  kingdoms,  world's  disquieter, 

Hell's  heir-apparent,  Satan's  eldest  son, 

Abstract  of  ills,  refin'd  elixir, 

And  quintessence  of  sin,  ambition, 

Sprung  from  th'  infernal  shades,  inhabits  here, 

Making  man's  heart  its  horrid  mansion, 

Which,  though  it  were  of  vast  extent  before, 
Is  now  pufPd  up,  and  swells  still  more  and  more. 

Whole  armies  of  vain  thoughts  it  entertains, 
Is  stuff*  d  with  dreams  of  kingdoms,  and  of  crowns, 
Presumes  of  profit  without  care  or  pains, 
Threatens  to  baffle  all  its  foes  with  frowns, 
In  ev'ry  bargain  makes  account  of  gains, 
Fancies  such  frolic  mirth  as  chokes  and  drowns 
The  voice  of  conscience,  whose  loud  alarms 
Cannot  be  heard  for  pleasure  countercharms. 

Wer't  not  for  anger,  and  for  pity,  who 
Could  choose  but  smile  to  see  vain-glorious  men 
Racking  their  wits,  straining  their  sinews  so, 
That,  thorough  their  transparent  thinness,  when 
They  meet  with  wind  and  sun,  they  quickly  grow 
Rivaled  and  dry,  shrink  till  they  crack  again, 

And  all  but  to  seem  greater  than  they  are  ? 

Stretching  their  strength,  they  lay  their  weakness  bare. 

See  how  hell's  fueller  his  bellows  plies, 

Blowing  the  fire  that  burns  too  fast  before  : 

See  how  the  furnace  flames,  the  sparkles  rise 

And  spread  themselves  abroad  still  more  and  more  ! 

See  how  the  doting  soul  hath  fix'd  her  eyes 

On  her  dear  fooleries,  and  doth  adore, 

With  fiends  and  heart  lift  up,  those  trifling  toys 
Wherewith  the  devil  cheats  her  of  her  joys  ! 


a  54 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


Alas,  thou  art  deceived  ;  that  glitt'ring  crown, 
On  which  thou  gazest,  is  not  gold  but  grief; 
That  sceptre,  sorrow  :  "if  thou  take  them  down. 
And  try  them,  thou  shalt  find  what  poor  relief 
They  could  afford  thee,  though  they  were  thine  own. 
Didst  thou  command  e'en  all  the  world  in  chief, 
Thy  comforts  would  abate,  thy  cares  increase, 
And  thy  perplexed  thoughts  disturb  thy  peace. 

Those  pearls  so  thorough  pierc'd,  and  strung  together, 
Though  jewels  in  thine  ears  they  may  appear, 
Will  prove  continued  perils,  when  the  weather 
Is  clouded  once,  which  yet  is  fair  and  clear. 
What  will  that  fan,  though  of  the  finest  feather, 
Stead  thee,  the  brunt  of  winds  and  storms  to  bear  ? 
Thy  flagging  colours  hang  their  drooping  head, 
And  the  shrill  trumpet's  sound  shall  strike  thee  dead. 

Were  all  those  balls,  which  thou  in  sport  dost  toss, 
Whole  worlds,  and  in  thy  power  to  command, 
The  gain  would  never  countervail  the  loss, 
Those  slipp'ry  globes  will  glide  out  of  thine  hand ; 
Thou  canst  have  no  fast  hold  but  of  the  cross, 
And  thou  wilt  fall,  where  thou  dost  think  to  stand. 
Forsake  these  follies,  then,  if  thou  wilt  live  : 
Timely  repentance  may  thy  death  reprieve. 


THE  HEART. 


With  gluttony  and  drunkenness  possess'd  5 

By  heaviest  weights  the  heav'n-born  heart's  oppress'd. 

LUKE  XXI.  34. 

Take  heed)  lest  at  any  time  your   hearts  be   overcharged 
with  surfeiting  and  drunkenness. 

EPIG.  6. 

*"~pWO  massy  weights,  surfeiting,  drunkenness, 

Like  mighty  logs  of  lead,  do  so  oppress 
The  heav'n-born  hearts  of  men,  that  to  aspire 
Upwards  they  have  nor  power  nor  desire. 


256 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE  VI. 

MONSTER  of  sins  !     See  how  th'  enchanted  soul, 

O'ercharg'd  already  calls  for  more. 
See  how  the  hellish  skinker  plies  his  bowl, 
And  's  ready  furnished  with  store, 
Whilst  cups  on  every  side 
Planted,  attend  the  tide. 
See  how  the  piled  dishes  mounted  stand, 

Like  hills  advanced  upon  hills, 
And  the  abundance  both  of  sea  and  land 
Doth  not  suffice,  e'en  what  it  fills, 
Man's  dropsy  appetite, 
And  cormorant  delight. 

See  how  the  poison'd  body's  purPd  and  swell'd, 

The  face  inflamed  glows  with  heat, 

The  limbs  unable  are  themselves  to  wield, 

The  pulses  (death's  alarm)  do  beat : 

Yet  man  sits  still,  and  laughs, 

Whilst  his  own  bane  he  quaffs. 

But  where  's  thine  heart  the  while,  thou  senseless  sot  ? 

Look  how  it  lieth  crush'd  and  quell'd, 
Flat  beaten  to  the  board,  that  it  cannot 

Move  from  the  place  where  it  is  held, 
Nor  upward  once  aspire 
With  heavenly  desire. 

Thy  belly  is  thy  god,  thy  shame  thy  glory, 

Thou  mindest  only  earthly  things  ; 
And  all  thy  pleasure  is  but  transitory, 

Which  grief  at  last  and  sorrow  brings  : 
The  courses  thou  dost  take 
Will  make  thine  heart  to  ache. 

Is  't  not  enough  to  spend  thy  precious  time 

In  empty  idle  compliment, 
Unless  thou  strain  (to  aggravate  thy  crime) 


1 


THE  HEART. 


257 


Nature  beyond  its  own  extent, 
And  force  it  to  devour 
An  age  within  an  hour  ? 

That  which  thou  swallow'st  is  not  lost  alone, 

But  quickly  will  revenged  be, 
By  seizing  on  thine  heart,  which,  like  a  stone, 
Lies  buried  in  the  midst  of  thee, 
Both  void  of  common  sense 
And  reason's  excellence. 

Thy  body  is  diseases'  rendezvous, 

Thy  mind  the  market-place  of  vice, 
The  devil  in  thy  will  keeps  open  house  : 

Thou  liv'st,  as  though  thou  wouldst  entice 
Hell-torments  unto  thee, 
And  thine  own  devil  be. 

O  what  a  dirty  dunghill  art  thou  grown, 

A  nasty  stinking  kennel  foul ! 
When  thou  awak'st  and  seest  what  thou  hast  done, 
Sorrow  will  swallow  up  thy  soul, 
To  think  how  thou  art  foil'd, 
And  all  thy  glory  spoiPd. 

Or  if  thou  canst  not  be  asham'd,  at  least 
Have  some  compassion  on  thyself : 
Before  thou  art  transformed  all  to  beast, 
At  last  strike  sail,  avoid  the  shelf 
Which  in  that  gulf  doth  lie, 
Where  all  that  enter  die. 


253 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


Here,  wand'rer,  may'st  thou  find  thy  heart  at  last  j 
Where  what  is  dearer  than  thy  heart  is  plac'd. 

MATT.  VI.  21. 

Where  your  treasure  *V,  there  will  your  heart  be  also. 

EPIG.  7. 

TPvOST  thou  inquire,  thou  heartless  wanderer 
*^     Where    thine   heart  is  ?      Behold,  thine 


thine  heart  is 


here, 


Here  thine  heart  is,  where  that  is  which  above 
Thine  own  dear  heart  thou  dost  esteem  and  love. 

ODE    VII. 

SEE  the  deceitfulness  of  sin, 
And  how  the  devil  cheateth  worldly  men  : 


THE  HEART. 


They  heap  up  riches  to  themselves,  and  then 

They  think  they  cannot  choose  but  win, 
Though  for  their  parts 
They  stake  their  hearts. 

The  merchant  sends  his  heart  to  sea, 
And  there,  together  with  his  ship,  'tis  tost : 
If  this  by  chance  miscarry,  that  is  lost, 
His  confidence  is  cast  away  : 
He  hangs  the  head, 
As  he  were  dead. 

The  pedlar  cries,  What  do  you  lack  ? 
What  will  you  buy  ?  and  boasts  his  wares  the  best ; 
But  offers  you  the  refuse  of  the  rest, 

As  though  his  heart  lay  in  his  pack, 
Which  greater  gain 
Alone  can  drain. 

The  ploughman  furrows  up  his  land, 
And  sows  his  heart  together  with  his  seed, 
Which,  both  alike  earth-born,  on  earth  do  feed, 
And  prosper,  or  are  at  a  stand  : 
He  and  his  field 
Like  fruit  do  yield. 

The  broker  and  the  scriv'ner  have 
'he  us'rer's  heart  in  keeping  with  his  bands  : 
His  soul's  dear  sustenance  lies  in  their  hands, 

And  if  they  break,  their  shop's  his  grave. 
His  interest  is 
His  only  bliss. 

The  money-hoarder  in  his  bags 
Binds  up  his  heart,  and  locks  it  in  his  chest ; 
The  same  key  serves  to  that,  arid  to  his  breast, 
Which  of  no  other  heaven  brags  : 
Nor  can  conceit 
A  joy  so  great. 


260 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


So  for  the  greedy  land  monger  : 
The  purchases  he  makes  in  every  part 
Take  livery  and  seisin  of  his  heart : 
Yet  his  insatiate  hunger, 
For  all  his  store, 
Gapes  after  more. 

Poor  wretched  muckworms,  wipe  your  eyes, 
Uncase  those  trifles  that  besot  you  so  : 
Your  rich-appearing  wealth  is  real  woe, 

Your  death  in  your  desires  lies. 
Your  hearts  are  where 
You  love  and  fear. 

Oh  think  not  the  world  deserves 
Either  to  be  belovM  or  fear'd  by  you  : 
Give  heaven  these  affections  as  its  due, 

Which  always  what  it  hath  preserves 
In  perfect  bliss 
That  endless  is 


THE  HEART. 


261 


THE    OPENING    OF    THE    HEART    WITH    THE    SPEAR. 

This  spear,  dear  Lord,  that's  dy'd  with  blood  of  thine, 
Pierces  my  heart  with  wounds  of  love  divine. 


of  tf>e 


ZECH.  VII.   12. 

They  made  their  hearts  as  hard  as  an  adamant  stone^  lest 
they  should  hear  the  law. 

EPIC.  8. 

TylT'ORDS  move  thee  not,  nor  gifts,  nor  strokes ; 

Thy  sturdy  adamantine  heart  provokes 
My  justice,  slights  my  mercies  :  anvil-like, 
Thou  stand'st  unmoved,  thou  my  hammer  strike. 


z6z  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE  VIII. 

WHAT  have  we  here  ?  An  heart  ?  It  looks  like  one, 
The  shape  and  colour  speak  it  such  : 
But,  having  brought  it  to  the  touch, 
I  find  it  is  no  better  than  a  stone. 
Adamants  are 
Softer  by  far. 

Long  hath  it  steeped  been  in  Mercy's  milk, 
And  soaked  in  Salvation, 
Meet  for  the  alteration 
Of  anvils,  to  have  made  them  soft  as  silk; 
Yet  it  is  still 
Hardened  in  ill. 

Oft  have  I  rained  my  word  upon  it,  oft 
The  dew  of  Heaven  has  distill'd, 
With  promises  of  mercy  filPd, 
Able  to  make  mountains  of  marble  soft : 
Yet  it  is  not 
Changed  a  jot. 

My  beams  of  love  shine  on  it  every  day, 
Able  to  thaw  the  thickest  ice  ; 
And,  where  they  enter  in  a  trice, 
To  make  congealed  crystal  melt  away  : 
Yet  warm  they  not 
This  frozen  clot. 

Nay,  more,  this  hammer,  that  is  wont  to  grind 
Rocks  into  dust,  and  powder  small, 
Makes  no  impression  at  all, 
Nor  dint,  nor  crack,  nor  flaw,  that  I  can  find  : 
But  leaves  it  as 
Before  it  was. 

Is  mine  almighty  arm  decay'd  in  strength  ? 

Or  hath  mine  hammer  lost  its  weight  ? 
That  a  poor  lump  of  earth  should  slight 


THE  HEART.  263 


My  mercies,  and  not  feel  my  wrath  at  length. 
With  which  I  make 
E'en  Heav'n  to  shake  ! 

No,  I  am  still  the  same,  I  alter  not, 

And,  when  I  please,  my  works  of  wonder 
Shall  bring  the  stoutest  spirits  under, 
And  make  them  to  confess  it  is  their  lot 
To  bow  or  break, 
When  I  but  speak. 

But  I  would  have  men  know,  'tis  not  my  word 
Or  works  alone  can  change  their  hearts  ; 
These  instruments  perform  their  parts, 
But  'tis  my  Spirit  doth  this  fruit  afford. 
'Tis  I,  not  art, 
Can  melt  man's  heart. 

Yet  would  they  leave  their  customary  sinning, 
And  so  unclench  the  devil's  claws, 
That  keeps  them  captive  in  his  paws, 
My  bounty  soon  should  second  that  beginning : 
E'en  hearts  of  steel 
My  force  should  feel. 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


Mbtsion 


Why  dost  thou  give  but  half  thine  heart  to  me, 
When  my  whole  self  I  offered  up  for  thee  ? 

HOS.  X.  2. 

Thine  heart  is  divided.     Now  shall  they  be  found  faulty. 

EPIC.  9. 

T7AIN  trifling  virgin,  I  myself  have  given 

Wholly  to  thee  :  and  shall  I  now  be  driven 
To  rest  contented  with  a  petty  part, 
That  have  deserved  more  than  a  whole  heart  ? 


THE  HEART.  265 


ODE  IX. 

More  mischief  yet  ?  was  't  not  enough  before 
To  rob  me  wholly  of  thine  heart, 
Which  I  alone 
Should  call  mine  own, 
But  thou  must  mock  me  with  a  part  ? 
Crown  injury  with  scorn,  to  make  it  more  ? 

What's  a  whole  heart  ?     Scarce  flesh  enough  to  serve 
A  kite  one  breakfast :  how  much  less, 
If  it  should  be 
Offer'd  to  me, 
Could  it  sufficiently  express 
What  I  for  making  it  at  first  deserve  ? 

I  gav  Jt  thee  whole,  and  fully  furnished 
With  all  its  faculties  entire  j 
There  wanted  not 
The  smallest  jot 

That  strictest  justice  could  require, 
To  render  it  completely  perfected. 

And  is  it  reason  what  I  give  in  gross 

Should  be  returned  but  by  retail  ? 
To  take  so  small 
A  part  for  all, 
I  reckon  of  no  more  avail 
Than,  where  I  scatter  gold,  to  gather  dross. 

Give  me  thine  heart  but  as  I  gave  it  thee  : 
Or  give  it  me  at  least  as  I 
Have  given  mine 
To  purchase  thine. 
I  halvM  it  not  when  I  did  die  ; 
But  gave  myself  wholly  to  set  thee  free. 


266 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


The  heart  I  gave  thee  was  a  living  heart ; 

And  when  thy  heart  by  sin  was  slain, 
I  laid  down  mine 
To  ranson  thine, 

That  thy  dead  heart  might  live  again. 
And  live  entirely  perfect,  not  in  part. 
But  whilst  thine  heart 's  divided,  it  is  dead  ; 
Dead  unto  me,  unless  it  live 
To  me  alone, 
It  is  all  one 

To  keep  all,  and  a  part  to  give  : 
For  what's  a  body  worth  without  an  head ! 
Yet  this  is  worse,  that  what  thou  keep  'st  from  me 
Thou  dost  bestow  upon  my  foes  : 
And  those  not  mine 
Alone,  but  thine  ; 
The  proper  causes  of  thy  woes, 
From  whom  I  gave  my  life  to  set  thee  free. 

Have  I  betrothed  thee  to  myself,  and  shall 
The  devil,  and  the  world  intrude 
Upon  my  right, 
E'en  in  my  sight  ? 

Think  not  thou  canst  me  so  delude  : 
J  will  have  none,  unless  I  may  have  all. 

I  made  it  all,  I  gave  it  all  to  thee, 
I  gave  all  that  I  had  for  it : 
If  I  must  lose, 
I'd  rather  choose 
Mine  interest  in  all  to  quit : 
Or  keep  it  whole,  or  give  it  whole  to  me. 


THE  HEART. 


Insatiafulttg  of  tfte 


The  world  won't  do  ;  —  thy  heart's  but  empty  still 
The  Trinity  must  that  triangle  fill. 


HAB.  II.  5. 

Who  enlargeth  his  desire  as  hell^  and  is  as  death^  and 
cannot  be  satisfied. 

EPIG.  10. 

HpHE  whole  round  world  is  not  enough  to  fill 
A      The  heart's  three  corners,  but  it  craveth  still, 
Only  the  Trinity,  that  made  it,  can 
Suffice  the  vast  triangled  heart  of  man. 


268  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE   X. 

THE  thirsty  earth  and  barren  womb  cry,  give  : 
The  grave  devoureth  all  that  live  : 

The  fire  still  burneth  on,  and  never  saith,    • 
It  is  enough  :  the  horse-leech  hath 

Many  more  daughters  :  but  the  heart  of  man 

Outgapes  them  all  as  much  as  Heav'n  one  span. 

Water  hath  drown'd  the  earth  :  the  barren  womb 
Hath  teem'd  sometimes,  and  been  the  tomb 

To  its  own  swelling  issue  :  and  the  grave  ' 
Shall  one  day  a  sick  surfeit  have  : 

When  all  the  fuel  is  consum'd,  the  fire 

Will  quench  itself,  and  of  itself  expire. 

But  the  vast  heart  of  man's  insatiate, 

His  boundless  appetites  dilate 
Themselves  beyond  all  limits,  his  desires 

Are  endless  still ;  whilst  he  aspires 
To  happiness,  and  fain  would  find  that  treasure 
Where  it  is  not  j  his  wishes  know  no  measure. 

His  eye  with  seeing  is  not  satisfied, 

Nor  's  ear  with  hearing  :  he  hath  try'd 

At  once  to  furnish  ev'ry  several  sense, 

With  choice  of  curious  objects,  whence 

He  might  extract,  and  into  one  unite, 

A  perfect  quintessence  of  all  delight. 

Yet,  having  all  that  he  can  fancy,  still 

There  wanted  more  to  fill 
His  empty  appetite.     His  mind  is  vex'd, 

And  he  is  inwardly  perplex'd, 
He  knows  not  why  :  when  as  the  truth  is  this, 
He  would  find  something  there,  where  nothing  is. 

He  rambles  over  all  the  faculties, 

Ransacks  the  secret  treasuries 


THE  HEAKT.  269 


Of  art  and  nature,  spells  the  universe 
Letter  by  letter,  can  rehearse 
All  the  records  of  time,  pretends  to  know 
Reasons  of  all  things,  why  they  must  be  so. 

Yet  is  not  so  contented,  but  would  fain 
Pry  in  GOD'S  cabinet,  and  gain 

Intelligence  from  Heav'n  of  things  to  come, 
Anticipate  the  day  of  doom, 

And  read  the  issues  of  all  actions  so, 

As  if  GOD'S  secret  counsel  he  did  know. 

Let  him  have  all  the  wealth,  all  the  renown, 
And  glo-ry,  that  the  world  can  crown 

Her  dearest  darlings  with  ;  yet  his  desire 
Will  not  rest  there,  but  still  aspire. 

Earth  cannot  hold  him,  nor  the  whole  creation 

Contain  his  wishes,  or  his  expectation. 

The  heart  of  man 's  but  little  ;  yet  this  All, 
Compared  thereunto,  is  but  small, 

Of  such  a  large  unparalleled  extense 

Is  the  short-lin'd  circumference. 

Of  that  three-corner'd  figure,  which  to  fill 

With  the  round  world,  is  to  leave  empty  still. 

So,  greedy  soul,  address  thyself  to  Heav'n 

And  leave  the  world,  as  tis'  bereav'n 

Of  all  true  happiness,  or  any  thing 

That  to  thine  heart  content  can  bring, 

But  there  a  triune  GOD  in  glory  sits, 

Who  all  grace-thirsting  hearts  both  fills  and  fits. 


270 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


Not  to  return,  so  often  call'd,  will  be 
Thy  certain  ruin  $  come,  be  rul'd  by  me. 

ISA.  XLVI.  8. 

Remember  this,   and  shew  yourselves  like  men  :    bring  it 
again  to  heart,  O  ye  transgressors. 

EPIC.   ii. 

OFT  have  I  call'd  thee  :  O  return  at  last, 
Return  unto  thine  heart :  let  the  time  past 
Suffice  thy  wanderings  :  know  that  to  cherish 
Revolting  still,  is  a  mere  will  to  perish. 

ODE  XI. 

Christ. 

RETURN,  O  wanderer,  return,  return. 
Let  me  not  always  waste  my  words  in  vain, 
As  I  have  done  too  long.     Why  dost  thou  spurn 
And  kick  the  counsels,  that  should  bring  thee  back  again  ? 


THE  HEART.  271 


The  Soul. 

What 's  this  that  checks  my  course  ?     Methinks  I  feel 
A  cold  remissness  seizing  on  my  mind  : 
My  stagger'd  resolutions  seem  to  reel, 
As  though  they  had  in  haste  forgot  mine  heart  behind. 

Christ. 

Return,  O  wanderer,  return,  return. 
Thou  art  already  gone  too  far  away, 
It  is  enough  :  unless  thou  mean  to  burn 
In  hell  for  ever,  stop  thy  course  at  last,  and  stay. 

The  Soul. 

There  's  something  holds  me  back,  I  cannot  move 
Forward  one  foot :  methinks,  the  more  I  strive, 
The  less  I  stir.     Is  there  a  Pow'r  above 
My  will  in  me,  that  can  my  purposes  reprieve  ? 

Christ. 

No  power  of  thine  own  :  'tis  I,  that  lay 
Mine  hand  upon  thine  haste ;  whose  will  can  make 
The  restless  motions  of  the  Heavens  stay : 
Stand  still,  turn  back  again,  or  new-found  courses  take. 

The  Soul. 

What !  am  I  riveted,  or  rooted  here  ? 
That  neither  forward,  nor  on  either  side 
I  can  get  loose  ?  then  there's  no  hope,  I  fear ; 
But  I  must  back  again,  whatever  me  betide. 

Christ. 

And  back  again  thou  shalt.     I  '11  have  it  so. 
Though  thou  hast  hitherto  my  voice  neglected, 
Now  I  have  handed  thee,  I  '11  let  thee  know, 
That  what  I  will  have  done  shall  not  be  uneffected. 

The  Soul. 

Thou  wilt  prevail  then,  and  I  must  return. 
But  how  ?  or  whither  ?  when  a  world  of  shame 


272  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


And  sorrow  lies  before  me,  and  I  burn 

With  horror  in  myself  to  think  upon  the  same. 

Shall  I  return  to  thee  ?     Alas,  I  have 

No  hope  to  be  receiv'd  :  a  runaway, 

A  rebel  to  return  !     Madmen  may  rave 

Of  mercy-miracles,  but  what  will  Justice  say  ? 

Shall  I  return  to  my  own  heart !     Alas, 

'Tis  lost,  and  dead,  and  rotten  long  ago, 

I  cannot  find  it  what  at  first  it  was, 

And  it  hath  been  too  long  the  cause  all  of  my  woe, 

Shall  I  forsake  my  pleasures  and  delights, 
My  profits,  honours,  comforts,  and  contents, 
For  that,  the  thought  whereof  my  mind  affrights, 
Repentant  sorrow,  that  the  soul  asunder  rents  ? 

Shall  I  return,  that  cannot  though  I  would  ? 
I,  that  had  strength  enough  to  go  astray, 
Find  myself  faint  and  feeble,  how  I  should 
Return.     I  cannot  run,  I  cannot  creep  this  way. 

What  shall  I  do  ?     Forward  I  must  not  go, 
Backward  I  cannot :  If  I  tarry  here, 
I  shall  be  drowned  in  a  world  of  woe, 
And  antedate  my  own  damnation  by  despair. 

But  is 't  not  better  hold  that  which  I  have, 
Than  unto  future  expectation  trust  ? 
Oh  no  :  to  reason  thus  is  but  to  rave. 
Therefore  return  I  will,  because  return  I  must. 

Christ. 

Return,  and  welcome  :  if  thou  wilt,  thou  shalt : 
Although  thou  canst  not  of  thyself,  yet  I, 
That  call,  can  make  thee  able.     Let  the  fault 
Be  mine,  if,  when  thou  wilt  return,  I  let  thee  lie. 


THE  HEAET. 


pouring  out  of  tf)e 


Thy  vows  and  wounds  conceal  not  in  thy  breast } 
Pour  out  thy  heart  to  God  ;  He'll  give  thee  rest. 

LAM.  II.   19. 

Pour  out  thine  heart  like  water  before  the  face  of  the 
Lord. 


EPIG.  12. 

dost  thou  hide  thy  wounds  ?   why  dost  thou 

hide 

In  thy  close  breast  thy  wishes,  and  so  side 
With  thine  own  fears  and  sorrows  ?  Like  a  spout 
Of  water,  let  thine  heart  to  GOD  break  out. 

T 


274  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE  XII. 

The  Soul. 

CAN  death,  or  hell,  be  worse  than  this  estate  ? 

Anguish,  amazement,  horror,  and  confusion, 

Drown  my  distracted  mind  in  deep  distress. 

My  grief 's  grown  so  transcendent,  that  I  hate 

To  hear  of  comfort,  as  a  false  conclusion 

Vainly  inferr'd  from  feigned  premises. 

What  shall  I  do  ?     What  strange  course  shall  I  try, 
That,  though  I  loathe  to  live,  yet  dare  not  die  ? 

Christ. 

Be  rul'd  by  me,  I'll  teach  thee  such  a  way, 
As  that  thou  shalt  not  only  drain  thy  mind 
From  that  destructive  deluge  of  distress 
That  overwhelms  thy  thoughts,  but  clear  the  day, 
And  soon  recover  light  and  strength,  to  find 
And  to  regain  thy  long-lost  happiness. 

Confess,  and  pray.     Say,  what  it  is  doth  ail  thee, 
What  thou  wouldst  have,   and  that  shall  soon  avail 
thee. 

The  Soul. 

Confess  and  pray  ?     If  that  be  all,  I  will. 
LORD,  I  am  sick,  and  thou  art  health,  restore  me. 
LORD,  I  am  weak,  and  thou  art  strength,  sustain  me. 
Thou  art  all  goodness,  LORD,  and  I  all  ill. 
Thou,  LORD,  art  holy ;  I  unclean  before  thee. 
LORD,  I  am  poor  ;  and  thou  art  rich,  maintain  me. 

LORD,  I  am  dead ;  and  thou  art  life,  revive  me. 

Justice  condemns  ;  let  mercy,  LORD,  reprieve  me. 

A  wretched  miscreant  I  am,  composed 
Of  sin  and  misery  ;  'tis  hard  to  say, 
Which  of  the  two  allies  me  most  to  hell : 
Native  corruption  makes  me  indisposed 
To  all  that 's  good  ;  but  apt  to  go  astray, 
Prone  to  do  ill,  unable  to  do  well : 


THE  HEABT.  275 


My  light  is  darkness,  and  my  liberty 
Bondage,  my  beauty  foul  deformity. 

A  plague  of  leprosy  o'erspreadeth  all 

My  pow'rs  and  faculties  :  I  am  unclean, 

I  am  unclean :  my  liver  broils  with  lust ; 

Rancour  and  malice  overflow  my  gall ; 

Envy  my  bones  doth  rot,  and  keeps  me  lean ; 

Revengful  wrath  makes  me  forget  what 's  just : 
Mine  ear  's  uncircumcis'd,  mine  eye  is  evil, 
And  hating  goodness  makes  me  parcel  devil. 

My  callous  conscience  is  cauteris'd  ; 
My  trembling  heart  shakes  with  continual  fear  : 
My  frantic  passions  fill  my  mind  with  madness  : 
My  windy  thoughts  with  pride  are  tympanis'd  : 
My  pois'nous  tongue  spits  venom  everywhere : 
My  wounded  spirit's  swallowed  up  with  sadness : 
Impatient  discontentment  plagues  me  so, 
I  neither  can  stand  still  nor  forward  go. 

LORD,  I  am  all  diseases  :  hospitals, 
And  bills  of  mountebanks,  have  not  so  many, 
Nor  half  so  bad.     LORD,  hear,  and  help,  and  heal  me. 
Although  my  guiltiness  for  vengeance  calls, 
And  colour  of  excuse  I  have  not  any, 
Yet  thou  hast  goodness,  LORD,  that  may  avail  me. 
LORD,  I  have  pour'd  out  all  my  heart  to  thee  : 
Vouchsafe  one  drop  of  mercy  unto  me. 


276 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


Ottmimctston  of  tfje 


The  cross,  the  nails,  the  spear,  each  give  a  part, 
To  form  this  knife,  to  .circumcise  thine  heart. 

DEUT.  X.    l6. 

Circumcise  the  foreskin  of  your  heart,  and  be  no  more 
stiff-necked. 


EPIG. 


13. 


TTERE,  take  thy  Saviour's  cross,  the  nails  and  spear 
•*--*•     That  for  thy  sake  his  holy  flesh  did  tear  ; 
Use  them  as  knives  thine  heart  to  circumcise, 
nd  dress  thy  GOD  a  pleasing  sacrifice. 


THE  HEART. 


Z77 


ODE  XIII. 

HEAL  thee  I  will.     But  first  I  '11  let  thee  know 

What  it  comes  to. 
The  plaister  was  prepared  long  ago  : 

But  thou  must  do 
Something  thyself,  that  it  may  be 
Effectually  applied  to  thee. 

I,  to  that  end,  that  I  might  cure  thy  sores, 

Was  slain,  and  died, 
By  mine  own  people  was  turn'd  out  of  doors, 

And  crucified  : 

My  side  was  pierced  with  a  spear, 
And  nails  my  hands  and  feet  did  tear. 

Do  thou  then  to  thyself,  as  they  to  me  : 

Make  haste,  and  try, 
The  old  man,  that's  yet  alive  in  thee, 

To  crucify. 

Till  he  be  dead  in  thee,  my  blood 
Is  like  to  do  thee  little  good. 

My  course  of  physic  is  to  cure  the  soul, 

By  killing  sin. 
So  then  thine  own  corruptions  to  control 

Thou  must  begin, 
Until  thine  heart  be  circumcis'd, 
My  death  will  not  be  duly  priz'd. 

Consider  then  my  cross,  my  nails,  and  spear. 

And  let  that  thought 
Cut,  razor-like,  thine  heart,  when  thou  dost  hear 

How  dear  I  bought 
Thy  freedom  from  the  pow'r  of  sin, 
And  that  distress  which  thou  wast  in. 

Cut  out  the  iron  sinew  of  thy  neck, 
That  it  may  be 


278  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


Supple,  and  pliant  to  obey  my  beck, 

And  learn  of  me. 

Meekness  alone,  and  yielding,  hath 
A  power  to  appease  my  wrath. 

Shave  off  thine  hairy  scalp,  those  curled  locks 

Powder'd  with  pride, 
Wherewith  thy  scornful  heart  my  judgments  mods, 

And  thinks  to  hide 

Its  thunder-threaten'd  head,  which  bared 
Alone  is  likely  to  be  spar'd. 

Rip  off  those  seeming  robes,  but  real  rags, 

Which  earth  admires 
As  honourable  ornaments  and  brags 

That  it  attires  ; 

Which  cumber  thee  indeed.     Thy  sores 
Fester  with  what  the  world  adores. 

Clip  thine  ambitious  wings,  let  down  thy  plumes, 

And  learn  to  stoop, 
Whilst  thou  hast  time  to  stand.     Who  still  presumes 

Of  strength,  will  droop 
At  last,  and  flag  when  he  should  fly. 
Falls  hurt  them  most  that  climb  most  high. 

Scrape  off  that  scaly  scurf  of  vanities 

That  clogs  thee  so  : 
Profits  and  pleasures  are  those  enemies 

That  work  thy  woe. 
If  thou  wilt  have  me  cure  thy  wounds, 
First  rid  each  humour  that  abounds. 


THE  HEART. 


279 


(ttontritum  af  tfje 

In  thousand  pieces  would  I  break  this  heart, 
Which  leaves  its  Lord,  and  acts  a  rebel's  part. 

PSALM  LI.    17. 

A  broken    ana  a  contrite   heart^    O   God^    tbou  wilt  not 
despise. 

EPIG,  14. 

TjOW  gladly  would  I  bruise  and  break  this  heart 

Into  a  thousand  pieces,  till  the  smart 
Make  it  confess,  that,  of  its  own  accord, 
It  wilfully  rebell'd  against  the  LORD  ! 

ODE  XIV. 

LORD,  if  I  had  an  arm  of  pow'r  like  thine, 
And  could  effect  what  I  desire, 


280 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


My  love-drawn  heart,  like  smallest  wire 
Bended  and  writhen,  should  together  twine 

And  twisted1  stand 

With  thy  command  : 

Thou  shouldst  no  sooner  bid,  but  I  would  go, 
Thou  shouldst  not  will  the  thing  I  would  not  do 

But  I  am  weak,  LORD,  and  corruption  strong  : 
When  I  would  fain  do  what  I  should, 
Then  I  cannot  do  what  I  would  : 
Mine  action 's  short,  when  my  intention  's  long  ; 
Thou  my  desire 
Be  quick  as  fire, 

Yet  my  performance  is  as  dull  as  earth, 
And  stifles  its  own  issue  in  the  birth. 

But  what  I  can  do,  LORD,  1  will :  since  what 
I  would,  I  cannot ;  I  will  try 
Whether  mine  heart,  that 's  hard  and  dry. 
Being  calm'd,  and  tempered  with  that 
Liquor  which  falls 
From  mine  eyeballs, 

Will  work  more  pliantly,  and  yield  to  take 
Such  new  impression  as  thy  grace  shall  make. 

In  mine  own  conscience  then,  as  in  a  mortar, 
I'll  place  mine  heart,  and  bray  it  there  : 
If  grief  for  what  is  past,  and  fear 
Of  what's  to  come,  be  a  sufficient  torture, 
I'll  break  it  all 
In  pieces  small  : 

Sin  shall  not  find  a  sheard  without  a  flaw, 
Wherein  to  lodge  one  lust  against  thy  law. 

Remember  then,  mine  heart,  what  thou  hast  don 
What  thou  hast  left  undone  :  the  ill 
Of  all  my  thoughts,  words,  deeds,  is  still 

Thy  cursed  issue  only  :   thou  art  grown 


THE  HEAET. 


z8i 


To  such  a  pass 

That  never  was, 

Nor  is,   nor  will  there  be,  a  sin  so  bad, 
But  thou  some  way  therein  an  hand  hast  had. 

Thou  hast  not  been  content  alone  to  sin, 
But  hast  made  others  sin  with  thee  ; 
Yea,  made  their  sins  thine  own  to  be, 
By  liking,  and  allowing  them  therein. 
Who  first  begins, 
Or  follows,  sins 

Not  his  own  sins  alone,  but  sinneth  o'er 
All  the  same  sins,  both  after  and  before. 

What  boundless  sorrow  can  suffice  a  guilt 

Grown  so  transcendent  ?     Should  thine  eye 
Weep  seas  of  blood,  thy  sighs  outvie 
The  winds,  when  with  the  waves  they  run  at  tilt, 
Yet  they  could  not 
Conceal  one  blot. 

The  least  of  all  thy  sins  against  thy  GOD 
Deserves  a  thunderbolt  should  be  thy  rod. 

Then  since  (repenting  heart)  thou  canst  not  grieve 
Enough  at  once  while  thou  art  whole, 
Shiver  thyself  to  dust,  and  dole 
Thy  sorrow  to  the  several  atoms,  give 
All  to  each  part, 
And  by  that  art 

Strive  thy  dissevered  self  to  multiply, 
And  want  of  weight  with  number  to  supply. 


282 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ffiumtUatton  xrt  tfje 


The  heart  too  high  its  lofty  pride  would  rear, 
If  not  press'd  down,  and  kept  within  its  sphere. 

ECCLES.  VII.  9. 

The  patient  in  spirit  is  better  than  the  proud  in  spirit. 

EPIG.  15. 

TV/TINE  heart,  alas  !  exalts  itself  too  high, 
™*-  And  doth  delight  a  loftier  pitch  to  fly 
Than  it  is  able  to  maintain,  unless 
It  feel  the  weight  of  thine  imposed  press. 

ODE  xv. 
So  let  it  be, 

LORD,  I  am  well  content, 


THE  HEART. 


283 


And  thou  shalt  see 

The  time  is  not  misspent. 

Which  thou  dost  then  bestow,  when  thou  dost  quell 
And  crush  the  heart  where  pride  before  did  swell. 

LORD,  I  perceive, 

As  soon  as  thou  dost  send, 
And  I  receive 

The  blessings  thou  dost  lend, 
Mine  heart  begins  to  mount,  and  doth  forget 
The  ground  whereon  it  goes,  where  it  is  set. 

In  health  I  grew 

Wanton,  began  to  kick, 
As  though  I  knew 

I  never  should  be  sick. 
Diseases  take  me  down  and  make  me  know 
Bodies  of  brass  must  pay  the  debt  they  owe. 

If  I  but  dream 

Of  wealth,  mine  heart  doth  rise 
With  a  full  stream 

Of  pride,  and  I  despise 
All  that  is  good,  until  I  wake,  and  spy 
The  swelling  bubble  prick'd  with  poverty. 

And  little  wind 

Of  undeserved  praise 
Blows  up  my  mind, 

And  my  swoln  thoughts  do  raise 
Above  themselves,  until  the  sense  of  shame 
Makes  me  contemn  my  self-dishonour' d  name. 

One  moment 's  mirth 

Would  make  me  run  stark  mad, 
And  the  whole  earth, 

Could  it  at  once  be  had, 
Would  not  suffice  my  greedy  appetite, 
Didst  thou  not  pain  instead  of  pleasure  write. 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


LORD,  it  is  well 

I  was  in  time  brought  down, 
Else  thou  canst  tell, 

Mine  heart  would  soon  have  flown 
Full  in  thy  face,  and  study  to  requite 
The  riches  of  thy  goodness  with  despite. 

Slack  not  thine  hand, 

LORD,  turn  thy  screw  about : 
If  thy  press  stand, 

Mine  heart  may  chance  slip  out. 
O  quest  it  unto  nothing,  rather  than 
It  should  forget  itself,  and  swell  again. 

Or  if  thou  art 

Disposed  to  let  it  go, 
LORD,  teach  mine  heart 

To  lay  itself  as  low 
As  thou  canst  it  :  that  prosperity 
May  still  be  temper'd  with  humility. 

The  way  to  rise 

Was  to  descend  ;    let  me 
Myself  despise, 

And  so  ascend  with  thee  ; 

Thou  throw'st  them  down  that  lift  themselves  on  high, 
And  raise  them  that  on  the  ground  do  lie 


THE  HEAET. 


285 


tf>e 


This  icy,  marble  heart,  like  wax  will  melt, 
Soon  as  the  fire  of  heavenly  love  is  felt. 

JOB.  XXIII.    l6. 

God  maketh  my  heart  soft. 

EPIC.  16. 

TV/TINE  heart  is  like  a  marble  ice, 
W*-  Both  cold  and  hard  :  but  thou  canst  in  a  trice 
Melt  it  like  wax,  great  GOD,  if  from  above 
Thou  kindle  in  it  once  thy  fire  of  love. 

ODE  XVI. 

NAY,  blessed  Founder,  leave  me  not  : 
If  out  of  all  this  grot 


286 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


There  can  but  any  gold  be  got, 

The  time  thou  dost  bestow,  the  cost  ' 

And  pains  will  not  be  lost : 
The  bargain  is  but  hard  at  most. 
And  such  are  all  those  thou  dost  make  with  me  : 
Thou  know'st  thou  canst  not  but  a  loser  be. 

When  the  sun  shines  with  glittering  beams, 

His  cold-dispelling  gleams 
Turn  snow  and  ice  to  wat'ry  streams. 
The  wax,  so  soon  as  it  hath  smelt 
The  warmth  or  fire,  and  felt 
The  glowing  heat  thereof,  will  melt. 
Yea,  pearls  with  vinegar  dissolve  we  may, 
And  adamants  in  blood  of  goats,  they  say. 
If  nature  can  do  this,  much  more, 
LORD,  may  thy  grace  restore 
Mine  heart  to  what  it  was  before. 
There  's  the  same  matter  in  it  still, 
Though  new-inform'd  with  ill, 
Yet  can  it  not  resist  thy  will. 
Thy  pow'r  that  fram'd  it  at  the  first,  as  oft. 
As  thou  wilt  have  it,  LORD,  can  make  it  soft. 
Thou  art  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  : 

And  though  I  must  confess 
Mine  heart  's  grown  hard  in  wickedness. 
Yet  thy  resplendent  rays  of  light, 

When  once  they  come  in  sight, 
Will  quickly  thaw  what  froze  by  night. 
LORD,  in  thine  healing  wings  a  pow'r  doth  dwell 
Able  to  melt  the  hardest  heart  in  hell. 

Although  mine  heart  in  hardness  pass 

Both  iron,  steel,  and  brass, 
Yea,  the  hardest  thing  that  ever  was  ; 
Yet  if  thy  fire  thy  Spirit  accord, 
And,  working  with  thy  word, 


THE  HEART.  287 


A  blessing  unto  it  afford, 
It  will  grow  liquid,  and  not  drop  alone, 
But  melt  itself  away  before  thy  throne. 
Yea,  though  my  flinty  heart  be  such, 

That  the  sun  cannot  touch, 
Nor  fires  sometimes  affect  it  much, 
Yet  thy  warm  reeking  self-shed  blood, 

O  Lamb  of  GOD,  is  so  good, 
It  cannot  be  withstood. 
The  aqua-regia  of  thy  love  prevails, 
E'en  where  the  pow'r  of  aqua-fortis  fails. 

Then  leave  me  not  so  soon,  dear  LORD, 

Though  I  neglect  thy  word, 
And  what  thy  power  doth  afford  ; 
O  try  thy  mercy,  and  thy  love 

The  force  thereof  may  prove. 

Soak'd  in  thy  blood,  mine  heart  will  soon  surrender 
Its  native  hardness,  and  grow  soft  and  tender. 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


(ttleatmng  irf  tf)e  J^eart 


A  fountain  flows  from  Jesu's  wounded  side, 
Here  let  thy  filthy  heart  be  purified. 

JER.  V.    14. 

O  Jerusalem,  wash  thy  heart  from  wickedness^  that  thou 
mayest  be  saved. 


EPIG.  17. 

/~\UT  of  thy  wounded  Husband's,  Saviour's  side, 
^•^     Espoused  soul,  there  flows  with  a  full  tide, 
A  fountain  for  uncleanness  :  wash  thee  there, 
Wash  there  thine  heart,  and  then  thou  need'st  not  fear. 


THE  HEART.  289 


ODE  XVII. 

0  ENDLESS  misery  ! 
I  labour  still,  but  still  in  vain. 

The  stains  of  sin  I  see 
Are  oaded  all,  or  dy'd  in  grain. 

There's  not  a  blot 

Will  stir  a  jot, 
For  all  that  I  can  do. 

There  is  no  hope 

In  fullers'  soap, 
Though  I  add  nitre  too. 

1  many  ways  have  tried, 
Have  often  soak'd  it  in  cold  fears ; 

And,  when  a  time  I  spied, 
Pour'd  upon  it  scalding  tears  : 

Have  rins'd  and  rubb'd, 
And  scrap'd  and  scrubb'd, 
And  turn'd  it  up  and  down  : 
Yet  can  I  not 
Wash  out  one  spot ; 
It 's  rather  fouler  grown. 
O  miserable  state  ! 
Who  would  be  troubled  with  an  heart, 

As  I  have  been  of  late, 
Both  to  my  sorrow,  shame,  and  smart? 
If  it  will  not 
Be  clearer  got, 
JT  were  better  1  had  none 
Yet  how  should  we 
Divided  be, 

That  are  not  two,  but  one  ? 
But  am  I  not  stark  wild, 
That  go  about  to  wash  mine  heart 

With  hands  that  are  defiTd 
As  much  as  any  other  part  ? 


490  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


Whilst  all  thy  tears, 

Thine  hopes  and  fears, 
Both  ev'ry  word,  and  deed, 

And  thought  is  foul, 

Poor  silly  soul  ! 
How  canst  thou  look  to  speed  ? 

Can  there  no  help  be  had  ? 
LORD,  thou  art  holy,  thou  art  pure  : 

Mine  heart  is  not  so  bad, 
So  foul,  but  thou  canst  cleanse  it,  sure. 

Speak,  blessed  LORD, 

Wilt  thou  afford 
Me  means  to  make  it  clean  ? 

I  know  thou  wilt : 

Thy  blood  was  spilt. 
Should  it  run  still  in  vain  ? 

.  Then  to  that  blessed  spring, 
Which  from  my  Saviour's  sacred  side 

Doth  flow,  mine  heart  I  '11  bring ; 
And  there  it  will  be  purified. 

Although  the  dye, 
Wherein  I  lie, 
Crimson  or  scarlet  were  ; 
This  blood,  I  know, 
Will  make  Jt  as  snow 
Or  wool,  both  clean  and  clear. 


THE  HEAET. 


291 


THE  MJRROR  OF  THE  HEART. 

Would'st  thou  inspect  the  heart  ?     Lord,  look  at  mine 
And  let  the  sight  imprint  new  wounds  on  thine. 

Qfyz  ©Ming  of  ity  l^ark 

PROV.  XXIII.  26. 

My  son^  give  me  thine  heart. 

EPIG.  1 8. 

only  love,  the  only  fear  thou  art, 
Dear  and  dread  Saviour,  of  my  sin-sick  heart. 
Thine  heart  thou  gavest,  that  it  might  be  mine : 
Take  thou  mine  heart,  then,  that  it  may  be  thine. 


29*  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE  XVIII. 

GIVE  thee  mine  heart  ?     LORD,  so  I  would. 
And  there's  great  reason  that  I  should, 

If  it  were  worth  the  having : 
Yet  sure  thou  wilt  esteem  that  good, 
Which  thou  hast  purchas'd  with  thy  blood, 

And  thought  it  worth  the  craving. 
Give  thee  mine  heart  ?  LORD,  so  I  will, 
If  thou  wilt  first  impart  the  skill 

Of  bringing  it  to  thee  : 
But  should  I  trust  myself  to  give 
Mine  heart,  as  sure  as  I  do  live, 

I  should  deceived  be. 
As  all  the  value  of  mine  heart 
Proceeds  from  favour,  not  desert, 

Acceptance  is  its  worth  : 
So  neither  know  I  how  to  bring 
A  present  to  my  heav'nly  King, 

Unless  he  set  it  forth. 

LORD  of  my  life,  methinks  I  hear 
Thee  say,  that  thee  alone  to  fear. 

And  thee  alone  to  love, 
Is  to  bestow  mine  heart  on  thee, 
That  other  giving  none  can  be, 

Whereof  thou  wilt  approve. 

And  well  thou  dost  deserve  to  be 
Both  loved,  LORD,  and  fear'd  by  me, 

So  good,  so  great  thou  art : 
Greatness  so  good,  goodness  so  great, 
As  passeth  all  finite  conceit. 

And  ravisheth  mine  heart. 

Should  I  not  love  thee,  blessed  LORD, 
Who  freely  of  thine  own  accord 

Laid'st  down  thy  life  for  me  ? 


THE  HEAET.  293 


For  me,  that  was  not  dead  alone, 
But  desp'rately  transcendent  grown 
In  enmity  to  thee  ? 

Should  I  not  fear  before  thee,  LORD, 
Whose  hand  spans  heaven,  at  whose  word 

Devils  themselves  do  quake  ? 
Whose  eyes  outshine  the  sun,  whose  beck 
Can  the  whole  course  of  nature  check, 

And  its  foundations  shake  ? 

Should  I  withhold  mine  heart  from  thee, 
The  fountain  of  felicity, 

Before  whose  presence  is 
Fulness  of  joy,  at  whose  right  hand 
All  pleasures  in  perfection  stand, 

And  everlasting  bliss  ? 

LORD,  had  I  hearts  a  million, 
And  myriads  in  ev'ry  one 

Of  choicest  loves  and  fears  ; 
They  were  too  little  to  bestow 
On  thee,  to  whom  I  all  things  owe, 

I  should  be  in  arrears. 

Yet,  since  my  heart's  the  most  I  have, 
And  that  which  thou  dost  chiefly  crave, 

Thou  shalt  not  of  it  miss. 
Although  I  cannot  give  it  so 
As  I  should  do,  I'll  offer  't  though  : 

LORD,  take  it,  here  it  is. 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


God  is  not  pleas'd  with  calves  or  bullocks  slain  j 
The  heart  he  gave,  is  all  he  asks  again. 

PSALM  LI.    17. 

sacrifices  of  God  are  a  broken  heart. 

EPIG.  19. 

NOR  calves,  nor  bulls,  are  sacrifices  good 
Enough  for  thee,  who  gav'st  for  me  thy  blood, 
And,  more  than  that,  thy  life  :  take  thine  own  part, 
Great  GOD,  thou  gavest  all :  here,  take  mine  heart. 

ODE  XIX. 

THY  former  covenant  of  old 
Thy  law  of  ordinances,  did  require 


THE  HEAET.  295 


Fat  sacrifices  from  the  fold, 
And  many  other  ofP rings  made  by  fire. 
Whilst  thy  first  tabernacle  stood, 
All  things  were  consecrate  with  blood. 

And  can  thy  better  covenant, 
The  law  of  grace  and  truth  by  Jesus  Christ, 

Its  proper  sacrifices  want 
For  such  an  altar,  and  for  such  a  priest  ? 

No,  no,  thy  gospel  doth  require 

Choice  ofP  rings  too,  and  made  by  fire 

A  sacrifice  for  sin  indeed, 
LORD,  thou  didst  make  thyself  and  once  for  all-: 

So  that  there  never  will  be  need 
Of  any  more  sin-orFrings,  great  or  small. 

The  life-blood  thou  didst  shed  for 

Hath  set  my  soul  for  ever  free. 

Yea,  the  same  sacrifice  thou  dost 
Still  offer  in  behalf  of  thine  elect,: 

And,  to  improve  it  to  the  most, 
Thy  word  and  sacraments  do  in  effect 

Offer  thee  oft,  and  sacrifice 

Thee  daily,  in  our  ears  and  eyes. 

Yea,  each  believing  soul  may  take 
Thy  sacrificed  flesh  and  blood,  by  faith, 

And  therewith  an  atonement  make 
For  all  its  trespasses  :  thy  gospel  faith, 

Such  infinite  transcendent  price 

Is  there  in  thy  sweet  sacrifice  ! 

But  is  this  all  ?  Must  there  not  be 
Peace-offerings,  and  sacrifices  of 

Thanksgiving,  tender'd  unto  thee  ? 
Yes,  LORD,  I  know  I  should  but  mock,  and  scoff 

Thy  sacrifice  for  sin,  should  I 

My  sacrifice  of  praise  deny. 


296 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


But  I  have  nothing  of  mine  own 
Worthy  to  be  presented  in  thy  sight ; 

Yea,  the  whole  world  affords  not  one 
Or  ram,  or  lamb,  wherein  thou  canst  delight. 

Less  than  myself  it  must  not  be  : 

For  thou  didst  give  thyself  for  me. 

Myself,  then,  I  must  sacrifice  : 
And  so  I  will,  mine  heart,  the  only  thing 

Thou  dost  above  all  other  prize 
As  thine  own  part,  the  best  I  have  to  bring. 

An  humble  heart 's  a  sacrifice, 

Which  I  know  thou  wilt  not  despise. 

LORD,  be  my  altar,  sanctify 
Mine  heart  thy  sacrifice,  and  let  thy  Spirit 

Kindle  thy  fire  of  love,  that  I, 
Burning  with  zeal  to  magnify  thy  merit, 

May  both  consume  my  sins,  and  raise 

Eternal  trophies  to  thy  praise. 


THE  HEART. 


297 


of  flje 


This  gift  of  thine  will  not  appear  so  great, 
Unless  when  tried  it  proves  of  proper  weight. 

PROV.  XXI.   2. 

The  Lord  ponder  eth  the  heart. 

EPIG.  20. 

heart  thou  giv'st  as  a  great  gift,  my  love, 
Brought  to  the  trial,  nothing  such  will  prove 
If  Justice'  equal  balance  tell  thy  sight, 
That,  weighed  with  my  law,  it  is  too  light. 

ODE  XX. 

'Tis  true,  indeed,  an  heart, 
Such  as  it  ought  to  be, 


298 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


Entire  and  sound  in  ev'ry  part, 

Is  always  welcome  unto  me. 
He  that  would  please  me  with  an  offering, 
Cannot  a  better  have,  although  he  were  a  king. 

And  there  is  none  so  poor, 
But,  if  he  will,  he  may 
Bring  me  an  heart,  although  no  more. 
And  on  mine  altar  may  it  lay. 
The  sacrifice  which  I  like  best,  is  such 
As  rich  men  cannot  boast,  and  poor  men  need  not  grutch. 

Yet  ev'ry  heart  is  not 
A  gift  sufficient, 

It  must  be  purg'd  from  ev'ry  spot, 
And  all  to  pieces  must  be  rent. 

Though  thou  hast  sought  to  circumcise  and  bruise  't, 
It  must  be  weighed  too,  or  else  I  shall  refuse  't. 

My  balances  are  just, 
My  law's  an  equal  weight ; 
The  beam  is  strong,  and  thou  may'st  trust 
My  steady  hand  to  hold  it  straight. 
Were  thine  heart  equal  to  the  world  in  sight, 
Yet  it  were  nothing  worth,  if  it  should  prove  too  light. 

And  so  thou  seest  it  doth ; 
My  ponderous  law  doth  press 
This  scale  ;  but  that,  as  fill'd  with  froth, 
Tilts  up,  and  makes  no  show  of  stress. 
Thine  heart  is  empty  sure,  or  else  it  would 
In  weight,  as  well  as  bulk,  better  proportion  hold. 

Search  it,  and  thou  shalt  find 
It  wants  integrity ; 
And  yet  is  not  so  thorough  lin'd 
With  single-ey'd  sincerity, 

As  it  should  be  :  some  more  humility  [stancy. 

Ther~  wants  to  make  it  weight,  and  some  more  con- 


THE  HEART.  299 


Whilst  windy  vanity 
Doth  puff  it  up  with  pride, 
And  double-fac'd  hypocrisy 
Doth  many  empty  hollows  hide, 
It  is  but  good  in  part,  and  that  but  little, 
Wav'ring  unstaidness  makes  its  resolutions  brittle. 

The  heart,  that  in  my  sight 
As  current  coin  would  pass, 
Must  not  be  the  least  grain  too  light, 
But  as  at  first  it  stamped  was. 
Keep  then  thine  heart  till  it  be  better  grown, 
And,  when  it  is  full,  I'll  take  it  for  mine  own. 

But  if  thou  art  asham'd 
To  find  thine  heart  so  light, 
And  art  afraid  thou  shalt  be  blam'd, 
I'll  teach  thee  how  to  set  it  right. 
Add  to  my  law  my  gospel,  and  there  see 
My  merits  thine,  and  then  the  scales  will  equal  be. 


300 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


THE  DEFENCE  OF  THE  HEART. 

O  them  my  light  and  life  !  thy  aid  impart, 
And  let  thy  sufferings  now  defend  my  heart. 


tfte 


PROV.  XVII.   3. 

The  fining-pot  for  silver  •,  and  the  furnace  for  gold  : 
but  the  Lord  trleth  the  hearts. 

EPIG.  21. 

'"TpHINE  heart,  my  dear,  more  precious  is  than  gold, 
-*•     Or  the  most  precious  things  that  can  be  told, 
Provide  first  that  my  poor  fire  have  tried 
Out  all  the  dross,  and  pass  it  purified. 


THE  HEAET.  301 


ODE  XXI. 

WHAT  !  take  it  at  adventure,  and  not  try 
What  metal  it  is  made  of?  No,  not  I. 

Should  I  now  lightly  let  it  pass 
Take  sullen  lead  for  silver,  sounding  brass, 

Instead  of  solid  gold,  alas  ! 
What  would  become  of  it  in  the  great  day 
Of  making  jewels  ?  'twould  be  castaway. 

The  heart  thou  giv'st  me  must  be  such  a  one, 
As  is  the  same  throughout.     I  will  have  none 

But  that  which  will  abide  the  fire. 
'Tis  not  a  glittering  outside  I  desire, 

Whose  seeming  shows  do  soon  expire  . 
But  real  worth  within,  which  neither  dross, 
Nor  base  alloys  makes  subject  unto  loss. 

If,  in  the  composition  of  thine  heart, 
A  stubborn  steely  wilfulness  have  part, 

That  will  not  bow  and  bend  to  me, 
Save  only  in  a  mere  formality 

Of  tinsel-trimm'd  hypocrisy, 
I  care  not  for  it,  though  it  show  as  fair 
As  the  first  blush  of  the  sun-gilded  air. 

The  heart  that  in  my  furnace  will  not  melt, 
When  it  the  growing  heat  thereof  hath  felt, 

Turn  liquid  and  dissolve  in  tears 
Of  true  repentance  for  its  faults,  that  hears 

My  threatening  voice,  and  never  fears, 
Is  not  an  heart  worth  having.     If  it  be 
An  heart  of  stone,  'tis  not  an  heart  for  me. 

The  heart,  that,  cast  into  my  furnace,  spits 
And  sparkles  in  my  face,  falls  into  fits 

Of  discontented  grudging,  whines 
When  it  is  broken  of  its  will,  repines 

At  the  least  suffering,  declines 


302  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


My  fatherly  correction,  is  an  heart 

On  which  I  care  not  to  bestow  mine  art. 

The  heart  that  in  my  flames  asunder  flies, 
Scatters  itself  at  random,  and  so  lies 

In  heaps  of  ashes  here  and  there, 
Whose  dry  dispersed  parts  will  not  draw  near 

To  one  another,  and  adhere 
In  a  firm  union,  hath  no  metal  in  't 
Fit  to  be  stamped  and  coined  in  my  mint. 

The  heart  that  vapours  out  itself  in  smoke, 
And  with  these  cloudy  shadows  thinks  to  cloke 

Its  empty  nakedness,  how  much 
Soever  thou  esteemest  it,  is  such 

As  never  will  endure  my  touch. 
Before  I  take  Jt  for  mine,  then  I  will  try 
What  kind  of  metal  in  thine  heart  doth  lie. 

Fll  bring  it  to  my  furnace,  and  there  see 
What  it  will  prove,  what  it  is  like  to  be. 

If  it  be  gold,  it  will  be  sure 
The  hottest  fire  that  can  be  to  endure, 

And  I  shall  draw  it  out  more  pure. 
Affliction  may  refine,  but  cannot  waste 
That  heart  wherein  my  love  is  fixed  fast. 


THE  HEART. 


303 


THE  SEARCHING  OF  THE  HEART. 

That  which  no  line  can  fathom,  I  alone 

Can  search  :  To  me  the  hamaa  heart  is  known. 


JER.  XVII.  <)i  10. 

The  heart  is  deceitful  above   all  things^  and  desperately 
wicked ;  who  can  know  it?     I  the  Lord. 

EPIC.  22. 

T     THAT  alone  am  infinite  can  try> 
A5  How  deep  within  itself  thine  heart  doth  lie. 
Thy  seamen's  plummet  can  but  reach  the  ground  : 
I  find  that  which  thine  heart  itself  ne'er  found. 


304  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE  XXII. 

A  GOODLY  heart  to  see  to,  fair  and  fat ! 

It  may  be  so  ;  and  what  of  that  ? 
Is  it  not  hollow  ?     Hath  it  not  within 

A  bottomless  whirlpool  of  sin  ? 
Are  there  not  secret  creeks  and  crannies  there, 

Turning  and  winding  corners,  where 
The  heart  itself  e'en  from  itself  may  hide, 

And  lurk  in  secret  unespied  ? 
I'll  none  of  it,  if  such  a  one  it  prove  : 
Truth  in  the  inward  parts  is  that  I  love. 
But  who  can  tell  what  is  within  thine  heart  ? 

'  Tis  not  a  work  of  nature  ;   art 
Cannot  perform  that  task  :  'tis  I  alone, 

Not  man,  to  whom  man's  heart  is  known. 
Sound  it  thou  may'st,  and  must :  but  then  the  line 

And  plummet  must  be  mine,  not  thine  ; 
And  I  must  guide  it  too  ;    thine  hand  and  eye 

May  quickly  be  deceiv'd  :  but  I, 
That  made  thine  heart  at  first,  am  better  skill'd 
To  know  when  it  is  empty,  when  'tis  fuTd. 
Lest  then  thou  shouldst  deceive  thyself,  for  Me 

Thou  canst  not ;  I  will  let  thee  see 
Some  of  those  depths  of  Satan,  depths  of  hell, 

Wherewith  thine  hollow  heart  doth  swell. 
Under  pretence  of  knowledge  in  thy  mind, 

Error  and  ignorance  I  find  ; 
Quicksands  of  rotten  superstition, 

Spread  over  with  misprision. 
Some  things  thou  knowest  not,  mis-knowest  othe 
And  oft  thy  conscience  its  own  knowledge  smothers. 

Thy  crooked  will,  that  seemingly  inclines 
To  follow  reason's  dictates,  twines 

Another  way  in  secret,  leaves  its  guide, 

And  lags  behind,  or  swerves  aside  ; 


THE  HEART.  305 


Crab-like,  creeps  backwards  ;  when  it  should  have  made 

Progress  in  good,  is  retrograde 
Whilst  it  pretends  a  privilege  above 

Reason's  prerogative,  to  move 
As  of  itself  unmov'd,  rude  passions  learn 
To  leave  the  oar,  and  take  in  hand*  the  stern. 

The  tides  of  thine  affections  ebb  and  flow, 

Rise  up  aloft,  fall  down  below, 
Like  to  the  sudden  land-floods,  that  advance 

Their  swelling  waters  but  by  chance, 
Thy  love,  desire,  thy  hope,  delight,  and  fear, 

Ramble  they  care  not  when,  nor  where. 
Yet  cunningly  bear  thee  in  hand,  they  be 

Only  directed  unto  me, 
Or  most  to  me,  and  would  no  notice  take 
Of  other  things,  but  only  for  my  sake. 

Such  strange  prodigious  impostures  lurk 

In  thy  praestigious  heart,  'tis  work 
Enough  for  thee  all  thy  lifetime  to  learn 

How  thou  may'st  truly  it  discern : 
That,  when  upon  mine  altar  thou  dost  lay 

Thine  ofPring,  thou  may'st  safely  say, 
And  swear  it  is  an  heart :  for,  if  it  should 

Prove  only  an  heart-case,  it  would 
Nor  pleasing  be  to  me,  nor  do  thee  good. 
An  heart 's  no  heart,  not  rightly  understood. 


3o6 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


libelling  irf  tfje 


The  heart's  true  level  if  you  still  design, 
Then  often  bring  it  to  be  try'd  by  mine. 

PSALM  XCVII.    II. 

Gladness  for  the  upright  in  heart. 

EPIG.  23. 

O  ET  thine  heart  upright,  if  thou  wouldst  rejoice, 
^  And  please  thyself  in  thine  heart's  pleasing  choice 
But  then  be  sure  thy  plumb  and  level  be 
Rightly  applied  to  that  which  pleaseth  me. 

ODE  XXIII. 

NAY,  yet  I  have  not  done  :  one  trial  more 
Thine  heart  must  undergo,  before 
I  will  accept  of  it  : 


THE  HEART. 


307 


Unless  I  see 
It  upright  be, 
I  cannot  think  it  fit 
To  be  admitted  in  my  sight, 
And  to  partake  of  mine  eternal  light. 

My  will's  the  rule  of  righteousness,  as  free 
From  error  as  uncertainty  : 

What  I  would  have  is  just. 
Thou  must  desire 
What  I  require, 
And  take  it  upon  trust : 
If  thou  prefer  thy  will  to  mine, 
The  level's  lost,  and  thou  go'st  out  of  line. 

Canst  thou  not  see  how  thine  heart  turns  aside, 
And  leans  towards  thyself?     How  wide 
A  distance  there  is  here  ? 
Until  I  see 
Both  sides  agree 
Alike  with  mine,  'tis  clear 
The  middle  is  not  where  't  should  be  ; 
Likes  something  better,  though  it  look  at  me. 

I,  that  know  best  how  to  dispose  of  thee, 
Would  have  thy  portion  poverty, 

Lest  wealth  should  make  thee  proud, 
And  me  forget: 
But  thou  hast  set 
Thy  voice  to  cry  aloud 
For  riches  :  and  unless  I  grant 
All  thou  wishest,  thou  complain'st  of  want. 

I,  to  preserve  thine  health,  would  have  thee  fast 
From  nature's  dainties,  lest  at  last 
Thy  senses'  sweet  delight 
Should  end  in  smart : 
But  thy  vain  heart 
Will  have  its  appetite 


308 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


Pleased  to-day,  though  grief  and  sorrow 
Threaten  to  cancel  all  thy  joys  to-morrow. 
I,  to  prevent  thy  hurt  by  climbing  high, 
Would  have  thee  be  content  to  lie 
Ouiet  and  safe  below, 

Where  peace  doth  dwell ; 
But  thou  dost  swell 
With  vast  desires,  as  though 
A  little  blast  of  vulgar  breath 
Were  better  than  deliverance  from  death. 

I,  to  procure  thy  happiness,  would  have 
Thee  mercy  at  mine  hands  to  crave: 
But  thou  dost  merit  plead, 
And  wilt  have  none 
But  of  thine  own, 
Till  justice  strike  thee  dead, 
And  all  thy  crooked  paths  go  cross  to  mine. 


THE  HEART. 


309 


i&enetotns  af  tfie 


Since  so  much  pleasure  novelties  impart, 
Resign  thine  old  for  this  new  better  heart. 


EZEK.  XXXVI.  26. 

A  new  heart  will  I  give  you^  and  a  new  spirit  will  I 

put  within  you. 

EPIG.  24. 

A  RT  thou  delighted  with  strange  novelties, 
<**•     Which  often  prove  but  old  fresh-garnished  lies  ? 
Leave  then  thine  old,  take  the  new  heart  I  give  thee : 
Condemn  thyself,  that  so  I  may  reprieve  thee. 


3io 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE  XXIV. 

No,  no,  I  see 
There  is  no  remedy  : 

An  heart,  that  wants  both  weight  and  worth, 
That's  fill'd  with  nought  but  empty  hollowness, 
And  screw'd  aside  with  stubborn  wilfulness, 
Is  only  fit  to  be  cast  forth, 
Nor  to  be  given  me, 
Nor  kept  by  thee. 

Then  let  it  go  ; 
And  if  thou  wilt  bestow 
An  acceptable  heart  on  me, 
I'll  furnish  thee  with  one  shall  serve  the  turn 
Both  to  be  kept  and  given  :  which  will  burn 
With  zeal,  yet  not  consumed  be  : 
Nor  with  a  scornful  eye 
Blast  standers-by. 

The  heart,  that  I 
Will  give  thee,  though  it  lie 
Buried  in  seas  of  sorrows,  yet 
Will  not  be  drown' d  with  doubt,  or  discontent ; 
Though  sad  complaints  sometimes  may  give  a  vent 
To  grief,  and  tears  the  cheeks  may  wet, 
Yet  it  exceeds  their  art 
To  hurt  his  heart. 

The  heart  I  give, 
Though  it  desire  to  live, 
And  bathe  itself  in  all  content, 
Yet  will  not  toil,  or  taint  itself  with  any : 
Although  it  take  a  view  and  taste  of  many, 
It  feeds  on  few,  as  though  it  meant 
To  breakfast  only  here, 
And  dine  elsewhere. 


THE  HEART.  311 


This  heart  is  fresh 
And  new  :  an  heart  of  flesh, 
Not,  as  thine  old  one  was,  of  stone. 
A  lively  spiritly  heart,  and  moving  still, 
Active  to  what  is  good,  but  slow  to  ill : 
An  heart,  that  with  a  sigh  and  groan 
Can  blast  all  worldly  joys, 
As  trifling  toys. 

This  heart  is  sound, 
And  solid  will  be  found  ; 
Tis  not  an  empty  airy  flash, 
That  baits  at  butterflies,  and  with  full  cry 
Opens  at  ev'ry  flirting  vanity. 

It  slights  and  scorns  such  paltry  trash  : 
But  for  eternity 

Dares  live  or  die. 

I  know  thy  mind  : 
Thou  seek'st  content  to  find 
In  such  things  as  are  new  and  strange. 
Wander  no  further  then  :  lay  by  thine  old, 
Take  the  new  heart  I  give  thee,  and  be  bold 
To  boast  thyself  of  the  exchange, 
And  say  that  a  new  heart 
Exceeds  all  art. 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


3Ettltgf)tening  of 


Thou  Light  of  lights,  O  by  thy  presence  bright 
Chase  my  heart's  darkness,  and  impart  thy  light. 

PSALM  XXXIV.  5. 

They  looked  on  him,  and  were  lightened. 

EPIG.  25. 

*1pHOU  art  Light  of  lights,  the  only  sight 
•*•       Of  the  blind  world,  lend  me  thy  saving  light 
Disperse  those  mists  which  in  my  soul  have  made 
Darkness  as  deep  as  hell's  eternal  shade. 


THE  HEAET.  313 


ODE   XXV. 

ALAS  !  that  I 
Could  not  before  espy 
The  soul-confounding  misery 
Of  this  more  than  Egyptian  dreadful  night ! 

To  be  deprived  of  the  light, 
And  to  have  eyes,  but  eyes  devoid  of  sight, 
As  mine  have  been,  is  such  a  woe, 
As  he  alone  can  know 
That  feels  it  so. 

Darkness  has  been 
My  GOD  and  me  between, 
Like  an  opacous  doubled  screen, 
Through  which  nor  light  nor  heat  could  passage  find, 

Gross  ignorance  hath  made  my  mind 
And  understanding  not  blear-ey'd,  but  blind ; 
My  will  to  all  that 's  good  is  cold, 
Nor  can,  though  I  would, 
Do  what  I  should. 

No,  now  I  see 
inhere  is  no  remedy 
Left  in' myself :  it  cannot  be 
That  blind  men  in  the  dark  should  find  the  way 

To  blessedness  :  although  they  may 
Imagine  the  high  midnight  is  noon-day, 

As  I  have  done  till  now,  they'll  know 
At  last,  unto  their  woe, 
'Twas  nothing  so. 

Now  I  perceive 
Presumption  doth  bereave 
Men  of  all  hope  of  help,  and  leave 
Them,  as  it  finds  them,  drown'd  in  misery  : 

Despairing  of  themselves,  to  cry 
For  mercy  is  the  only  remedy 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


That  sin-sick  souls  can  have ;  to  pray 
Against  this  darkness,  may 
Turn  it  to  day. 

Then  unto  thee, 
Great  LORD  of  light,  let  me 
Direct  my  prayer,  that  I  may  see. 
Thou,  that  didst  make  mine  eyes,  canst  soon  restore 

That  pow'r  of"  sight  they  had  before, 
And,  if  thou  seest  it  good,  canst  give  them  more* 
The  night  will  quickly  shine  like  day, 
If  thou  do  but  display 
One  glorious  ray. 

I  must  confess, 
And  I  can  do  no  less, 
Thou  art  the  Sun  of  righteousness  : 
There  's  healing  in  thy  wings  ;  thy  light  is  life  ; 

My  darkness  death.     To  end  all  strife, 
Be  thou  mine  husband,  let  me  be  thy  wife  j 
So  light  and  life  divine 
Will  all  be  thine. 


THE  HEART. 


tije 


Leave  the  stone  tables  for  thy  Saviour's  part  ; 
Keep  thou  the  law  that's  written  in  thy  heart* 

JER.  XXXI.  33. 

/  will  put  my  law  in  their  inward  parts  ^  and  write  it 
in  their  hearts. 


EPIG.  26. 

TN  the  soft  table  of  thine  heart  I'll  write 
-*"     A  new  law,  which  I  will  newly  indite. 
Hard  stony  tables  did  contain  the  old  : 
But  tender  leaves  of  flesh  shall  this  infold. 


316  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE  XXVI. 

WHAT  will  thy  sight 
Avail  thee,  or  my  light, 
If  there  be  nothing  in  thine  heart  to  see 
Acceptable  to  me  ? 
A  self-writ  heart  will  not 
Please  me,  or  do  thee  any  good  ;  I  wot 
The  paper  must  be  thine, 
The  writing  mine. 

1 1  What  I  indite 

'Tis  I  alone  can  write, 

And  write  in  books  that  I  myself  have  made. 
'Tis  not  an  easy  trade 
To  read  or  write  in  hearts  : 
They  that  are  skilful  in  all  other  arts, 
When  they  take  this  in  hand, 
Are  at  a  stand. 

My  law  of  old 
Tables  of  stone  did  hold, 
Wherein  I  wrote  what  I  before  had  spoken, 
Yet  were  they  quickly  broken  : 
A  sign  the  covenant 

Contain' d  in  them  would  due  observance  want. 
Nor  did  they  long  remain 
Copied  again. 

But  now  I'll  try 
What  force  in  flesh  doth  lie  : 
Whether  thine  heart  renewed  afford  a  place 
Fit  for  my  law  of  grace. 
This  covenant  is  better 

Than  that,  though  glorious,  of  the  killing  letter. 
This  gives  life,  not  by  merit, 
But  by  my  Spirit. 


THE  HEART.  317 


When  in  men's  hearts, 
And  their  most  inward  parts, 
I  by  my  Spirit  write  my  law  of  love, 
They  then  begin  to  move, 
Not  by  themselves,  but  me, 
And  obedience  is  their  liberty. 

There  are  no  slaves,  but  those 
That  serve  their  foes. 

When  I  have  writ 
My  covenant  in  it, 

View  thine  heart  by  my  light,  and  thou  shalt  see 
A  present  fit  for  me. 
The  worth,  for  which  I  look, 
Lies  in  the  lines,  not  in  the  leaves  of  the  book. 
Coarse  paper  may  be  lin'd 
With  words  refin'd  * 

And  such  are  mine. 
No  furnace  can  refine 
The  choicest  silver  so,  to  make  it  pure, 
As  my  law  put  in  ure 
Purgeth  the  hearts  of  men  : 
Which  being  rul'd,  and  written  with  my  pen, 
My  Spirit,  ev'ry  letter 

Will  make  them  better. 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


billing  nf  tfje 


Lord,  with  thy  plough  break  up  this  heart  of  mine, 
And  fit  it  to  receive  the  seed  divine. 


EZEK.  XXXVI.  9. 

/  will  turn  unto  you,  and  ye  shall  be  tilled  and  sown. 

EPIC.  27. 

E  heart's  a  field,  thy  cross  a  plough :  be  pleas'd. 
Dear  Spouse,  to  till  it,  till  the  mould  be  rais'd 
Fit  for  the  feeding  of  thy  word  :  then  sow, 
And  if  thou  shine  upon  it,  it  will  grow. 


THE  HEART.  319 


ODE  XXVII. 

So  now  methinks  I  find 
Some  better  vigour  in  my  mind ; 

My  will  begins  to  move, 

And  mine  affections  stir  towards  things  above  : 
Mine  heart  grows  big  with  hope  j  it  is  a  field 

That  some  good  fruit  may  yield, 
If  it  were  till'd  as  it  should  be, 
Not  by  myself,  but  thee. 

Great  Husbandman,  whose  pow'r 
All  difficulties  can  devour, 

And  do  what  likes  thee  best, 
Let  not  thy  field,  my  heart,  lie  by  and  rest ; 
Lest  it  be  over- run  with  noisome  weeds, 

That  spring  of  their  own  seeds  : 
Unless  thy  grace  the  growth  should  stop, 
Sin  would  be  all  my  crop. 

Break  up  my  fallow  ground, 
That  there  may  not  a  clod  be  found 

To  hide  one  root  of  sin. 
Apply  the  plough  betime  :  now,  now  begin 
To  furrow  up  my  stiff  and  starvy  heart ; 

No  matter  for  the  smart : 
Although  it  roar,  when  it  is  rent, 
Let  not  thine  hand  relent. 

Corruption's  rooted  deep ; 
Showers  of  repentant  tears  must  steep 

The  mould,  to  make  it  soft : 
It  must  be  stirr'd,  and  turn'd,  not  once,  but  oft. 
Let  it  have  all  its  seasons.     O  impart 

The  best  of  all  thine  art : 
For  of  itself  it  is  so  tough, 
All  will  be  but  enough. 


jao  Till*;  SCHOOL  ol' 


Or,  if  it  be  thy  will 
To  teach  me,  let  me  learn  the  skill 

Myself  to  plough  mine  heart : 
The  profit  will  be  mine,  and  'tis  my  part 
To  take  the  pains,  .uul  labour,  though  the'  increase 

Without  thy  blessing  cease  : 
li  lit  for  noiliinir  else-,  yet  thou 
May'st  make  me  draw  thy  plough : 

Which  of  thy  ploughs  thou  wilt, 
l'\u  thou  lust  more  than  one.      JVIy  »uilt, 

Thy  wrath,  thy  rods,  arc  all 
Ploughs  fit  to  tear  mine  neart  to  pieces  small : 
And  when,  in  these,  it  apprehends  thcc  near, 

'Tis  furrowed  with  fear : 
K.u-h  weed  nim'd  nuclei,  hides  its  head, 

And  shows  as  it  were  dead. 

Hut,  LORD,  thy  blessed  passion 
Is  a  plough  of  another  fashion, 

Better  than  all  the  rest. 
Oh  fasten  me  to  that,  and  let  the  rest 
Of  all  my  powers  strive  to  draw  it  in, 
And  leave  no  room  for  sin. 
The  virtue  of  thy  death  can  make 
Sin  its  fast  hold  forsake. 


getting  of  tlje  ffceatt. 


With  thine  own  hand,  O  Lord,  now  teed  the  ground, 
Lest  this  vile  heart  be  still  unfruitful  found*. 


LUKE  VIII.   15. 

*That  on  the  good  ground  are  they,  which,  with  an  honest 
and  good  heart,  having  heard  the  word,  keep  it,  and 
bring  forth  fruit  with  patience. 

EPIC.  28. 

T    KST  ( IK-  field  of  mine  heart  should  unto  flier, 

'  (iivat  Husbandman  ih.il  nuul'sl  it,  harrc'n  he, 
Manure-  the  I'.nmiul,  then  oum-  thyseU  and  seed  it  ; 
And  let  iliy  sci  v.mis  water  it  and  weed  it. 


3"  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE  XXVIII. 

NAY,  blessed  LORD, 

Unless  thou  wilt  afford 
Manure,  as  well  as  tillage,  to  thy  field, 

It  will  not  yield 
That  fruit  which  thou  expectedst  it  should  bear 

The  ground,  I  fear, 

Will  still  remain 
Barren  of  what  is  good  :  and  all  the  grain 

It  will  bring  forth, 
As  of  its  own  accord,  will  not  be  worth 

The  pains  of  gathering 
So  poor  a  thing. 

Some  faint  desire, 

That  quickly  will  expire, 
Wither,  and  die,  is  all  thou  canst  expect. 

If  thou  neglect 
To  sow  it  now  'tis  ready,  thou  shalt  find 

That  it  will  bind 

And  harder  grow 
Than  at  the  first  it  was.     Thou  must  bestow 

Some  further  cost, 
Else  all  thy  former  labour  will  be  lost. 

Mine  heart  no  corn  will  breed 
Without  thy  seed. 

Thy  word  is  seed, 

And  manure  too  :  will  feed, 
As  well  as  fill  mine  heart.     If  once  it  were 

Well  rooted  there, 
It  would  come  on  apace  :   O  then  neglect 

No  time  :  expect 

No  better  season. 
Now,  now  thy  field,  mine  heart,  is  ready  :  reason 

Surrenders  now ; 


THE  HEART.  323 


Now  my  rebellious  will  begins  to  bow. 
And  mine  affections  are 
Tamer  by  far. 

LORD,  I  have  lain 

Barren  too  long,  and  fain 
I  would  redeem  the  time,  that  I  may  be 

Fruitful  to  thee  ; 
Fruitful  in  knowledge,  faith,  obedience, 

Ere  I  go  hence  : 

That  when  I  come 
At  harvest  to  be  reaped,  and  brought  home, 

Thine  angels  may 
My  soul  in  thy  celestial  garner  lay, 

Where  perfect  joy  and  bliss 
Eternal  is. 

If  to  entreat 

A  crop  of  purest  wheat, 
A  blessing  too  transcendent  should  appear 

For  me  to  hear, 
LORD,  make  me  what  thou  wilt,  so  thou  wilt  take 

What  thou  dost  make, 

And  not  disdain 
To  house  me,  though  among  thy  coarsest  grain  ; 

So  I  may  be 
Laid  with  the  gleanings  gathered  by  thee, 

When  the  full  sheaves  are  spent, 
I  am  content. 


3*4 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


My  heart  toward  Heav'n  is  open ;  let  thy  showers 
Gently  distil,  and  aid  the  springing  flowers. 

ISAIAH  XXVII.   3. 

/  the  Lord  do  keep  it :   I  will  water  it  every  moment. 

EPIG.  29. 

/"^LOSE  downwards  towards  the  earth,  open  above 
^-^     Towards  Heav'n,  mine  heart  is.     O  let  thy  love 
Disti'l  in  fructifying  dews  of  grace, 
And  then  mine  heart  will  be  a  pleasant  place. 

ODE  XXIX. 

SEE  how  this  dry  and  thirsty  land, 
Mine  heart,  doth  gaping,  gaspmg  stand, 


THE  HEART.  325 


And,  close  below,  opens  towards  Heav'n  and  thee  \ 

Thou  Fountain  of  felicity, 
Great  LORD  of  living  waters,  water  me  : 

Let  not  my  breath,  that  pants  with  pain, 

Waste  and  consume  itself  in  vain. 

The  mists,  that  from  the  earth  do  rise, 

An  heav'n-born  heart  will  not  suffice  : 
Cool  it  without  they  may,  but  cannot  quench 

The  scalding  heat  within,  nor  drench 
Its  dusty  dry  desires,  or  fill  one  trench. 

Nothing,  but  what  comes  from  on  high, 

Can  heav'n-bred  longings  satisfy, 

See  how  the  seed,  which  thou  didst  sow, 

Lies  parch'd  and  wither' d  ;  will  not  grow 
Without  some  moisture,  and  mine  heart  hath  none 

That  it  can  truly  call  its  own, 
By  nature  of  itself,  more  than  a  stone  : 

Unless  thou  water  't,  it  will  lie 

Drowned  in  dust,  and  still  be  dry. 

Thy  tender  plants  can  never  thrive, 
Whilst  want  of  water  doth  deprive 

Their  roots  of  nourishment :  which  makes  them  call 
And  cry  to  thee,  great  All  in  All, 

That  seasonable  show'rs  of  grace  may  fall, 
And  water  them  :  thy  word  will  do  Jt, 
If  thou  vouchsafe  thy  blessing  to  *t. 

O  then  be  pleased  to  unseal 

Thy  fountain,  blessed  Saviour ;  deal 

Some  drops  at  least,  wherewith  my  drooping  spirits 
May  be  revived.     LORD,  thy  merits 

Yield  more  refreshing  than  the  world  inherits : 
Rivers,  yea  seas,  but  ditches  are, 
If  with  thy  springs  we  them  compare. 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


If  not  full  show'rs  of  rain,  yet,  LORD, 

A  little  pearly  dew  afford, 
Begot  by  thy  celestial  influence 

On  some  chaste  vapour,  raised  hence 
To  be  partaker  of  thine  excellence  : 

A  little,  if  it  come  from  thee, 

Will  be  of  great  avail  to  me. 

Thou  boundless  Ocean  of  grace, 

Let  thy  free  Spirit  have  a  place 
Within  mine  heart  :  full  rivers,  then,  I  know, 

Of  living  waters,  forth  will  flow  ; 
And  all  thy  plants,  thy  fruits,  thy  flow'rs  will  grow, 

Whilst  thy  springs  their  roots  do  nourish, 

They  must  needs  be  fat,  and  flourish. 


THE  HEAET. 


327 


jFtotoerg  jrf  tfje  ffteart 

These  lilies,  rais'd  from  seed  which  thou  didst  sow, 
I  give  thee,  with  the  soil  in  which  they  grow. 

CANT.  VI.   2. 

My  beloved  is  gone  down  Into  his  garden,  to  the  beds  of 
spices,  to  feed  in  the  gardens,  and  to  gather  lilies. 

EPIG.  30. 

/~pHESE  lilies  I  do  consecrate  to  thee, 
A       Beloved  Spouse,  which  spring,  as  thou  may'st  see 
Out  of  the  seed  thou  sowedst;  and  the  ground 
Is  better'd  by  thy  flow'rs,  when  they  abound. 

ODE  xxx. 

Is  there  a  joy  like  this  ? 
What  can  augment  my  bliss  ? 


3*8 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


If  my  Beloved  will  accept 
A  posy  of  these  flowers,  kept 
And  consecrated  unto  his  content, 
I  hope  hereafter  he  will  not  repent 

The  cost  and  pains  he  hath  bestowM 
So  freely  upon  me,  that  owM 
Him  all  I  had  before, 
And  infinitely  more. 

Nay,  try  them,  blessed  LORD  j 

Take  them  not  on  my  word, 
But  let  the  colour,  taste,  and  smell, 
The  truth  of  their  perfections  tell. 
Thou  that  art  infinite  in  wisdom,  see 
If  they  be  not  the  same  that  came  from  thee. 
If  any  difference  be  found, 
It  is  occasion'd  by  the  ground, 

Which  yet  I  cannot  see 

So  good  as  it  should  be. 

What  say'st  thou  to  that  Rose, 
That  queen  of  flowers,  whose 
Maiden  blushes,  fresh  and  fair, 
Outbrave  the  dainty  morning  air  ? 
Dost  thou  not  in  those  lovely  leaves  espy 
The  perfect  picture  of  that  modesty, 

That  self-condemning  shame-facedness. 
That  is  more  ready  to  confess 
A  fault,  and  to  amend, 
Than  it  is  to  offend  ? 

Is  not  this  lily  pure  ? 
What  fuller  can  procure 
A  white  so  perfect,  spotless,  clear, 
As  in  this  flower  doth  appear  ? 
Dost  thou  not  in  this  milky  colour  see 
The  lively  lustre  of  sincerity, 


THE  HEART. 


Which  no  hypocrisy  hath  painted, 
Nor  self-respecting  ends  have  tainted  ? 

Can  there  be  to  thy  sight 

A  more  entire  delight  ? 

Or  wilt  thou  have,  beside, 

Violets  purple-dy'd  ? 
The  sun-observing  marigold, 
Or  orpin  never  waxing  old, 
The  primrose,  cowslip,  gillyflow'r,  or  pink, 
Or  any  flow'r,  or  herb,  that  I  can  think 

Thou  hast  a  mind  unto  ?     I  shall 
Quickly  be  furnish'd  with  them  all, 

Jf  once  I  do  but  know 

That  thou  wilt  have  it  so 

Faith  is  a  fruitful  grace  ; 

Well  planted,  stores  the  place, 
Fills  all  the  borders,  beds,  and  bow'rs, 
With  wholesome  herbs  and  pleasant  flow'rs 
Great  Gardener,  thou  say'st,  and  I  believe, 
What  thou  dost  mean  to  gather,  thou  wilt  give. 

Take  then  mine  heart  in  hand,  to  fill 't, 
And  it  shall  yield  thee  what  thou  wilt. 

Yea  thou,  by  gath'ring  more, 

Shalt  still  increase  my  store 


330 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


Helping  of  ti)e 


His  heart  is  guarded  well,  whose  hands  appear 
Arm'd  with  a  flaming  sword  by  holy  fear. 

PROV.  IV.  23. 

Keep  thy  heart  with  all  diligence. 

EPIG.  31. 

T  IKE  to  a  garden  that  is  closed  round, 
-*—  '     That  heart  is  safely  kept,  which  still  is  found 
Compass'd  with  care,  and  guarded  with  the  fear 
Of  GOD,  as  with  a  flaming  sword  and  spear. 

ODE  XXXI. 

The  Soul. 

LORD,  wilt  thou  suffer  this  ?     Shall  vermin  spoil 
The  fruit  of  all  thy  toil, 


THE  HEAET.  331 


Thy  trees,  thine  herbs,  thy  plants,  thy  flow'rs  thus 

And,  for  an  overplus 
Of  spite  and  malice,  overthrow  thy  mounds. 

Lay  common  all  thy  grounds  ? 
Canst  thou  endure  thy  pleasant  garden  should 
Be  thus  turn'd  up  as  ordinary  mould  ? 

Christ. 
What  is  the  matter  ?  why  dost  thou  complain  ? 

Must  I  as  well  maintain, 
And  keep,  as  make  thy  fences  ?  wilt  thou  take 

No  pains  for  thine  own  sake  ? 
Or  doth  thy  self-confounding  fancy  fear  thee, 

When  there  's  no  danger  near  thee  ? 
Speak  out  thy  doubts,  and  thy  desires,  and  tell  me, 
What  enemy  or  can  or  dares  to  quell  thee  ? 

The  Soul. 
Many,  and  mighty,  and  malicious,  LORD, 

That  seek,  with  one  accord, 
To  work  my  speedy  ruin,  and  make  haste 

To  lay  the  garden  waste, 
The  devil  is  a  ramping  roaring  lion, 

Hates  at  his  heart  thy  Zion, 
And  never  gives  it  respite  day  nor  hour. 
But  still  goes  seeking  whom  he  may  devour. 

The  world  's  a  wilderness,  wherein  I  find 

Wild  beasts  of  every  kind, 
Foxes,  and  wolves,  and  dogs,  and  boars,  and  bears  ; 

And,  which  augments  my  fears, 
Eagles  and  vultures,  and  such  birds  of  prey, 

Will  not  be  kept  away  : 
Besides  the  light-abhorring  owls  and  bats, 
And  secret  corner-creeping  mice  and  rats. 

But  these,  and  many  more,  would  not  dismay 
Me  much,  unless  there  lay 


332  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


One  worse  than  all  within,  myself  I  mean  : 

My  false,  unjust,  unclean, 
Faithless,  disloyal  self,  that  both  entice 

And  entertain  each  vice  ; 
This  home-bred  traitorous  partaking 's  worse 
Than  all  the  violence  of  foreign  force. 

LORD,  thou  may'st  see  my  fears  are  grounded,  rise 

Not  from  a  bare  surmise, 
Or  doubt  of  danger  only  ;  my  desires 

Are  but  what  need  requires, 
Of  thy  Divine  protection  and  defence 

To  keep  these  vermin  hence  : 
Which,  if  they  should  not  be  restrain'd  by  thee, 
Would  grow  too  strong  to  be  kept  out  by  me. 

Christ. 
Thy  fear  is  just,  and  I  approve  thy  care. 

But  yet  thy  comforts  are 
Provided  for,  e'en  it  that  care  and  fear  : 

Whereby  it  doth  appear 
Thou  hast  what  thou  desirest,  my  protection 

To  keep  thee  from  defection. 
The  heart  that  cares  and  fears,  is  kept  by  me  : 
I  watch  thee,  whilst  thv  foes  are  watched  bv  thee. 


THE  HEART. 


333 


asaatdnng  af  tty 


My  wakeful  heart,  that  loves  thy  presence,  keeps 
A  constant  watch,  e'en  while  my  body  sleeps. 

CANT.  V.  2. 

1  sleepy  but  my  heart  waketh. 

EPIG.  32. 

TT7HILST  the  soft  bands  of  sleep  tie  up  my  senses, 
*  V-      My  watchful  heart,  free  from  all  such  pretences, 
Searches  for  thee,  inquires  of  all  about  thee, 
Nor  day  nor  night,  able  to  be  without  thee. 

ODE  XXXII. 

IT  must  be  *o  ;  that  GOD  that  gave 
Me  senses,  and  a  mind,  would  have 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


Me  use  them  both,  but  in  their  several  kinds  ; 
Sleep  must  refresh  my  senses,  but  my  mind's 

A  sparkle  of  heav'nly  fire,  that  feeds 

On  action  and  employment,  needs 
No  time  of  rest :  for,  when  it  thinks  to  please 
Itself  with  idleness,  'tis  least  at  ease. 

Though  quiet  rest  refresh  the  head, 

The  heart,  that  stirs  not,  sure  is  dead. 

Whilst,  then,  my  body  ease  doth  take, 

My  rest-refusing  heart  shall  wake  : 
And  that  mine  heart  the  better  watch  may  keep, 
I'll  lay  my  senses  for  a  time  to  sleep. 

Wanton  desires  shall  not  entice, 

Nor  lust  inveigle  them  to  vice  : 
No  fading  colours  shall  allure  my  sight, 
Nor  sounds  enchant  mine  ears  with  their  delight : 

I'll  bind  my  smell,  my  touch,  my  taste, 

To  keep  a  strict  religious  fast. 

My  worldly  business  shall  lie  still, 

That  heav'nly  thoughts  my  mind  may  fill : 

My  Martha's  cumbering  cares  shall  cease  their  noise, 

That  Mary  may  attend  her  better  choice. 
That  meditation  may  advance 
My  heart  on  purpose,  not  by  chance, 

My  body  shall  keep  holyday,  that  so 

My  mind  with  better  liberty  may  go 
About  her  business,  and  engross 
That  gain  which  worldly  men  count  loss. 

And  though  my  senses  sleep  the  while, 

My  mind  my  senses  shall  beguile 

With  dreams  of  thee,  dear  LORD,  whose  rare  perfections 
Of  excellence  are  such,  that  bare  inspections 

Cannot  suffice  my  greedy  soul, 

Nor  her  fierce  appetite  control ; 


THE  HEART.  335 


But  that  the  more  she  looks,  the  more  she  longs, 
And  strives  to  thrust  into  the  thickest  throngs 

Of  those  divine  discoveries 

Which  dazzle  even  angels'  eyes. 

Oh  could  I  lay  aside  this  flesh, 

And  follow  after  thee  with  fresh 
And  free  desires  !  my  distentangled  soul, 
Ravish'd  with  admiration,  should  roll 

Itself  and  all  its  thoughts  on  thee  j 

And,  by  believing,  strive  to  see 
What  is  invisible  to  flesh  and  blood, 
And  only  by  fruition  understood  : 

The  beauty  of  each  sev'ral  grace. 

That  shines  in  thy  sun-shaming  face. 

But  what  can  I  do  that  I  will, 

Waking  and  sleeping,  seek  thee  still : 
Pll  leave  no  place  unpry'd  into  behind  me 
Where  I  can  but  imagine  I  may  find  thee  : 

I'll  ask  of  all  I  meet,  if  they 

Can  tell  me  where  thou  art,  which  way 
Thou  goest  that  I  may  follow  after  thee, 
Which  way  thou  com'st,  that  thou  may'st  meet  with  me. 

If  not  thy  face,  LORD,  let  mine  heart 

Behold  with  Moses  thy  back  part. 


336 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


With  thousand  shafts  O  pierce  this  heart  of  mine  j 
The  wounds  thou  givest,  Lord,  are  balm  divine. 

LAM.  III.   12. 
He  hath  bent  his  bow^  and  set  me  as  a  mark  for  the  arrow. 

EPIG.  33. 

A   THOUSAND  of  thy  strongest  shafts,  my  Light, 
^*     Draw  up  against  this  heart  with  all  thy  might, 
And  strike  it  through  :  they,  that  in  need  do  stand 
Of  cure,  are  healed  hy  thy  wounding  hand 

ODE  XXXIII. 

NAY,  spare  me  not,  dear  LORD,  it  cannot  be 
They  should  be  hurt,  that  wounded  are  by  thee. 


THE  HEART.  337 


Thy  shafts  will  heal  the  hearts  they  hit, 

And  to  each  sore  its  salve  will  fit. 
All  hearts  by  nature  are  both  sick  and  sore, 
And  mine  as  much  as  any  else,  or  more  : 

There  is  no  place  that 's  free  from  sin, 

Neither  without  it,  nor  within  ; 
And  universal  maladies  do  crave 
Variety  of  medicines  to  have. 

First,  let  the  arrow  of  thy  piercing  eye, 
Whose  light  outvieth  the  star-spangled  sky, 

Strike  through  the  darkness  of  my  mind, 

And  leave  no  cloudy  mist  behind. 
Let  thy  resplendent  rays  of  knowledge  dart 
Bright  beams  of  understanding  to  mine  heart  i 

To  my  sin-shadowed  heart,  wherein 

Black  ignorance  did  first  begin 
To  blur  thy  beautious  image,  and  deface 
The  glory  of  thy  self-sufficing  grace. 

Next  let  the  shaft  of  thy  sharp-pointed  pow'r, 
Discharged  by  that  strength  that  can  devour 

All  difficulties,  and  incline 

Stout  opposition  to  resign 
Its  steely  stubbornness,  subdue  my  will ; 
Make  it  hereafter  ready  to  fulfil 

Thy  royal  law  of  righteousness, 

As  gladly  as,  I  must  confess, 
It  hath  fulfilled  heretofore  th'  unjust, 
Profane,  and  cruel  laws  of  its  own  lust. 

Then  let  that  love  of  thine,  which  made  thee  leave 
The  bosom  of  thy  Father,  and  bereave 

Thyself  of  thy  transcendent  glory, 

(Matter  for  an  eternal  story  ! ) 
Strike  through  mine  affections  all  together ; 
And  let  that  sunshine  clear  the  cloudy  weather, 


338  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


Wherein  they  wander  without  guide, 

Or  order,  as  the  wind  and  tide 
Of  floating  vanities  transport  and  toss  them, 
Till  self-forgotten  troubles  curb  and  cross  them, 

LORD,  empty  all  thy  quivers,  let  there  be 
No  corner  of  my  spacious  heart  left  free, 

Till  all  be  but  one  wound,  wherein 

No  subtle  sight-abhorring  sin 
May  lurk  in  secret  unespy'd  by  me, 
Or  reign  in  pow'r  unsubduM  by  thee, 

Perfect  thy  purchased  victory, 

That  thou  may'st  ride  triumphantly, 
And,  leading  captive  all  captivity, 
May'st  put  an  end  to  enmity  in  me. 

Then,  blessed  archer,  in  requital,  I 
To  shoot  thine  arrows  back  again  will  try  ; 
By  prayers  and  praises,  sighs  and  sobs, 
By  vows  and  tears,  by  groans  and  throbs, 
I'll  see  if  I  can  pierce  and  wound  thine  heart, 
And  vanquish  thee  again  by  thine  own  art ; 
Or,  that  we  may  at  once  provide 
For  all  mishaps  that  may  betide, 
Shoot  thou  thyself  thy  polish'd  shaft  to  me, 
And  I  will  shoot  my  broken  heart  to  thee. 


THE  HEART. 


339 


5ttf)afnting  of  tfje 


While  here  thy  Spirit  dwells,  my  heart  shall  burn 
With  thine  own  love  j  which  sure  thou  wilt  return. 


GAL.  IV.   6. 

God  hath  sent  forth  the  Spirit  of  his  Son  into  your  hearts. 

EPIG.  34. 

TVTlNE    heart  's    an    house,    my    Light,   and    thou 

LVJ-     canst  tell 

There  's  room  enough  ;  O  let  thy  Spirit  dwell 

For  ever  there :  that  so  thou  may'st  love  me, 

And,  being  lov'd,  I  may  again  love  thee. 


340  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE  XXXIV. 

WELCOME,  great  guest ;  this  house,  mine  heart, 
Shall  all  be  thine  : 
I  will  resign 

Mine  interest  in  ev'ry  part : 
Only  be  pleased  to  use  it  as  thine  own 
For  ever,  and  inhabit  it  alone : 
There 's  room  enough  ;  and,  if  the  furniture 
Were  answerably  fitted,  I  am  sure 

Thou  wouldst  be  well  content  to  stay, 
And,  by  thy  light, 
Possess  my  sight 
With  sense  of  an  eternal  day. 

It  is  thy  building,  LORD  ;  'twas  made 
At  thy  command, 
And  still  doth  stand 
Upheld  and'  sheltered  by  the  shade 
Of  thy  protecting  Providence  j  though  such 
As  is  decayed  and  impaired  much, 
Since  the  removal  of  thy  residence, 
When,  with  thy  grace,  glory  departed  hence  : 
It  hath  been  all  this  while  an  inn 
To  entertain 
The  vile,  and  vain, 
And  wicked  companies  of  sin. 

Although  't  be  but  an  house  of  clay, 
Fram'd  out  of  dust, 
And  such  as  must 
Dissolved  be,  yet  it  was  gay 
Arid  glorious  indeed,  when  ev'ry  place 
Was  furnished  and  fitted  with  thy  grace : 
When,  in  the  presence-chamber  of  my  mind, 
The  bright  sun-beams  of  perfect  knowledge  shinM  : 
When  my  will  was  thy  bedchamber, 


THE  HEART.  341 


And  ev'ry  power 
A  stately  tower, 
Sweeten' d  with  thy  Spirit's  amber. 

But  whilst  thou  dost  thyself  absent, 
It  is  not  grown 
Noisome  alone, 
But  all  to  pieces  torn  and  rent. 
The  windows  all  are  stopt,  or  broken  so, 
That  no  light  without  wind  can  thorough  go. 
The  roof's  uncovered,  and  the  wall  's  decay'd, 
The  door's  flung  off  the  hooks,  the  floor's  unlay'd  ; 
Yea  the  foundation  rotten  is, 
And  everywhere 
It  doth  appear 
All  that  remains  is  far  amiss. 

But  if  thou  wilt  return  again, 
And  dwell  in  me, 
LORD,  thou  shalt  see 
What  care  I  '11  take  to  entertain 
Thee,  though  not  like  thyself,  yet  in  such  sort 
As  thou  wilt  like,  and  I  shall  thank  thee  for  't. 
LORD,  let  thy  blessed  Spirit  keep  possession, 
And  all  things  will  be  well  :  at  least,  confession 
Shall  tell  thee  what 's  amiss  in  me, 
And  then  thou  shalt 
Or  mend  the  fault, 
Or  take  the  blame  of  all  on  thee. 


342 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


rf  tfje 

That 's  pleasant  now,  which  once  I  strove  to  shun, 
With  heart  enlarg'd  the  narrow  way  to  run. 

PSALM  CXJX.   32. 

/  will  run   the  way   of  thy    commandments^    when   thou 
shalt  enlarge  my  heart. 


EPIG.  35. 


Tj 
*•* 


OW  pleasant  is  that  now,  which  heretofore 

Mine  heart  held  bitter,  sacred  learning's  lore  ! 
Enlarged  heart  enters  with  greatest  ease 
The  straightest  paths,  and  runs  the  narrowest  ways. 


THE  HEART.  343 


ODE  XXXV. 

What  a  blessed  change  I  find, 

Since  I  entertained  this  guest ! 
Now  methinks  another  mind 

Moves  and  rules  within  my  breast. 
Surely  I  am  not  the  same 
That  I  was  before  he  came  ; 
But  I  then  was  much  to  blame. 

When,  before,  my  GOD  commanded 

Any  thing  he  would  have  done, 
I  was  close  and  gripple-handed, 
Made  an  end  ere  I  begun. 

If  he  thought  it  fit  to  lay 
Judgments  on  me,  I  could  say, 
They  are  good  ;  but  shrink  away. 

All  the  ways  of  righteousness 

I  did  think  were  full  of  trouble ; 
I  complain'd  of  tediousness, 
And  each  duty  seemed  double. 

Whilst  I  serv'd  him  but  of  fear, 
Ev'ry  minute  did  appear 
Longer  far  than  a  whole  year. 

Strictness  in  religion  seemed 

Like  a  pined,  pinion'd  thing  : 
Bolts  and  fetters  I  esteemed 
More  beseeming  for  a  king, 

Than  for  me  to  bow  my  neck, 

And  be  at  another's  beck, 

When  I  felt  my  conscience  check. 

But  the  case  is  altered  now  : 

He  no  sooner  turns  his  eye, 
But  I  quickly  bend,  and  bow, 

Ready  at  his  feet  to  lie : 


344  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


Love  hath  taught  me  to  obey 
All  his  precepts,  and  to  say, 
Not  to-morrow,  but  to-day. 

What  he  wills,  I  say  I  must : 
What  I  must,  I  say  I  will : 
He  commanding;,  it  is  just 

What  he  would  I  should  fulfil. 
Whilst  he  biddeth,  I  believe 
What  he  calls  for  he  will  give  : 
To  obey  him,  is  to  live. 

His  commandments  grievous  are  not, 
Longer  than  men  think  them  so  : 
Though  he  send  me  forth,  I  care  not, 
Whilst  he  gives  me  strength  to  go ; 
When  or  whither,  all  is  one  ; 
On  his  bus'ness,  not  mine  own, 
I  shall  never  go  alone. 

If  I  be  complete  in  him, 

And  in  him  all  fulness  dwelleth, 
I  am  sure  aloft  to  swim, 

Whilst  that  Ocean  overswelleth. 
Having  Him  that's  All  in  All, 
I  am  confident  I  shall 
Nothing  want,  for  which  I  call. 


THE  HEART. 


345 


Inflaming  irf  tfje 


Thus  my  fond  heart,  inflam'd  with  strong  desire, 
Shall,  like  a  salamander,  live  in  fire. 


PSALM  XXXIX.  3. 

My  heart  was  hot  within   me  :   while  I  was  musing,  the 
fire  burned. 

EPIG.  36. 

CPARE  not,  my  Love,  to  kindle  and  inflame 
^     Mine  heart  within  throughout,  until  the  same 
Break  forth,  and  burn  :  that  so  thy  salamander, 
Mine  heart,  may  never  from  thy  furnace  wander. 


346  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE  XXXVI. 

WELCOME,  holy,  heav'nly  fire, 
Kindled  by  immortal  love  : 
Which  descending  from  above, 
Makes  all  earthly  thoughts  retire, 
And  give  place 
To  that  grace, 
Which,  with  gentle  violence, 
Conquers  all  corrupt  affections, 
Rebel  nature's  insurrections, 
Bidding  them  be  packing  hence. 

LORD,  thy  fire  doth  heat  within, 

Warmeth  not  without  alone  ; 

Though  it  be  an  heart  of  stone, 
Of  itself  congeal' d  in  sin, 
Hard  as  steel, 
If  it  feel 
Thy  dissolving  pow'r,  it  groweth 

Soft  as  wax,  and  quickly  takes 

Any  print  thy  Spirit  makes, 
Paying  what  thou  say'st  it  oweth. 

Of  itself  mine  heart  is  dark  ; 

But  thy  fire,  by  shining  bright, 

Fills  it  full  of  saving  light. 
Though  't  be  but  a  little  spark 
Lent  by  thee, 
I  shall  see 
More  by  it  than  all  the  light, 

Which  in  fullest  measure  streams 

From  corrupted  nature's  beams, 
Can  discover  to  my  sight. 

Though  mine  heart  be  ice  and  snow 
To  the  things  which  thou  hast  chosen, 
All  benumb' d  with  cold,  and  frozen, 

Yet  thy  fire  will  make  it  glow. 


THE  HEART.  347 


Though  it  burns, 
When  it  turns 

Towards  the  things  which  thou  dost  hate, 
Yet  thy  blessed  warmth,  no  doubt, 
Will  that  wild  fire  soon  draw  out. 
And  the  heat  thereof  abate. 

LORD,  thy  fire  is  active,  using 

Always  either  to  ascend 

To  its  native  heav'n,  or  lend 
Heat  to  others  :  and  diffusing 
Of  its  store, 
Gathers  more, 
Never  ceasing  till  it  make 

All  things  like  itself  and  longing 

To  see  others  come  with  thronging, 
Of  thy  goodness  to  partake. 

LORD,  let  then  thy  fire  inflame 

My  cold  heart  so  thoroughly, 

That  the  heat  may  never  die, 
But  continue  still  the  same  : 
That  I  may 
Ev'ry  day 
More  and  more,  consuming  sin, 

Kindling  others,  and  attending 

All  occasions  of  ascending, 
Heaven  upon  earth  begin. 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


Eatfter  of  tije 


Would  you  scale  Heav'n,  and  use  a  ladder's  aid  ? 
Then  in  thy  heart  let  the  first  step  be  made. 


PSALM  LXXXIV.  5. 

In  whose  heart  are  the  ways  of  them. 

EPIG.  37. 

TT^OULDST     thou,     my     love,     a     ladder     have 

**       whereby 

Thou  may'st  climb  Heav'n,  to  sit  down  on  high  ? 
In  thine  own  heart,  then,  frame  thee  steps,  and  bend 
Thy  mind  to  muse  how  thou  may'st  there  ascend. 


THE  HEAET.  349 


ODE  XXXVII. 

The  Soul.  WHAT  ! 

Shall  I 
Always  lie 
Groveling  on  earth, 
Where  there  is  no  mirth  ? 
Why  should  I  not  ascend 
And  climb  up,  where  I  may  mend 
My  mean  estate  of  misery  ? 
Happiness,  I  know,  is  exceeding  high  : 
Yet  sure  there  is  some  remedy  for  that. 

Christ.  True, 

There  is. 
Perfect  bliss 
May  be  had  above  : 
But  he,  that  will  obtain 
Such  a  gold-exceeding  gain,1 
Must  never  think  to  reach  the  same, 
And  scale  Heav'n's  walls,  until  he  frame 
A  ladder  in  his  heart  as  near  as  new. 

The  Soul.  LORD, 

I  will: 
But  the  skill 
Is  not  mine  own  : 
Such  an  art 's  not  known, 
Unless  thou  wilt  it  teach  : 
It  is  far  above  the  reach  : 
Of  mortal  minds  to  understand. 
But  if  thou  wilt  lend  thine  helping  hand, 
I  will  endeavour  to  obey  thy  word. 

Christ. 

Well 
Then,  see 
That  thou  be 


350  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


As  ready  prest 
To  perform  the  rest, 
As  now  to  promise  fair : 
And  I'll  teach,  thee  how  to  rear 
A  scaling-ladder  in  thine  heart 
To  mount  Heav'n  with  :  no  rules  of  art, 
But  I  alone,  can  the  composure  tell. 

First, 

Thou  must 
Take  on  trust 
All  that  I  say ; 
Reason  must  not  sway 
Thy  judgment  cross  to  mine, 
But  her  sceptre  quite  resign. 
Faith  must  be  both  thy  ladder's  sides, 
Which  will  stay  thy  steps  whatever  betides, 
And  satisfy  thine  hunger,  and  thy  thirst. 

Then, 
The  round 
Next  the  ground, 
Which  I  must  see, 
Is  humility  : 

From  which  thou  must  ascend, 
And  with  perseverance  end. 
Virtue  to  virtue,  grace  to  grace, 
Must  each  orderly  succeed  in  its  place  ; 
And  when  thou  hast  done  all,  begin  again. 


THE  HEART. 


O  that  on  wings  my  weary  heart  could  rise, 
Quit  this  vain  world,  and  seek  her  native  skies. 

ISAIAH  LX.  8. 

Who  are  these  that  fly  as  a  cloud,  and  as  the  doves  to  their 
windows  ? 


EPIG.  38. 

/"\H  that  mine  heart  had  wings  like  to  a  dove, 

That  I  might  quickly  hasten  hence,  and  move 
With  speedy  flight  towards  the  celestial  spheres, 
As  weary  of  this  world,  its  faults  and  fears. 


352  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE  XXXVIII. 

THIS  way,  though  pleasant,  yet  methinks  is  long 
Step  after  step,  makes  little  haste, 
And  I  am  not  so  strong 
As  still  to  last 
Among 
So  great, 
.'^         So  many  lets  : 

Swelter' d  and  swill'd  in  sweat, 
My  toiling  soul  both  fumes  and  frets, 
As  though  she  were  inclined  tp  a  retreat. 

Corruption  clogs  my  feet  like  filthy  clay, 
And  I  am  ready  still  to  slip  : 

Which  makes  me  often  stay, 
When  I  should  trip 
Away. 
My  fears 

And  faults  are  such, 
As  challenge  all  my  tears 
So  justly,  that  it  were  not  much, 
If  I  in  weeping  should  spend  all  my  years. 

This  makes  me  weary  of  the  world  below, 
And  greedy  of  a  place  above, 
On  which  I  may  bestow 
My  choicest  love  j 
And  so 
Obtain 

That  favour,  which 
Excels  all  worldly  gain, 
And  maketh  the  possessor  rich 
In  happiness  of  a  transcendent  strain. 

What  !  must  I  still  be  rooted  here  below, 
And  riveted  unto  the  ground, 

Wherein  mine  haste  to  grow 


THE  HEART.  353 


Will  be,  though  sound, 
But  slow  ? 
I  know 

The  sun  exhales 
Gross  vapours  from  below, 
Which,  scorning  as  it  were  the  vales, 
On  mountain-topping  clouds  themselves  bestow. 

But  my  fault-frozen  heart  is  slow  to  move, 
Makes  poor  proceedings  at  the  best, 
As  though  it  did  not  love, 
Nor  long  for  rest 
Above. 
Mine  eyes 
Can  upward  look, 
As  though  they  did  despise 
All  things  on  earth,  and  could  not  brook 
Their  presence  :  but  mine  heart  is  slow  to  rise. 

Oh  that  it  were  once  winged  like  the  dove, 
That  in  a  moment  mounts  on  high, 
Then  should  it  soon  remove 
Where  it  may  lie 
In  love. 
And  lo, 
This  one  desire 
Methinks  have  imp'd  it  so, 
That  it  already  flies  like  fire, 
And  e'en  my  verses  into  wings  do  grow. 


A  A 


354 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


of  tfje 


Live  ye  united  minds,  and  social  hearts, 
To  whom  one  love  but  one  desire  imparts. 


EZEK.  XI.    19. 

/  will  give  them  one  heart* 

EPIC.  39. 

T   IKE-MINDED  minds,  hearts  alike  heartily 
*-*     Affected,  will  together  live  and  die  : 
Many  things  meet  and  part :  but  love's  great  cable, 
Tying  two  hearts,  makes  them  inseparable. 


THE  HEAET.  355 


ODE  XXXIX. 

The  Soul. 

ALL  this  is  not  enough  :    methinks  I  grow 
More  greedy  by  fruition  :  what  I  get 

Serves  but  to  set 
An  edge  upon  mine  appetite, 
And  all  thy  gifts  do  but  invite 

My  pray'rs  for  more. 

LORD,  if  thou  wilt  not  still  increase  my  store, 
Why  didst  thou  anything  at  all  bestow  : 

Christ. 

And  is  't  the  fruit  of  having  still  to  crave  ? 
Then  let  thine  heart  united  be  to  mine, 

And  mine  to  thine, 
In  a  firm  union,  whereby, 
We  may  no  more  be  thou  and  I, 

Or  I  and  thou, 

But  both  the  same  :  and  then  I  will  avow, 
Thou  can'st  not  want  what  thou  dost  wish  to  have. 

The  Soul. 

True  LORD,  for  thou  art  All  in  All  to  me ; 
But  how  to  get  my  stubborn  heart  to  twine 

And  close  with  thine, 
I  do  not  know,  nor  can  I  guess 
How  I  should  ever  learn,  unless 

Thou  wilt  direct 

The  course  that  I  must  take  to  that  effect. 
'Tis  thou,  not  I,  must  knit  mine  heart  to  thee. 

Christ. 

'Tis  true,  and  so  I  will  :  but  yet  thou  must 
Do  something  towards  it  too  :  First  thou  must  lay 

All  sin  away, 

And  separate  from  that,  which  would 
Our  meeting  intercept,  and  hold 
Us  distant  still : 


356  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


I  am  all  goodness,  and  can  close  with  ill 
No  more  than  richest  diamonds  with  dust. 

Then  thou  must  not  count  any  earthly  thing, 
However  gay  and  gloriously  set  forth, 

Of  any  worth, 

Compared  with  me,  that  am  alone 
Th'  eternal,  high,  and  holy  One  : 

But  place  thy  love 
Only  on  me  and  the  things  above, 
Which  true  content  and  endless  comfort  bring. 

Love  is  the  loadstone  of  the  heart,  the  glue, 
The  cement,  and  the  solder,  which  alone 

Unites  in  one 

Things  that  before  were  not  the  same, 
But  only  like  ;  imparts  the  name, 

And  nature  too, 

Of  each  to  the  other  :  nothing  can  undo 
The  knot  that  Js  knit  by  love,  if  it  be  true. 

But  if  in  deed  and  truth  thou  lovest  me, 
And  not  in  word  alone,  then  I  shall  find 

That  thou  dost  mind 
The  things  I  mind,  and  regulate 
All  thine  affections,  love  and  hate, 

Delight,  desire. 

Fear,  and  the  rest,  by  what  I  do  require, 
And  I  in  thee  myself  shall  always  see. 


THE  HEART. 


357 


My  heart,  of  earthly  scenes  quite  weary  grown, 
Seeks  for  repose  and  rest  in  God  alone. 


PSALM  CXVI.   7. 

Return  unto  thy  resty  0  my  soul. 

EPIG.  40. 

Ti/TY  busy,  stirring  heart,  that  seeks  the  best, 
™*-     Can  find  no  place  on  earth  wherein  to  rest 
For  GOD  alone,  the  author  of  its  bliss, 
Its  only  rest,  its  only  centre  is. 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE  XL. 

MOVE  me  no  more,  mad  world,  it  is  in  vain. 

Experience  tells  me  plain 

I  should  deceived  be, 
If  ever  I  again  should  trust  in  thee. 

My  weary  heart  hath  ransack'd  all 

Thy  treasures,  both  great  and  small, 
And  thy  large  inventory  bears  in  mind  : 

Yet  could  it  never  find 

One  place  wherein  to  rest, 
Though  it  hath  often  tried  all  the  best. 

Thy  profits  brought  me  loss  instead  of  gain* 

And  all  thy  pleasures  pain  : 

Thine  honours  blurr'd  my  name 
With  the  deep  stains  of  self-confounding  shame. 

Thy  wisdom  made  me  turn  stark  fool ; 

And  all  the  learning,  that  thy  school 
Afforded  me,  was  not  enough  to  make 

Me  know  myself,  and  take 

Care  of  my  better  part, 

Which  should  have  perished  for  all  thine  heart. 
Not  that  there  is  not  a  place  of  rest  in  thee 

For  others  :  but  for  me 

There  is,  there  can  be  none  ; 
That  GOD,  that  made  mine  heart,  is  he  alone 

That  of  himself  both  can  and  will 

Give  rest  unto  my  thoughts,  and  fill 
Them  full  of  all  content  and  quietness  ; 

That  so  I  may  possess 

My  soul  in  patience, 
Until  he  find  it  time  to  call  me  hence. 

On  thee,  then,  as  a  sure  foundation, 

A  tried  corner-stone, 

LORD,  I  will  strive  to  raise 
The  tow'r  of  my  salvation,  and  thy  praise. 


THE  HEART.  359 


In  thee,  as  in  my  centre,  shall 

The  lines  of  all  my  longings  fall. 
To  thee,  as  to  mine  anchor,  surely  tied, 

My  ship  shall  safely  ride. 

On  thee,  as  on  my  bed 
Of  soft  repose,  I'll  rest  my  weary  head. 

Thou,  thou  alone,  shalt  be  my  whole  desire ; 

I'll  nothing  else  require 

But  thee,  or  for  thy  sake. 
In  thee  I'll  sleep  secure  ;  and,  when  I  wake, 

Thy  glorious  face  shall  satisfy 

The  longing  of  my  looking  eye. 
Fll  roll  myself  on  thee,  as  on  my  rock, 

When  threatening  dangers  mock. 

Of  thee,  as  of  my  treasure, 
I'll  boast  and  brag,  my  comforts  know  no  measure, 

LORD,  thou  shalt  be  mine  All,  I  will  not  know 

A  profit  here  below, 

But  what  reflects  on  thee  : 
Thou  shalt  be  all  the  pleasure  I  will  see 

In  anything  the  earth  affords. 

Mine  heart  shall  own  no  words 
Of  honour,  out  of  which  I  cannot  raise 

The  matter  of  thy  praise. 

Nay,  I  will  not  be  mine, 
Unless  thou  wilt  vouchsafe  to  have  me  thine. 


360  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


£1)*  13atf)ttt8  tf  tfje  i^eatf  toitf) 


Christ's  bloody  sweat  immortal  blessings  gives, 
As  by  its  daily  sweat  man's  body  lives. 

JOEL  III.  21. 

I  will  cleanse  their  blood^  that  I  have  not  cleansed. 

EPIG.  41. 

'TpHIS  bath  thy  Saviour  sweat  with  drops  of  blood, 
•*•       Sick  heart,  on  purpose  for  to  do  thee  good. 
They  that  have  tried  it  can  the  virtue  tell  ; 
Come,  then,  and  use  it,  if  thou  wilt  be  well. 


THE  HEAET.  361 


ODE  XLI. 

ALL  this  thy  GOD  hath  done  for  thee  ; 

And  now,  mine  heart, 
It  is  high  time  that  thou  shouldst  be 

Acting  thy  part, 

And  meditating  on  his  blessed  passion, 
Till  thou  hast  made  it  thine  by  imitation. 

That  exercise  will  be  the  best 

And  surest  means, 
To  keep  thee  evermore  at  rest. 

And  free  from  pains. 
To  suffer  with  the  Saviour  is  the  way 
To  make  thy  present  comforts  last  for  aye. 

Trace  then  the  steps  wherein  he  trod, 

And  first  begin 
To  sweat  with  him.     The  heavy  load, 

Which  for  thy  sin 

He  underwent,  squeez'd  blood  out  of  his  face, 
Which  in  great  drops  came  trickling  down  apace. 

Oh  let  not,  then,  that  precious  blood 

Be  spilt  in  vain, 
But  gather  ev'ry  drop.     'Tis  good 

To  purge  the  stain 

Of  guilt,  that  hath  defiled  and  overspread 
Thee  from  the  sole  of  the  foot  to  the  crown  of  the  head, 

Poison  possesseth  every  vein  ; 

The  fountain  is 
Corrupt,  and  all  the  streams  unclean : 

All  is  amiss. 

Thy  blood's  impure  ;  yea,  thou  thyself,  mine  heart, 
In  all  thine  inward  powers  polluted  art. 

When  thy  first  father  did  ill, 
Man's  doom  was  read, 


362  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


That  in  the  sweat  of  his  face  he  still 

Should  eat  his  bread. 
What  the  first  Adam  in  a  garden  caught, 
The  second  Adam  in  a  garden  taught. 

Taught  by  his  own  example,  how 

To  sweat  for  sin, 
Under  that  heavy  weight  to  bow, 

And  never  lin 

Begging  release,  till,  with  strong  cries  and  tears. 
The  soul  be  drain'd  of  all  its  faults  and  fears. 

If  sin's  imputed  guilt  oppress'd 

Th'  Almighty  so, 
That  his  sad  soul  could  find  no  rest 

Under  that  woe  : 
But  that  the  bitter  agony  he  felt 
Made  his  pure  blood,  if  not  to  sweat,  to  melt ; 

Then  let  that  huge  inherent  mass 

Of  sin,  that  lies 
In  heaps  on  thee,  make  thee  surpass 

In  tears  and  cries, 

Striving  with  all  thy  strength,  until  thou  sweat, 
Such  drops  as  his,  though  not  as  good  as  great. 

And  if  he  think  it  fit  to  lay 

Upon  thy  back 
Or  pains  or  duties,  as  he  may, 

Until  it  crack, 

Shrink  not  away,  but  strain  thine  utmost  force 
To  bear  them  cheerfully  without  remorse. 


THE  HEART. 


363 


13inirtng  of 


of 


tf>e  Ctnrirs 


My  sins  made  thee  a  cruel  bondage  prove  : 
O  bind  my  heart  to  thee  with  cords  of  love. 

HOS.  XI.  4. 

1  drew  them  with  cords  of  a  man^  with  bands  of  love. 

EPIG.  42. 

sins,  I  do  confess  a  cord  were  found 

Heavy  and  hard  by  thee,  when  thou  wast  bound, 

Great  LORD  of  love,  with  them  ;  but  thou  hast  twin'd 

Great  love-cords  my  tender  heart  to  bind. 


364  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE  XLIJ. 

WHAT  !  could  those  hands, 
That  made  the  world,  be  subject  unto  bands  ? 

Could  there  a  cord  be  found, 
Wherewith  Omnipotence  itself  was  bound  ? 
Wonder,  my  heart,  and  stand  amazM  to  see 

The  LORD  of  liberty 
Led  captive  for  thy  sake,  and  in  thy  stead. 

Although  he  did 

Nothing  deserving  death,  or  bands,  yet  he 
Was  bound,  and  put  to  death,  to  set  thee  free. 

Thy  sins  had  tied 
Those  bands  for  thee,  wherein  thou  shouldst  have  died 

And  thou  didst  daily  knit 

Knots  upon  knots,  whereby  thou  mad'st  them  sit 
Closer  and  faster  to  thy  faulty  self. 
Helpless  and  hopeless,  friendless  and  forlorn, 

The  sink  of  scorn, 

And  kennel  of  contempt,  thou  shouldst  have  lain 
Eternally  enthralled  to  endless  pain ; 

Had  not  the  LORD 
Of  love  and  life  been  pleased  to  afford 

His  helping  hand  of  grace, 
And  freely  put  himself  into  thy  place. 
So  were  thy  bands  transfer'd,  but  not  untied, 

Until  the  time  he  died, 
And,  by  his  death,  vanquis'd  and  conquer'd  all 

That  Adam's  fall 

Had  made  victorious.     Sin,  death,  and  hell, 
Thy  fatal  foes,  under  his  footstool  fell. 

Yet  he  meant  not 
That  thou  shouldst  use  the  liberty  he  got 

As  it  should  like  thee  best ; 
To  wander  as  thou  listest,  or  to  rest 


THE  HEAET.  365 


In  soft  repose,  careless  of  his  commands  : 
He  that  hath  loos'd  those  bands. 

Whereby  thou  wast  enslaved  to  the  foes, 
Binds  thee  with  those 

Wherewith  he  bound  himself  to  do  thee  good, 

The  bands  of  love,  love  writ  in  lines  of  blood. 

His  love  to  thee 
Made  him  to  lay  aside  his  majesty, 

And,  clothed  in  a  vail 

Of  frail,  though  faultless  flesh,  become  thy  bail. 
But  love  requireth  love  :  arid  since  thou  art 

Loved  by  him,  thy  part 
It  is  to  love  him  too  :  and  love  affords 

The  strongest  cords 

That  can  be  :  for  it  ties,  not  hands  alone, 
But  heads,  and  hearts,  and  souls,  and  all  in  one. 

Come  then,  mine  heart, 
And  freely  follow  the  prevailing  art 

Of  thy  Redeemer's  love. 
That  strong  magnetic  tie  hath  pow'r  to  move 
The  steelest  stubbornness.     If  thou  but  twine 

And  twist  his  love  with  thine, 
And,  by  obedience,  labour  to  express 

Thy  thankfulness, 

It  will  be  hard  to  say  on  whether  side 
The  bands  are  surest,  which  is  fastest  tied. 


366 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ffijjtist's  litllar  tfje  |Jrop  jrf  tfje 


Nor  fruits,  nor  flowers,  require  my  weaken'd  heart  9 
Her  pillar,  Christ,  can  lasting  aid  impart. 

PSALM  CXII.   7,  8* 

His  heart  Is  fixed,  trusting  in  the  Lord.     His  heart  is 
established^  he  shall  not  be  afraid. 

EPIC,  43, 

TV-TY  weak  and  feeble  heart  a  prop  must  use, 
•*••*•     But  pleasant  fruits  and  flowers  doth  refuse  * 
My  Christ  my  pillar  is  ;  on  him  rely, 
Repose  and  rest  myself,  alone  will  I. 


THE  HEART.  367 


ODE  XLIII. 

SUPPOSE  it  true,  that,  whilst  thy  Saviour's  side 
Was  furrowed  with  scourges,  he  was  tied 

Unto  some  pillar  fast :  ,,    / 

Think  not,  mine  heart,  it  was  because  rfe^ould 
Not  stand  alone ,  or  that  left  loose  he  would 

Have  shrunk  away  at  last ; 
Such  weakness  suits  not  with  Omnipotence, 
Nor  could  man's  malice  match  his  patience. 

But,  if  so  done,  'twas  done  to  tutor  thee, 
Whose  frailty  and  impatience,  he  doth  see 

Such,  that  thou  hast  nor  strength 
Nor  will,  as  of  thyself,  to  undergo 
The  least  degree  of  duty  or  of  woe, 

But  wouldst  be  sure  at  length 
To  flinch  or  faint,  or  not  to  stand  at  all, 
Or  in  the  end  more  fearfully  to  fall ; 

The  very  frame  and  figure,  broad  above> 
Narrow  beneath,  apparently  doth  prove 

Thou  canst  not  stand  alone, 
Without  a  prop  to  bolster  and  to  stay  thee. 
To  trust  to  thine  own  strength,  would  soon  betray  thee, 

Alas  !  thou  now  art  grown 
So  weak  and  feeble,  wav'ring  and  unstaid, 
Thou  shrink'st  at  the  least  weight  that's  on  thee  laid. 

The  easiest  commandments  thou  declinest, 
And  at  the  lightest  punishment  thou  whinest ; 

Thy  restless  motions  are 
Innumerable,  like  the  troubled  sea, 
Whose  waves  are  toss'd  and  tumbled  ev'ry  way. 

The  hound-pursued  hare 
Makes  not  so  many  doubles  as  thou  dost, 
Till  thy  cross'd  courses  in  themselves  are  lost. 


368  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


Get  thee  some  stay  that  may  support  thee  then, 
And  stablish  thee,  lest  thou  should'st  start  again. 

But  where  may  it  be  found  ? 
Will  pleasant  fruits  or  flow'rs  serve  the  turn  ? 
No,  no,  my  tott'ring  heart  will  overturn 

And  lay  them  on  the  ground. 
Dainties  may  serve  to  minister  delight, 
But  strength  is  only  from  the  LORD  of  might. 

Betake  thee  to  thy  Christ,  then,  and  repose 
Thyself,  in  all  extremities,  on  those 

His  everlasting  arms, 

Wherewith  he  girds  the  heavens,  and  upholds 
The  pillars  of  the  earth,  and  safely  folds 

His  faithful  flock  from  harms. 
Cleave  close  to  him  by  faith,  and  let  the  bands 
Of  love  tie  thee  in  thy  Redeemer's  hands. 

Come  life,  come  death,  come  devils,  come  what  will. 
Yet,  fastened  so,  thou  shalt  stand  steadfast  still : 

And  all  the  powers  of  hell 

Shall  not  prevail  to  shake  thee  with  their  shock, 
So  long  as  thou  art  founded  on  that  Rock  : 

No  duty  shall  thee  quell : 
No  danger  shall  disturb  thy  quiet  state, 
Nor  soul-perplexing  fears  thy  mind  amate. 


THE  HEAET. 


369 


THE  HEART  A  CUP  TO  A  THIRSTING  CHRIST. 

Refuse  the  cup  of  gall,  O  spouse  divine ; 
But  wounded  hearts  afford  a  pleasant  wine. 

®fie  Scourging  <rt  tt>e  i^eart 

PROV.  X.    13. 

A  rod  is  for  the  *>jck  of  him  that  is  void  of  understanding. 

EPIG.  44. 

TT7HEN     thou    withhold'st    thy     scourges,     dearest 

**^  Love, 

My  sluggish  heart  is  slack,  and  slow  to  move  : 
Oh  let  it  not  stand  still,  but  lash  it  rather, 
And  drive  it,  though  unwilling,  to  thy  Father. 

B  B 


370  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE  XLIV. 

WHAT  do  those  scourges  on  that  sacred  flesh, 

Spotless  and  pure  ? 
Must  he,  that  doth  sin-wearied  souls  refresh, 

Himself  endure 
Such  tearing  tortures  ?     Must  those  sides  be  gash'd? 

Those  shoulders  lash'd  ? 
Is  this  the  trimming  that  the  world  bestows 
Upon  such  robes  of  Majesty  as  those  ? 

Is  't  riot  enough  to  die,  unless  by  pain 

Thou  antedate 
Thy  death  before-hand,  LORD  ?  What  dost  thou  mean  ? 

To  aggravate 
The  guilt  of  sin,  or  to  enhance  the  price 

Thy  sacrifice 

Amounts  to  ?     Both  are  infinite,  I  know, 
And  can  by  no  additions  greater  grow. 

Yet  dare  I  not  imagine,  that  in  vain 

Thou  didst  endure 
One  stripe  :  though  not  thine  own  thereby,  my  gain 

Thou  didst  procure, 
That  when  I  shall  be  scourged  for  thy  sake, 

Thy  stripes  may  make 
Mine  acceptable,  that  I  may  not  grutch, 
When  I  remember  thou  hast  borne  as  much  : 

As   much,   and  more    for  me.      Come,   then,  mine 
heart, 

And  willingly 
Submit  thyself  to  suffer  :  smile  at  smart, 

And  death  defy. 
Fear  not  to  feel  that  hand  correcting  thee, 

Which  set  thee  free. 

Stripes,  as  the  tokens  of  his  love,  he  leaves, 
Who  scourgeth  ev'rv  son  whom  he  receives 


THE  HEAET.  371 


There's  foolishness  bound  up  within  thee  fast : 

But  yet  the  rod 
Of  fatherly  correction  at  the  last, 

If  bless'd  by  GOD, 
Will  drive  it  far  away,  and  wisdom  give, 

That  thou  may'st  live  ; 
Not  to  thyself,  but  him  that  first  was  slain, 
And  died  for  thee,  and  then  rose  again. 

Thou  art  not  only  dull,  and  slow  of  pace, 

But  stubborn  too, 
And  refractory  !  ready  to  outface, 

Rather  than  do 
Thy  duty  :  though  thou  know'st  it  must  be  so, 

Thou  wilt  not  go 

The  way  thou  should  st,  till  some  affliction 
First  set  thee  right,  then  prick  and  spur  thee  on, 

Top-like  thy  figure  and  condition  is, 

Neither  to  stand, 
Nor  stir  thyself  alone,  whilst  thou  dost  miss 

An  helping  hand 
To  set  thee  up,  and  store  of  stripes  bestow 

To  make  thee  go. 

Beg,  then,  thy  blessed  Saviour  to  transfer 
His  scourges  unto  thee,  to  make  thee  stir. 


372 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


fttitging  of  tfje 
of 


tottf)  a 


This  thorny  diadem,  O  heart,  behold  ; 

Thus  hedg'd,  no  savage  can  approach  the  fold. 

ROSEAU.  6. 

/  will  hedge  up  thy  way  with  thorns. 

EPIG.  45. 

TTE,  that  of  thorns  would  gather  roses,  may 
••••*•     In  his  own  heart,  if  handled  the  right  way. 
Hearts  hedgM  with  Christ's  crown  of  thorns,  instead 
Of  thorny  cares,  will  sweetest  roses  breed. 


THE  HEART.  373 


ODE  XLV. 

A  CROWN  of  thorns  ;  I  thought  so  :   ten  to  one, 

A  crown  without  a  thorn,  there  's  none  : 
There 's  none  on  earth,  I  mean  ;  what,  shall  I,  then, 

Rejoice  to  see  him  crown'd  by  men, 
By  whom  kings  rule  and  reign  ?  Or  shall  I  scorn 

And  hate  to  see  earth's  curse,  a  thorn, 
Preposterously  preferred  to  crown  those  brows, 

From  whence  all  bliss  and  glory  flows, 
Or  shall  I  both  be  clad, 

And  also  sad, 
To  think  it  is  a  crown,  and  yet  so  bad  ? 

There's  cause  enough  of  both,  I  must  confess  : 

Yet  what 's  that  unto  me,  unless 
I  take  a  course  his  crown  of  thorns  may  be 

Made  mine,  transferred  from  him  to  me  ? 
Crowns,  had  they  been  of  stars,  could  add  no  more 

Glory,  where  there  was  all  before  : 
And  thorns   might   scratch   him,  could  not   make  him 

worse, 

Than  he  was  made,  sin  and  a  curse. 
Come,  then,  mine  heart,  take  down 

Thy  Saviour's  crown 
Of  thorns,  and  see  if  thou  canst  make  't  thine  own. 

Remember,  first,  thy  Saviour's  head  was  crown'd 

By  the  same  hands  that  did  him  wound  : 
They  meant  it  not  to  honour,  but  to  scorn  him, 

When  in  such  sort  they  had  betorn  him. 
Think  earthly  honours  such,  if  they  redound  : 

Never  believe  they  mind  to  dignify 
Thee,  that  thy  Christ  would  crucify. 

Think  ev'ry  crown  a  thorn, 

Unless  to  adorn 
Thy  Christ,  as  well  as  him  by  whom  'tis  worn. 


374  THE  SCHOOL  OP 


Consider,  then,  that  as  the  thorny  crown 

Circled  thy  Saviour's  head,  thine  own 
Continual  care  to  please  him,  and  provide 

For  the  advantage  of  his  side, 
Must  fence  thine  actions  and  affections  so, 

That  they  shall  neither  dare  to  go 
Out  of  that  compass,  nor  vouchsafe  access 

To  what  might  make  that  care  go  less. 
Let  no  such  thing  draw  nigh, 

Which  shall  not  spy 
Thorns  ready  plac'd  to  prick  it  till  it  die. 

Thus,  compassM  with  thy  Saviour's  thorny  crown, 

Thou  may'st  securely  sit  thee  down, 
And  hope  that  he,  who  made  of  water  wine, 

Will  turn  each  thorn  into  a  vine, 
Where  thou  may'st  gather  grapes,  and,  to  delight  thee, 

Roses  :  nor  need  the  prickles  fright  thee. 
Thy  Saviour's  sacred  temples  took  away 

The  curse  that  in  their  sharpness  lay. 
So  thou  may'st  crown'd  be, 

As  well  as  he, 
And,  at  the  last,  light  in  his  light  shall  see. 


THE  HEART. 


375 


THE  HEART  PIERCED  WITH  THE  NAIL  OF  GOD'S  FEAR. 

With  holy  fear  let  my  heart  fast'ned  be, 
O  thou,  once  fast'ned  to  the  cross  for  me. 


^Fastening  of  tije  i^eart 


JER.  XXXII.  40. 

/   will  put  fear  into  their  hearts^  that    they   shall   not 
depart  from  me. 

EPIG.  46. 

''pHOU  that  wast  nailed  to  the  cross  for  me, 
*•    Lest  I  should  slip,  and  fall  away  from  thee, 
Drive  home  thine  holy  fear  into  mine  heart, 
And  clinch  it  so,  that  it  may  ne'er  depart. 


376  THE  SCHOOL  OF 


ODE  XLVI. 

WHAT  ?  dost  thou  struggle  to  get  loose  again ! 
Hast  thou  so  soon  forgot  the  former  pain, 
That  thy  licentious  bondage  unto  sin, 
And  lust-enlarged  thraldom,  put  thee  in  ? 
Hast  thou  a  mind  again  to  rove,  and  ramble 
Rogue-like,  vagrant  though  the  world,  and  scramble 
For  scraps  and  crusts  of  earth-bred,  base  delights, 
And  change  thy  days  of  joy  for  tedious  nights 
Of  sad  repentant  sorrow ! 

What ;  wilt  thou  borrow 
That  grief  to-day,  which  thou  must  pay  to-morrow  ? 

No,  self-deceiving  heart,  lest  thou  shouldst  cast 
Thy  cords  away,  and  burst  the  bands  at  last 
Of  thy  Redeemer's  tender  love,  I  '11  try 
What  further  fastness  in  his  fear  doth  lie. 
The  cords  of  love  soaked  in  lust  may  rot, 
And  bands  of  bounty  are  too  oft  forgot : 
But  holy  filial  fear,  like  to  a  nail 
Fasten'd  in  a  sure  place,  will  never  fail. 
This  driven  home,  will  take 

Fast  hold,  and  make 
Thee  that  thou  darest  not  thy  GOD  forsake. 

Remember  how,  besides  thy  Saviour's  bands, 
Wherewith  they  led  him  bound,  his  holy  hands 
And  feet  were  pierced,  how  they  nailM  him  fast 
Unto  his  bitter  cross,  and  how  at  last 
His  precious  side  was  gored  with  a  spear : 
So  hard  sharp-pointed  iron  and  steel  did  tear 
His  tender  flesh,  that  from  those  wounds  might  flow 
The  sov'reign  salve  for  sin-procured  woe. 
Then,  that  thou  may'st  not  fail 

Of  that  avail, 
Refuse  not  to  be  fastened  with  his  nail. 


THE  HEAET.  377 


Love  in  a  heart  of  flesh  is  apt  to  taint, 
Or  be  fly-blown  with  folly :  and  its  faint, 
And  feeble  spirits,  when  it  shows  most  fair, 
Are  often  fed  on  by  the  empty  air 
Of  popular  applause,  unless  the  salt 
Of  holy  fear  in  time  prevent  the  fault : 
But,  season'd  so  it  will  be  kept  for  ever. 
He  that  doth  fear,  because  he  loves,  will  never 
Adventure  to  offend, 

But  always  bend 
His  best  endeavours  to  content  his  friend. 

Though  perfect  love  cast  out  all  servile  fear, 
Because  such  fear  hath  torment :  yet  thy  dear 
Redeemer  meant  not  so  to  set  thee  free, 
That  filial  fear  and  thou  should  strangers  be. 
Though  as  a  son,  thou  honour  him  thy  Father, 
Yet,  as  a  Master,  thou  may'st  fear  him  rather. 
Fear 's  the  the  soul's  centinel,  and  keeps  the  heart, 
Wherein  love  lodges,  so,  that  all  the  art 
And  industry  of  those, 

That  are  its  foes, 
Cannot  betray  it  to  its  former  woes. 


THE  SCHOOL  OF 


Jleto 


af  tfje  l^eart  out  uf 
of  tfte 


Behold,  the  Cyprian  clusters  now  are  press'd  j 
Accept  the  wine,  it  flows  to  make  thee  bless'd. 


PSALM  CIV.   15. 

Wine  that  maketh  glad  the  heart  of  man. 

EPIG.  47. 

/CHRIST,  the  true  vine,  grape,  cluster,  on  the  cross 
^     Trod  the  wine-press  alone,  unto  the  loss 
Of  blood  and  life.     Draw,  thankful  heart,  and  spare  not 
Here 's  wine  enough  for  all,  save  those  that  care  not. 


THE  HEART.  379 


ODE  XLVII. 

LEAVE  not  thy  Saviour  now,  whatever  thou  dost, 

Doubtful,  distrustful  heart ; 
Thy  former  pains  and  labours  all  are  lost, 

If  now  thou  shalt  depart, 
And  faithlessly  fall  off  at  last  from  him, 
Who,  to  redeem  thee,  spar'd  nor  life  nor  limb. 

Shall  he,  that  is  thy  cluster  and  thy  vine, 

Tread  the  wine-press  alone, 
Whilst  thou  stand'st  looking  on  ?     Shall  both  the  wne 

And  work  be  all  his  own  ? 

See  how  he  bends,  crush'd  with  the  straightened  screw 
Of  that  fierce  wrath  that  to  thy  sins  was  due. 

Although  thou  canst  not  help  to  bear  it,  yet 

Thrust  thyself  under  too, 
That  thou  may'st  feel  some  of  the  weight,  and  get, 

Although  not  strength  to  do, 
Yet  will  to  suffer  something  as  he  doth, 
That  the  same  stress  at  once  may  squeeze  you  both. 

Thy  Saviour  being  press'd  to  death,  there  ran 

Out  of  his  sacred  wounds 
That  wine  that  maketh  glad  the  heart  of  man, 

And  all  his  foes  confounds  ; 
Yea,  the  full-flowing  fountain  's  open  still, 
For  all  grace-thirsting  hearts  to  drink  their  fill : 

And  not  to  drink  alone,  to  satiate 

Their  longing  appetites, 
Or  drown  those  cumb'rous  cares  that  would  abate 

The  edge  of  their  delights  ; 

But,  when  they  toil,  and  soil  themselves  with  sin, 
Both  to  refresh,  to  purge,  to  cleanse  them  in. 

Thy  Saviour  hath  begun  this  cup  to  thee, 
And  thou  must  not  refuse  Jt. 


380  THE  SCHOOL  OF  THE  HEAET. 

Press  then  thy  sin-swoln  sides,  until  they  be 

Empty,  and  fit  to  use  't. 
Do  not  delay  to  come,  when  he  doth  call ; 
Nor  fear  to  want,  where  there  's  enough  for  all. 

Thy  bounteous  Redeemer,  in  his  blood, 

Fills  thee  not  wine  alone, 
But  likewise  gives  his  flesh  to  be  thy  food, 

Which  thou  may'st  make  thine  own, 
And  feed  on  him  who  hath  himself  reveaPd 
The  bread  of  life,  by  GOD  the  Father  seal'd. 

Nay,  he  Js  not  food  alone,  but  physic  too, 

Whenever  thou  art  sick ; 
And  in  thy  weakness  strength,  that  thou  may  'st  do 

Thy  duty,  and  not  stick 
At  any  thing  that  he  requires  of  thee, 
How  hard  soever  it  may  seem  to  be. 

Make  all  the  haste,  then,  that  thou  canst  to  come, 

Before  the  day  be  past  ; 
And  think  not  of  returning  to  thy  home, 

Whilst  yet  the  light  doth  last. 
The  longer  and  the  more  thou  draw'st  this  wine, 
Still  thou  shalt  find  it  more  and  more  divine. 

Or  if  thy  Saviour  think  it  meet  to  throw 

Thee  in  the  press  again 
To  suffer  as  he  did  ;  yet  do  not  grow 

Displeased  at  thy  pain  : 
A  summer  season  follows  winter  weather: 
SufPring,  you  shall  be  glorified  together. 

REV.  xxn.  17. 

The  Spirit  and  the  •  bride  say,  Come.  And  let  him  that 
heareth  say^  Come.  And  let  him  that  is  athirst  come. 
And  whosoever  will,  let  him  take  the  water  of  life  freely. 


THE  CONCLUSION.  381 


(itoncluguw. 


TS  this  my  period  ?     Have  I  now  no  more 

To  do  hereafter  ?  Shall  my  mind  give  o'er 
Its  best  employment  thus,  and  idle  be, 
Or  busied  otherwise  ?     Should  I  not  see 
How  to  improve  my  thoughts  more  thriftily, 
Before  I  lay  these  Heart-School  lectures  by  ? 
Self-knowledge  is  an  everlasting  task, 
An  endless  work,  that  doth  not  only  ask 
A  whole  man  for  the  time,  but  challengeth 
To  take  up  all  his  hours  until  death. 
Yet,  as  in  other  schools,  they  have  a  care 
To  call  for  repetitions,  and  are 
Busied  as  well  in  seeking  to  retain 
What  they  have  learn' d  already,  as  to  gain 
Further  degrees  of  knowlegde,  and  lay  by 
Invention,  whilst  they  practise  memory  : 
So  must  I  likewise  take  some  time  to  view 
What  I  have  done,  ere  I  proceed  anew. 
Perhaps  I  may  have  cause  to  interline, 
To  alter,  or  to  add  :  the  work  is  mine, 
And  I  may  manage  it  as  I  see  best, 
With  my  great  Master's  leave.     Then  here  I  rest 
From  taking  out  new  lessons,  till  I  see 
How  I  retain  the  old  in  memory. 
And  if  it  be  his  pleasure,  I  shall  say 
These  lessons  before  others,  that  they  may 
Or  learn  them  too,  or  only  censure  me  ; 
I  '11  wait  with  patience  the  success  to  see. 


382  THE  CONCLUSION. 


And  though  I  look  not  to  have  leave  to  play 
(For  that  this  school  allows  not),  yet  I  may 
Another  time,  perhaps,  if  they  approve 
Of  these,  such  as  they  are,  and  show  their  love 
To  the  SCHOOL  OF  THE  HEART,  by  calling  for  't, 
Add  other  lessons  more  of  the  like  sort. 


THE  LEARNING  OF  THE  HEAR1.  383 


learning  nf  tfte 


THE  PREFACE. 

T  AM  a  scholar.     The  great  LORD  of  love 
•*•   And  life  my  tutor  is  ;  who,  from  above, 
All  that  lack  learning,  to  his  school  invites. 
My  heart 's  my  prayer-book,  in  which  he  writes 
Systems  of  all  the  hearts  and  faculties  : 
First  reads  to  me,  then  makes  me  exercise, 
But  all  in  paradoxes,  such  high  strains 
As  flow  from  none  but  love-inspired  brains  : 
Yet  bids  me  publish  them  abroad,  and  dare 
T'  extol  his  arts  above  all  other  arts  that  are. 
Why  should  I  not  ?   methinks  it  cannot  be 
But  they  should  please  others  as  well  as  me. 
Come,  then,  join  hands,  and  let  our  hearts  embrace, 
Whilst  thus  Love's  labyrinth  of  art  we  trace ; 
I  mean  the  SCIENCES  call'd  Liberal : 
Both  Trivium  and  Quadrivium,  seven  in  all. 
*^  With  the  higher  faculties,  Philosophy  ; 
And  Law,  and  Physic,  and  Theology. 


384  THE  LEAENING  OF  THE  HEAET. 


GJramtnat  of  tfje 

PSALM   XV.  2. 

Thatspeaketh  the  truth  in  his  heart. 

TV/TY  Grammar,  I  define  to  be  an  art 

1V1   \yjuch  teacheth  me  to  write  and  speak  mine  heart 

By  which  I  learn  that  smooth-tongu'd  flatteries  are 

False  language,  and,  in  love,  irregular, 

Amongst  my  letters,  Vow-wells,  I  admit 

Of  none  but  Consonant  to  Sacred  Writ : 

And  therefore,  when  my  soul  in  silence  moans, 

Half-vowePd  sighs,  and  double  deep-thong'd  groans, 

Mute  looks,  and  liquid  tears  instead  of  words, 

Are  of  the  language  that  mine  heart  affords. 

And,  since  true  love  abhors  all  variations, 

My  Grammar  hath  no  moods  nor  conjugations, 

Tenses,  nor  persons,  nor  declensions, 

Cases,  nor  genders,  nor  comparisons  : 

Whatever  my  Letters  are,  my  Word 's  but  one, 

And,  on  the  meaning  of  it,  Love  alone, 

Concord  is  all  my  Syntax,  and  agreement 

Is  in  my  Grammar  perfect  regiment. 

He  wants  no  language  that  hath  learn'd  to  love : 
When  tongues  are  still,  hearts  will  be  heard  above. 


THE  LEARNING  OF  THE  HEAET.  385 


c  of  ttje 


PSALM    XLV.    I. 

My  heart  is  inditing  a  good  matter. 

A/f  Y  Rhetoric  is  not  so  much  an  art, 
•*•**-  As  an  infused  habit  in  mine  heart, 
Which  a  sweet  secret  elegance  instils, 
And  all  my  speech  with  tropes  and  figures  fills. 
Love  is  the  tongue's  elixir,  which  doth  change 
The  ordinary  sense  of  words,  and  range 
Them  under  other  kinds  ;  dispose  them  so, 
That  to  the  height  of  eloquence  they  grow, 
E'en  in  their  native  plainness,  and  must  be 
So  understood  as  liketh  love  and  me. 
When  I  say  Christ,  I  mean  my  Saviour  ; 
When  his  commandment,  my  behaviour  : 
For  to  that  end  it  was  he  hither  came, 
And  to  this  purpose  'tis  I  bear  his  name. 
When  I  say,  Hallow'd  be  thy  name,  he  knows 
I  would  be  holy  :  for  his  glory  grows 
Together  with  my  good,  and  he  hath  not 
Given  more  honour  than  himself  hath  got. 
So  when  I  say,  LORD,  let  thy  kingdom  come, 
He  understands  it,  I  would  be  at  home, 
To  reign  with  him  in  glory.     So  grace  brings 
My  Love,  in  me,  to  be  the  King  of  kings. 
He  teacheth  me  to  say,  Thy  will  be  done, 
But  meaneth,  he  would  have  me  do  mine  own, 
By  making  me  to  will  the  same  he  doth, 
And  so  to  rule  myself,  and  serve  him  both. 

c  c 


3 86  THE  LEARNING  OF  THE  HEART. 

So  when  he  saith,  My  son,  give  me  thine  heart, 

I  know  his  meaning  is,  that  I  should  part 

With  all  I  have  for  him,  give  him  myself, 

And  to  be  rich  in  him  from  worldly  pelf. 

So  when  he  says,  Come  to  me,  Iknow  that  he 

Means  I  should  wait  his  coming  unto  me  : 

Since  'tis  his  coming  unto  me  that  makes 

Me  come  to  him  :   my  part  he  undertakes. 

And  when  he  says,  Behold  I  come,  I  know 

His  purpose  and  intent  is,  I  should  go, 

With  all  the  speed  I  can,  to  meet  him  whence 

His  coming  is  attractive,  draws  me  hence. 

Thick-folded  repetitions  in  love 

Are  no  tautologies,  but  strongly  move 

And  bind  unto  attention.     Exclamations 

Are  the  heart's  heav'n-piercing  exaltations. 

Epiphonoemas  and  Apostrophes 

Love  likes  of  well,  but  no  Prosopopes. 

Not  doubtful  but  careful  deliberations, 

Love  holds  as  grounds  of  strongest  resolutions. 

Thus  love  and  I  a  thousand  ways  can  find 

To  speak  and  understand  each  other's  mind ; 

And  descant  upon  that  which  unto  others 

Is  but  plain  song,  and  all  their  music  smothers. 

Nay,  that  which  worldly  wit-worms  call  nonsense, 

Is  many  times  love's  purest  eloquence. 


THE  LEARNING  OF  THE  HEART.  387 


ilostc  of  tf)e 

I  PETER  III.    15. 

Be   ready  always   to  give  an  answer  to  every  man  that 
asketh  you  a  reason  of  the  hope  that  is  in  you. 

"TV/TY  Logic  is  the  faculty  of  faith, 

1VJ.  "Where  all  things  are  resolvM  into,  HE  SAITH 

And  ergos,  drawn  from  trust  and  confidence, 

Twist  and  tie  truths  with  stronger  consequence 

Than  either  sense  or  reason  :  for  the  heart, 

And  not  the  head,  is  fountain  of  this  art. 

And  what  the  heart  objects,  none  can  resolve, 

But  GOD  himself,  till  death  the  frame  dissolve. 

Nay,  faith  can  after  death  dispute  with  dust, 

And  argue  ashes  into  stronger  trust, 

And  better  hopes,  than  brass  and  marble  can 

Be  emblems  of  unto  the  outward  man. 

All  my  invention  is,  to  find  what  terms 

My  LORD  and  I  stand  in  :  how  he  confirms 

His  promises  to  me,  how  I  inherit 

What  he  hath  purchased  for  me  by  his  merit. 

My  judgment  is  submission  to  his  will, 

And,  when  he  once  hath  spoken,  to  be  still. 

My  method  's  to  be  ordered  by  him  ; 

What  he  disposeth,  that  I  think  most  trim. 

Love's  arguments  are  all,  I  WILL,  THOU  MUST; 

What  he  says  and  commands,  are  true  and  just. 

When  to  dispute  and  argue  Js  out  of  season, 

Then  to  believe  and  to  obey  is  reason. 


This  bubble  's  Man  ;  hope,  fear,  false  joy,  and  trouble, 
Are  those  four  winds  which  daily  toss  this  bubble. 


TO  THE   RIGHT  HONOURABLE 

(Both  in  Blood  and  Virtue) 
AND    MOST    ACCOMPLISHED     LADY, 

MARY,  COUNTESS  OF  DORSET, 

LADY  GOVERNESS  TO   THE   MOST   ILLUSTRIOUS   CHARLES,  PRINCE  OF 
GREAT   BRITAIN,    AND   JAMES,    DUKE    OF  YORK. 


EXCELLENT  LADY, 

I  present  these  tapers  to  burn  under  the  safe  protection  of  your  honourable 
name  ;  where,  I  presume,  they  stand  secure  irom  the  damps  of  ignorance,  and 
blasts  of  censure.  It  is  a  small  part  of  that  abundant  service  which  my  thank- 
ful heart  oweth  to  your  incomparable  goodness.  Be  pleased  to  honour  it  with 
your  acceptance,  which  shall  be  nothing  but  what  your  own  esteem  shall 
make  it. 

Madam, 

Your  Ladyship's 

Most  humble  servant, 

FRAN.  QUARLES. 


TO    THE    READER. 


IF  you  are  satisfied  with  my  EMBLEMS,  I  here  set  before  you  a  second 
service.  It  is  an  Egyptian  dish,  dressed  on  the  English  fashion.  They,  at 
their  feasts,  used  to  present  a  death's  head  at  their  second  course :  this  will 
serve  for  both.  You  need  not  fear  a  surfeit :  here  is  but  little,  and  that  light 
of  digestion  :  if  it  but  please  your  palate,  I  question  not  your  stomach.  Fall 
to,  and  much  good  may  it  do  you. 


Convivio  addit  Minerval,  E.  B. 

Rem,  regent^  regimen,  regionem,  religionemy 
Exornat,  celebrat,  laudat^  Aonorat,  amat. 


HIEROGLYPHICS.  393 


HIEROGLYPHICS, 
i. 


Sine  Lumlne  inane. 

How  canst  thou  thus  be  useful  to  the  sight  ? 
What  is  the  taper  not  endu'd  with  light  ? 

PSALM  LI.  5. 

Behold^  I  was  shapen  in  iniquity ,  and  in  sin  did  my  mother 
conceive  me. 

TV/TAN  is  man's  A,  B,  C.     There 's  none  that  can 

Read  GOD  aright,  unless  he  first  spell  man  : 
Man  is  the  stairs,  whereby  his  knowledge  climbs 
To  his  Creator,  though  it  oftentimes 


394  HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 

Stumbles  for  want  of  light,  and  sometimes  trips 
For  want  of  careful  heed  ;  and  sometimes  slips 
Through  unadvised  haste  ;  and  when  at  length 
His  weary  steps  have  reach'd  the  top,  his  strength 
Oft  fails  to  stand  ;  his  giddy  brains  turn  round, 
And,  Phaeton-like,  falls  headlong  to  the  ground  : 
These  stars  are  often  dark,  and  full  of  danger* 
To  him,  whom  want  of  practice  makes  a  stranger 
To  this  blind  way  ;  the  lamp  of  nature  lends 
But  a  false  light,  and  lights  to  her  own  ends. 
These  be  the  ways  to  heav'n,  these  paths  require 
A  light  that  springs  from  that  diviner  fire, 
Whose  human  soul-enlight'ning  sunbeams  dart 
Through  the  bright  crannies  of  th'  immortal  part. 
And  here,  thou  great  original  of  light, 
Whose  error-chasing  beams  do  unbenight 
The  very  soul  of  darkness,  and  untwist 
The  clouds  of  ignorance  ;  do  thou  assist 
My  feeble  quill :  reflect  thy  sacred  rays 
Upon  these  lines,  that  they  may  light  the  ways 
That  lead  to  thee  ;  so  guide  my  heart,  my  hand, 
That  I  may  do  what  others  understand. 
Let  my  heart  practise  what  my  hand  shall  write  : 
Till  then,  I  am  a  taper  wanting  light. 
This  golden  precept,  "  Know  thyself,"  came  down 
From  Heaven's  high  court :  it  was  an  art  unknown 
To  flesh  and  blood.     The  men  of  nature  took 
Great  journeys  in  it ;  their  dim  eyes  did  look 
But  through  the  mist ;  like  pilgrims,  they  did  spend 
Their  idle  steps,  but  knew  no  journey's  end. 
The  way  to  know  thyself,  is  first  to  cast 
Thy  frail  beginning,  progress,  and  thy  last  : 
This  is  the  sum  of  man  ;  but  now  return. 
And  view  this  taper  standing  in  this  urn. 
Behold  her  substance  sordid  and  impure, 
Useless  and  vain,  (wanting  light)  obscure  : 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN. 


395 


'Tis  but  a  span  at  longest,  nor  can  last 
Beyond  that  span  ;  ordain'd  and  made  to  waste  ; 
E'en  such  was  man  (before  his  soul  gave  light 
To  this  vile  substance)  a  mere  child  of  night; 
Ere  he  had  life,  estated  in  his  urn, 
And  mark'd  for  death  ;  by  nature  born  to  burn  : 
Thus  lifeless,  lightless,  worthless,  first  began 
That  glorious,  that  presumptuous  thing,  callM  man. 


S.  AUGUST. 

Consider,  O  man,  what  thou  wert  before  thy  birth, 
and  what  thou  art  from  thy  birth  to  thy  death,  and  what 
thou  shalt  be  after  death  :  thou  wert  made  of  an  im- 
pure substance,  clothed  and  nourished  in  thy  mother's 
blood. 


EPIG.  i. 

Forbear,  fond  taper :  what  thou  seek'st,  is  fire  : 
Thy  own  destruction  's  lodg'd  in  thy  desire ; 
Thy  wants  are  far  more  safe  than  their  supply  : 
He  that  begins  to  live,  begins  to  die. 


396 


HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 


2. 


Nesdus  unde. 

At  length  thou  seest  it  catch  the  living  flame, 
But  know'st  not  whence  the  emanation  came. 


GEN.  I.  3. 

And  God  said^  Let  there  be  light ;  and  there  was  light. 

'"IpHIS  flame-expecting  taper  hath  at  length 
•*•       Received  fire,  and  now  begins  to  burn  : 
It  hath  no  vigour  yet,  it  hath  no  strength  j 
Apt  to  be  puff  M  and  quench'd  at  ev'ry  turn : 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN.  397 

It  was  a  gracious  hand  that  thus  endow'd 

This   snuff  with  flame :  but  mark,  this  hand  doth 

shroud 
Itself  from  mortal  eyes,  and  folds  it  in  a  cloud. 

Thus  man  begins  to  live.     An  unknown  flame 

Quickens  his  finished  organs,  now  possest 
With  motion  ;   and  which  motion  doth  proclaim 
An  active  soul,  though  in  a  feeble  breast  j 

But  how,  and  when  infus'd,  ask  not  my  pen  ; 
Here  lies  a  cloud  before  the  eyes  of  men  : 
I  cannot  tell  thee  how,  nor  canst  thou  tell  me  when. 

Was  it  a  parcel  of  celestial  fire, 

Infus'd  by  Heav'n  into  this  fleshly  mould  ? 
Or  was  it  (think  you)  made  a  soul  entire  ? 
Then,  was  it  new-created  ?  or  of  old  ? 
Or  is 't  a  propagated  spark,  rakM  out 
From  nature's  embers  ?     While  we  go  about 
By  reason  to  resolve,  the  more  we  raise  a  doubt. 

If  it  be  part  of  that  celestial  flame, 

It  must  be  e'en  as  pure,  as  free  from  spot, 
As  that  eternal  fountain  whence  it  came : 

If  pure  and  spotless,  then  whence  came  the  blot  ? 
Itself  being  pure,  could  not  itself  defile  : 
Nor  hath  unactive  matter  pow'r  to  soil 
Her  pure  and  active  form,  as  jars  corrupt  their  oil. 

Or  if  it  were  created,  tell  me  when  ? 

If  in  the  first  six  days,  where  kept  till  now  ? 
Or  if  thy  soul  were  new-created,  then 
Heav'n  did  riot  all,  at  first,  he  had  to  do  : 
Six  days  expired,  all  creation  ceas'd  ; 
All  kinds,  e'en  from  the  greatest  to  the  least, 
Were  finished  and  complete  before  the  day  of  rest. 


398  HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 

But  why  should  man,  the  lord  of  creatures,  want 
That  privilege  which  plants  and  beasts  obtain  ? 
Beasts  bring  forth  beasts,  the  plant  a  perfect  plant, 
And  ev'ry  like  brings  forth  her  like  again ; 

Shall  fowls  and  fishes,  beasts  and  plants  convey 
Life  to  their  issue,  and  man  less  than  they  ? 
Shall  these  get  living  souls,  and  man  dead  lumps  of  clay  ? 

Must  human  souls  be  generated  then  ? 

My  water  ebbs  ;  behold,  a  rock  is  nigh  : 
If  nature's  work  produce  the  souls  of  men, 

Man's  soul  is  mortal :  all  that 's  born  must  die. 

What  shall  we  then  conclude  ?  what  sunshine  will 
Disperse  this  gloomy  cloud  ?  till  then  be  still, 
My  vainly-striving  thoughts  ;  lie  down,  my  puzzled  quill. 


IsiDOR. 

Why  dost  thou  wonder,  O  man,  at  the  height  of  the 
stars,  or  the  depth  of  the  sea ;  enter  into  thine  own  soul, 
and  wonder  there. 

Thy  soul,  by  creation,  is  infused  ;  by  infusion, 
created. 


EPIG.  2. 

What  art  thou  now  the  better  by  this  flame  ? 

Thou  know'st  not  how,  nor  when,  nor  whence  it  came  : 

Poor  kind  of  happiness  !  that  can  return 

No  more  account  but  this,  to  say,  I  burn. 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN. 


399 


£%uo  me  cunque  trapit. 

My  feeble  light  is  thus  toss'd  to  and  fro, 
•     The  sport  of  all  the  envious  winds  that  blow. 

PSALM  cm.  16. 

The  wind  passeth  over  it,  and  It  is  gone. 

sooner  is  this  lighted  taper  set 
Upon  the  transitory  stage 
Of  eye-bedark'ning  night, 
But  it  is  straight  subjected  to  the  threat 
Of  envious  winds,  whose  wasteful  rage 


400  HIEEOGLYPHICS  OF 

Disturbs  her  peaceful  light. 

And  makes  her  substance  waste,  and  makes  her  flames 
less  bright. 

No  sooner  are  we  born,  no  sooner  come 
To  take  possession  of  this  vast, 

This  soul-afflicting  earth, 
But  danger  meets  us  at  the  very  womb  ; 
And  sorrow,  with  her  full-mouth'd  blast, 

Salutes  our  painful  birth, 
To  put  out  all  our  joys,  and  puff  out  all  our  mirth. 

Nor  infant  innocence,  nor  childish  tears, 
Nor  youthful  wit,  nor  manly  power, 

Nor  politic  old  age, 

Nor  virgin's  pleading,  nor  the  widow's  prayers, 
Nor  lowly  cell,  nor  lofty  tower, 

Nor  prince,  nor  peer,  nor  page, 
Can  'scape  this  common  blast,  or  curb  our  stormy  rage. 

Our  life  is  but  a  pilgrimage  of  blasts, 
And  ev'ry  blast  brings  forth  a  fear ; 

And  ev'ry  fear  a  death  ; 

The  more  it  lengthens,  ah  !  the  more  it  wastes  : 
Where,  were  we  to  continue  here 

The  days  of  long-liv'd  Seth, 
Our  sorrows  would  renew,  as  we  renew  our  breath. 

Toss'd  to  and*  fro,  our  frighted  thoughts  are  driven 
With  ev'ry  puff,  with  ev'ry  tide 

Of  life-consuming  care  ; 

Our  peaceful  flame,  that  would  point  up  to  heaven, 
Is  still  disturb'd,  and  turn'd  aside ; 

And  ev'ry  blast  of  air 

Commits  such  waste  in  man,  as  man  cannot  repair. 
We  are  all  born  debtors,  and  we  firmly  stand 
ObligM  for  our  first  parents'  debt, 
Besides  our  interest ; 


HIEKOGLYPHICS  OF  401 

Alas  !  we  have  no  harmless  counterbond  : 
And  we  are  ev'ry  hour  beset 

With  threat'nings  of  arrest, 
And,  till  we  pay  the  debt,  we  can  expect  no  rest. 

What  may  this  sorrow-shaken  life  present, 
To  the  false  relish  of  our  taste, 

That's  worth  the  name  of  sweet  ? 
Her  minute's  pleasure 's  chok'd  with  discontent, 
Her  glory  soil'd  with  ev'ry  blast ; 

How  many  dangers  meet 
Poor  man  between  the  biggin  and  the  winding-sheet ! 


S.  AUGUST. 

In  the  world,  not  to  be  grieved,  not  to  be  afflicted,  not 
to  be  in  danger,  is  impossible. 

Ibidem. 

Behold,  the  world   is  full  of  trouble,   yet  beloved  : 

what  if  it  were  a  pleasing  world  ?    how  wouldst  thou 

delight   in  her   calms,   that   canst   so  well    endure    her 
storms  ? 


EPIG.  3. 

Art  thou  consum'd  with  soul-afflicting  crosses  ? 
Disturb'd  with  grief  ?  annoy'd  with  worldly  losses  ? 
Hold  up  thy  head  :  the  taper,  lifted  high, 
Will  brook  the  wind,  when  lower  tapers  die. 


D  D 


HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 


Curando  labasclt. 

The  flame  by  trimming  burns  more  bright  and  fast, 
But  often  trimming  makes  the  taper  waste. 

MATT.  IX.    12. 

The  whole  need  not  a  physician. 

A  LWAYS  pruning,  always  cropping 
•**•     Is  her  brightness  still  obscurM  ? 
Ever  dressing,  ever  topping  ? 
Always  curing,  never  curM  ? 

Too  much  snuffing  makes  a  waste  ; 
When  the  spirits  spend  too  fast. 
They  will  shrink  at  ev'ry  blast. 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN. 


403 


You  that  always  are  bestowing 
Costly  pains  in  life  repairing, 
Are  but  always  overthrowing 
Nature's  work  by  over-caring 

Nature,  meeting  with  her  foe, 
In  a  work  she  hath  to  do, 
Takes  a  pride  to  overthrow. 
Nature  knows  her  own  perfection, 
And  her  pride  disdains  a  tutor ; 
Cannot  stoop  to  art's  correction, 
And  she  scorns  a  coadjutor. 

Saucy  art  should  not  appear, 
Till  she  whisper  in  her  ear  : 
Hagar  flees,  if  Sarah  bear. 

Nature  worketh  for  the  better, 

If  not  hinder'd  that  she  cannot ; 
Art  stands  by  as  her  abettor, 
Ending  nothing  she  began  not ; 
If  distemper  chance  to  seize, 
(Nature  foil'd  with  the  disease,) 
Art  may  help  her  if  she  please. 
But  to  make  a  trade  of  trying 

Drugs  and  doses,  always  pruning, 
Is  to  die  for  fear  of  dying  ; 

He 's  untun'd  that 's  always  tuning. 
He  that  often  loves  to  lack 
Dear-bought  drugs,  hath  found  a  knack 
To  foil  the  man,  and  feed  the  quack. 
O  the  sad,  the  frail  condition 

Of  the  pride  of  nature's  glory ! 
How  infirm  his  composition, 
And,  at  best,  how  transitory  ! 
When  this  riot  doth  impair 
Nature's  weakness,  then  his  care 
Adds  more  ruin  by  repair. 


4o4  HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 

Hold  thy  hand,  health's  dear  maintainer, 

Life,  perchance,  may  burn  the  stronger : 
Having  substance  to  sustain  her, 

She,  untouch'd,  may  last  the  longer ; 
When  the  artist  goes  about 
To  redress  her  flame,  I  doubt. 
Oftentimes  he  snuffs  it  out. 


NICOCLES. 

Physicians,  of  all  men,  are  most  happy :  what  good 
success  soever  they  have,  the  world  proclaimed! ;  and 
what  faults  they  commit,  the  earth  covereth. 


EPIC.  4, 

if  my  ligl 

:o  make  ; 

Quack,  leave  thy  trade  ;  thy  dealings  are  not  right, 
Thou  tak'st  our  weighty  gold  to  give  us  light. 


My  purse  being  heavy,  if  my  light  appear 
But  dim,  quack  comes  to  make  all  clear  ; 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN. 


405 


Te  auxlliante^  resurgo. 

The  winds  with  all  their  breath  may  blow,  in  vain, 
For  by  thy  help  I  am  reviv'd  again. 

PSALM  XCI.    II. 

And  he  will  give  his  angels  charge  over  thee. 

C\  HOW  mine   eyes   could    please   themselves,   and 
^  spend 

Perpetual  ages  in  this  precious  sight ! 
How  I  could  woo  eternity,  to  lend 

My  wasting  day,  an  antidote  for  night ! 
And  how  my  flesh  could  with  my  flesh  contend, 

That  views  this  object  with  no  more  delight! 


406  HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 


My  work  is  great,  my  taper  spends  too  fast : 
'Tis  all  I  have,  and  soon  would  out  or  waste, 
Did  not  this  blessed  screen  protect  it  from  this  blast. 

O,  I  have  lost  the  jewel  of  my  soul, 

And  I  must  find  it  out,  or  I  must  die  : 
Alas !  my  sin-made  darkness  doth  control 

The  bright  endeavour  of  my  careful  eye  : 
I  must  go  search  and  ransack  ev'ry  hole ; 
Nor  have  I  other  light  to  seek  it  by  : 

O  if  this  light  be  spent,  my  work  not  done, 
My  labour  's  worse  than  lost ;  my  jewel 's  gone, 
And  I  am  quite  forlorn,  and  I  am  quite  undone. 

You  blessed  angels,  you  that  do  enjoy 

The  full  fruition  of  eternal  glory, 
Will  you  be  pleased  to  fancy  such  a  toy 

As  man,  and  quit  your  glorious  territory, 
And  stoop  to  earth,  vouchsafing  to  employ 

Your  care  to  guard  the  dust  that  lies  before  ye  f 
Disdain  you  not  these  lumps  of  dying  clay, 
That  for  your  pains  do  oftentimes  repay 
Neglect,  if  not  disdain,  and  send  you  grievM  away  ? 

This  taper  of  our  lives,  that  once  was  plac'd 

In  the  fair  suburbs  of  eternity, 
Is  now,  alas  !  confin'd  to  ev'ry  blast, 

And  turned  a  maypole  for  the  sporting  fly; 
And  will  you,  sacred  spirits,  please  to  cast 
Your  care  on  us,  and  lend  a  gracious  eye  ? 
How  had  this  slender  inch  of  taper  been 
Blasted  and  blaz'd,  had  not  this  heav'nly  screen 
Curb'd  the  proud  blast,  and  timely  stepp'd  between  ? 

O  goodness,  far  transcending  the  report 

Of  lavish  tongues  !  too  vast  to  comprehend  ! 

Amazing  quill,  how  far  dost  thou  come  short 
To  express  expressions  that  so  far  transcend ! 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN. 


407 


You  blessed  courtiers  of  th'  eternal  court, 
Whose  full-mouth' d  hallelujahs  have  no  end, 
Receive  that  world  of  praises  that  belongs 
To  your  great  Sov'reign  ;  fill  your  holy  tongues 

With  our  hosannas  mixM  with  your  seraphic  songs. 


S.  BERN. 

If  thou  desirest  the  help  of  angels,  fly  the  comforts 
of  the  world,  and  resist  the  temptations  of  the  devil. 

He  will  give  his  angels  charge  over  thee.  O  what, 
reverence,  what  love,  what  confidence,  deserveth  so 
sweet  a  saying !  For  their  presence,  reverence ;  for 
their  good  will,  love  ;  for  their  tuition,  confidence. 


EPIG.  5. 

My  flame,  art  thou  disturb'd,  diseased,  and  driven 
To  death  with  storms  of  grief  ?  point  thou  to  Heaven  : 
One  angel  there  shall  ease  thee  more  alone, 
Than  thrice  as  many  thousands  of  thy  own. 


HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 


6. 


Tempus  erit. 

The  time  shall  come  when  all  must  yield  their  breath 
Till  then,  Time  checks  th'  uplifted  hand  of  Death. 


ECCLES.  III.    I. 

To  everything  there  is  an  appointed  time. 


TIME. 


DEATH. 


Time,      T>EHOLD  the  frailty  of  this  slender  snuff 

*-*     Alas  !  it  hath  not  long  to  last ; 
Without  the  help  of  either  thief  or  puff, 
Her  weakness  knows  the  way  to  waste  : 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN. 


409 


Nature  hath  made  her  substance  apt  enough 
To  spend  itself,  and  spend  too  fast : 
It  needs  the  help  of  none, 

That  is  so  prone 
To  lavish  out  untouch'd,  and  languish  all  alone. 

Death.     Time,  hold  thy  peace,  and   shake  thy  slowpac'd 

sand  ; 

Thine  idle  minutes  make  no  way : 
Thy  glass  exceeds  her  hour,  or  else  doth  stand  : 

I  cannot  hold,  I  cannot  stay. 
Surcease  thy  pleading,  and  enlarge  my  hand ; 
I  surfeit  with  too  long  delay  : 
This  brisk,  this  bold-fac'd  light 

Doth  burn  too  bright; 
Darkness  adorns  my  throne,  my  day  is  darkest  night. 

Time.  Great  prince  of  darkness,  hold  thy  needless  hand ; 

Thy  captive 's  fast,  and  cannot  flee  : 
What  arm  can  rescue,  who  can  countermand  ? 

What  power  can  set  thy  prisoner  free  ? 
Or  if  they  could,  what  close,  what  foreign  land 
Can  hide  that  head  that  flees  from  thee  ? 
But  if  her  harmless  light 

Offend  thy  sight, 

What  need'st  thou  snatch  at  noon,  what  will  be  thine  at 
night  ? 

Death.  I  have  outstay' d  my  patience  :  my  quick  trade 

Grows  dull,  and  makes  too  slow  return  : 
This  long-liv'd  debt  is  due,  and  should  been  paid 

When  first  her  flame  began  to  burn ; 
But  I  have  stay'd  too  long,  I  have  delayed 
To  store  my  vast,  my  craving  urn. 
My  patent  gives  me  pow'r 

Each  day,  each  hour, 

To  strike  the  peasant's  thatch,  and  shake  the  princely 
tower. 


4io  HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 


Time.  Thou  count'st  too  fast:  thy  patent  gives  no  power 

Till  Time  shall  please  to  say,  Amen. 
Death.  Canst  thou  appoint   my   shaft  ?      Time.  Or  thou 

my  hour? 

Death.  'Tis  I  bid,  do.      Time.  'Tis  I  bid,  when  ; 
Alas  !  thou  canst  not  make  the  poorest  flower 
To  hang  the  drooping  head  till  then  : 
Thy  shafts  can  neither  kill, 

Nor  strike,  until 
My  power  gives  them  wings,  and  pleasure  arms  thy  will. 


S.  AUGUST. 

Thou  knowest  not  what  time  he  will  come  :  wait 
always,  that  because  thou  knowest  not  the  time  of  his 
coming,  thou  mayest  be  prepared  against  the  time  he 
cometh.  And  for  this,  perchance,  thou  knowest  not 
the  time,  because  thou  mayest  be  prepared  against  all 
times. 


EPIG.  6. 

Expect,  but  fear  not  Death  :  Death  cannot  kill, 
Till  Time  (that  first  must  seal  her  patent)  will : 
Wouldst  thou  live  long  ?  keep  Time  in  high  esteem  j 
Whom  gone,  if  thou  canst  not  recall,  redeem. 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN. 


411 


Nee  sine,  nee  tecum 

Nor  with  thee,  nor  without  thee,  is  she  bright : 
For  thy  fierce  rays  put  out  her  feeble  light. 

JOB  XVIII.  6. 

His  light  shall  be  dark,  and  his  candle  shall  be  put  out. 

WHAT  ails  our  taper  ?  is  her  lustre  fled, 
Or  foil'd  ?     What  dire  disaster  bred 
This  change,  that  thus  she  veils  her  drooping  head  ? 

It  was  but  very  now  she  shin'd  as  fair 
As  Venus'  star  ;  her  glory  might  compare 
With  Cynthia,  burnished  with  her  brother's  hair. 


HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 


There  was  no  cave-begotten  damp  that  mought 
Abuse  her  beams  ;  no  wind  that  went  about 
To  break  her  peace  ;  no  puff  to  put  her  out. 

Lift  up  thy  wondering  thoughts,  and  thou  shalt  spy 
A  cause  will  clear  thy  doubts,  but  cloud  thine  eye  : 
Subjects  must  veil,  when  as  their  sov'reign  's  by. 

Canst  thou  behold  bright  Phoebus,  and  thy  sight 
No  whit  impaired  ?  the  object  is  too  bright 
The  weaker  yields  unto  the  stronger  light. 

Great  GOD,  I  am  thy  taper,  thou  my  sun  ; 
From  thee,  the  spring  of  light,  my  light  begun  ; 
Yet  if  thy  light  but  shine,  my  light  is  done. 

If  thou  withdraw  thy  light,  my  light  will  shine  : 
If  thine  appear,  how  poor  a  light  is  mine  ! 
My  light  is  darkness,  if  compar'd  to  thine. 

Thy  sunbeams  are  too  strong  for  my  weak  eye  ! 
If  thou  but  shine,  how  nothing,  LORD,  am  I  ! 
Ah  !  who  can  see  thy  visage,  and  not  die  ! 

If  intervening  earth  should  make  a  night, 

My  wanton  flame  would  then  shine  forth  too  bright  ; 

My  earth  would  e'en  presume  to  eclipse  thy  light. 

And  if  thy  light  be  shadow'd,  and  mine  fade, 
If  thine  be  dark,  and  my  dark  light  decay'd, 
I  should  be  clothed  with  a  double  shade. 

What  shall  I  do  ?     O  what  shall  I  desire  ? 
What  help  can  my  distracted  thoughts  require 
That  thus  am  wasted  'twixt  a  double  fire  ? 

In  what  a  strait,  in  what  a  strait  am  I  ! 

'Twixt  two  extremes,  how  my  rack'd  fortunes  lie  ! 

See  I  thy  face,  or  see  it  not,  I  die. 

O  let  the  streams  of  my  Redeemer's  blood, 

That  breathes  from  my  sick  soul,  be  made  a  cloud, 

To  interpose  these  lights,  and  be  my  shroud. 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN. 


4*3 


LORD,  what  am  I  !  or  what's  the  light  I  have  ! 
May  it  but  light  my  ashes  to  the  grave, 
And  so  from  thence  to  thee  ;  'tis  all  I  crave. 

O  make  my  light,  that  all  the  world  may  see 
Thy  glory  by  't :  if  not,  it  seems  to  me 
Honour  enough  to  be  put  out  by  thee. 


O  light  inaccessible,  in  respect  of  which  my  light  is 
utter  darkness ;  so  reflect  upon  my  weakness,  that  all 
the  world  may  behold  thy  strength  !  O  majesty  incom- 
prehensible, in  respect  of  which,  my  glory  is  mere 
shame  :  so  shine  upon  my  misery,  that  all  the  world 
may  behold  thy  glory  ! 


EPIC.  7. 

Wilt  thou  complain,  because  thou  art  bereav'n 
Of  all  thy  light  ?  wilt  thou  vie  lights  with  Heav'n  ? 
Can  thy  bright  eye  not  brook  the  daily  light  ? 
Take  heed  :  I  fear,  thou  art  a  child  of  night. 


HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 


8 


Nee  virtus  obscurapetit. 

Virtue  can  ne'er  in  this  dark  shade  delight : 
Poor  is  that  worth  which  hides  its  useful  light. 

MATT.  V.    l6. 

Let  your  light  so  shine,  that  men,  seeing  your  good  worts, 
may  glorify  your  Father  which  is  in  heaven. 

"\T7"AS  it  for  this,  the  breath  of  Heav'n  was  blown 

Into  the  nostrils  of  this  heav'nly  creature  ? 
Was  it  for  this,  that  sacred  Three  in  One 

Conspir'd  to  make  this  quintessence  of  nature  ? 

Did  heav'nly  Providence  intend 
So  rare  a  fabric  for  so  poor  an  end  ? 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN. 


4*5 


Was  man,  the  highest  masterpiece  of  nature, 
The  curious  abstract  of  the  whole  creation, 

Whose  soul  was  copy'd  from  his  great  Creator, 
Made  to  give  light,  and  set  for  observation, 
Ordain' d  for  this  ?  to  spend  his  light 

In  a  dark  lantern,  cloister'd  up  in  night  ? 

Tell  me,  recluse  monastic,  can  it  be 

A  disadvantage  to  thy  beams  to  shine  ? 
A  thousand  tapers  may  gain  light  from  thee  : 

Is  thy  light  less  or  worse  for  lightening  mine  ? 

If  wanting  light  I  stumble,  shall 
Thy  darkness  not  be  guilty  of  my  fall  ? 

Why  dost  thou  lurk  so  close  ?     Is  it  for  fear 
Some  busy  eye  should  pry  into  thy  flame, 

And  spy  a  thief,  or  else  some  blemish  there  ? 

Or,  being  spy'd,  shrink'st  thou  thy  head  for  shame  ? 
Come,  come,  fond  taper,  shine  but  clear, 

Thou  need'st  not  shrink  for  shame,  nor  shroud  for  fear. 

Remember,  O  remember,  thou  wert  set 

For  men  to  see  the  great  Creator  by ; 
Thy  flame  is  not  thine  own  j  it  is  a  debt 

Thou  ow'st  thy  Master.     And  wilt  thou  deny 

To  pay  the  interest  of  thy  light  ? 
And  skulk  in  corners,  and  play  least  in  sight  ? 

Art  thou  afraid  to  trust  thy  easy  flame 
To  the  injurious  waste  of  fortune's  pufF? 

Ah  !  coward,  rouse,  and  quit  thyself  for  shame  : 
Who  dies  in  service,  hath  liv'd  long  enough : 
Who  shines,  and  makes  no  eye  partaker, 

Usurps  himself,  and  closely  robs  his  Maker. 

Make  not  thyself  a  prisoner,  that  art  free  : 
Why  dost  thou  turn  thy  palace  to  a  jail  ? 

Thou  art  an  eagle  :  and  befits  it  thee 
To  live  immured  like  a  cloister' d  snail  ? 


4i  6  HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 

Let  toys  seek  corners  ;  things  of  cost 
Gain  worth  by  view  :  hid  jewels  are  but  lost. 

My  GOD,  my  light  is  dark  enough  at  lightest, 

Increase  her  flame,  and  give  her  strength  to  shine  : 

'Tis  frail  at  best ;  'tis  dim  enough  at  brightest ; 
But  'tis  its  glory  to  be  foil'd  by  thine  : 
Let  others  lurk  :  my  light  shall  be 

Propos'd  to  all  men ;  and  by  them  to  thee. 


S.  BERN. 

If  thou  be  one  of  the  foolish  virgins,  the  congregation 
is  necessary  for  thee  ;  if  thou  be  one  of  the  wise  virgins, 
thou  art  necessary  for  the  congregation. 

HUGO. 

Monastics  make  cloisters  to  inclose  the  outward  man  : 
O  would  to  GOD  they  would  do  the  like  to  restrain  the 
inward  man  ! 


EPIG.  8. 

Afraid  of  eyes  ?  what,  still  play  least  in  sight  ? 
'Tis  much  to  be  presum'd  all  is  not  right : 
Too  close  endeavours  bring  forth  dark  events : 
Come  forth,  monastic  ;  here'  s  no  parliaments. 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN. 


417 


Ut  luna,  infantia  torpet. 

Cold,  like  the  moon,  are  these  thy  infant  days : 
But  Phoebus  soon  shall  warm  thee  with  his  rays. 

JOB  XIV.  2. 

He  cometh  forth  like  a  flower ^  and  is  cut  down. 

BEHOLD, 

How  short  a  span 
Was  long  enough  of  old 
To  measure  out  the  life  of  man  ; 
In  those  well-temper'd  days  !  his  time  was  then 
Surveyed,  cast  up,  and  found  but  threescore  years   and 

ten. 

E  E 


4i  8  HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 

Alas  ! 

And  what  is  that  ? 

They  come,  and  slide,  and  pass, 

Before  my  pen  can  tell  thee  what. 

The  posts  of  time  are  swift,  which  having  run 

Their  seven  short  stages  o'er,  their  short-liv'd  task  is 

done. 

Our  days- 
Begun  we  lend 
To  sleep,  to  antic  plays 
And  toys,  until  the  first  stage  end  : 
Twelve  waning  moons,  twice  five  times  told,  we  give 
To  unrecover'd  loss  :  we  rather  breathe  than  live. 

We  spend 

A  ten  years'  breath 

Before  we  apprehend 

What  'tis  to  live,  or  fear  a  death  : 

Our  childish  dreams  are  fill'd  with  painted  joys, 

•Which  please  our  sense  awhile,  and,  waking,  prove  but 

toys. 

How  vain, 
How  wretched,  is 
Poor  man,,  that  doth  remain 
A  slave  to  such  a  state  as  this  ! 
His  days  are  short,  at  longest ;  few  at  most : 
They  are  but  bad,  at  best  j  yet  lavished  out,  or  lost. 

They  be 

The  secret  springs 
That  make  our  minutes  flee 
On  wheels  more  swift  than  eagles'  wings  : 

Our  life  's  a  clock,  and  every  gasp  of  breath 

Breathes  forth  a  warning  grief,  till  TIME  shall   strike  a 

death. 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN. 


419 


How  soon 

Our  new-born  light 
Attains  to  full-ag'd  noon  ! 
And  this,  how  soon  to  gray-hair' d  night ! 
We  spring,  we  bud,  we  blossom,  and  we  blast, 
Ere  we  can  count  our  days,  our  days  they  flee  so  fast. 

They  end 

When  scarce  begun  ; 

And  ere  we  apprehend 

That  we  begin  to  live,  our  life  is  done  : 

Man,  count  thy  days  ;  and,  if  they  fly  too  fast 

For  thy  dull  thoughts  to  count,  count  every  day  the 

last. 


Our  infancy  is  consumed  in  eating  and  sleeping ;  in  all 
which  time,  what  differ  we  from  beasts,  but  by  a  possi- 
bility of  reason,  and  a  necessity  of  sin  ! 

O  misery  of  mankind,  in  whom  no  sooner  the  image  of 
GOD  appeareth  in  the  act  of  his  reason,  but  the  devil 
blurs  it  in  the  corruption  of  his  will ! 


EPIG.  9. 


TO   THE    DECREPID    MAN. 


Thus  was  the  first  seventh  part  of  thy  few  days 
Consumed  in  sleep,  in  food,  in  toyish  plays  : 
Know'st  thou  what  tears  thine  eyes  imparted  then  r 
Review  thy  loss,  and  weep  them  o'er  again. 


420 


HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 


10. 


Proles  tua,  Mala^  Ju-ventus. 

Now  active,  heedless,  volatile,  and  gay, 

Are  youth  j  the  offspring  of  the  laughing  May. 

JOB  XX.    II. 

His  bones  are  full  of  the  sin  of  his  youth. 

swift-wing' d  post  of  Time  hath  now  begun 
His  second  stage  ; 
The  dawning  of  our  age 
Is  lost  and  spent  without  a  sun  ; 
The  light  of  reason  did  not  yet  appear 
Within  the  horizon  of  this  hemisphere. 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN.  411 

The  infant  will  had  yet  no  other  guide 

But  twilight  sense  ; 
And  what  is  gain'd  from  thence, 
But  doubtful  steps  that  tread  aside  ! 
Reason  now  draws  her  curtains  j  her  closM  eyes 
Begin  to  open,  and  she  calls  to  rise. 

Youth's  now  disclosing  buds  peep  out,  and  show 

Her  April  head ; 
And  from  her  grass-green  bed, 
Her  virgin  primrose  early  blows  ; 
Whilst  waking  Philomel  prepares  to  sing 
Her  warbling  sonnets  to  the  wanton  spring. 

His  stage  is  pleasant,  and  the  way  seems  short, 

All  strew'd  with  flowers  ; 
The  days  appear  but  hours, 
Being  spent  in  time-beguiling  sport. 
Her  griefs  do  neither  press,  nor  doubts  perplex  ; 
Here's  neither  fear  to  curb,  nor  care  to  vex. 

His  downy  cheeks  grow  proud,  and  now  disdains 

The  tutor's  hand  ; 
He  glories  to  command 
The  proud-neck'd  steed  with  prouder  reins  : 
The  strong-breath'd  horn  must  now  salute  his  ear 
With  the  glad  downfall  of  the  falling  deer. 

His  quick-nos'd  army,  with  their  deep-mouth'd  sounds. 

Must  now  prepare 
To  chase  the  tim'rous  hare, 
About  his  yet  unmortgag'd  grounds  ; 
The  ill  he  hates,  is  counsel  and  delay  ; 
And  fears  no  mischief  but  a  rainy  day. 

The  thought  he  takes,  is  how  to  take  no  thought 

For  bale  nor  bliss  ; 
And  late  repentance  is 
The  last  dear  penn'worth  that  he  bought : 


422  HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 

He  is  a  dainty  morning,  and  he  may, 
If  lust  o'ercast  him  not,  be  as  fair  a  day. 

Proud  blossom,  use  thy  time  :    Time's  headstrong  horse 

Will  post  away. 
Trust  not  the  following  day, 
For  every  day  brings  forth  a  worse  : 
Fake  time  at  best :  believ't,  thy  days  will  fall 
From  good  to  bad,  from  bad  to  worst  of  all. 


S.  AMBROS. 

Humility  is  a  rare  thing  in  a  young  man,  therefore 
to  be  admired  :  when  youth  is  vigorous,  when  strength 
is  firm,  when  blood  is  hot,  when  cares  are  strangers, 
when  mirth  is  free,  then  pride  swelleth,  and  humility 
is  despised. 

EPIG.  10. 

TO    THE    OLD    MAN. 

Thy  years  are  newly  gray,  his  newly  green  ! 
His  youth  may  live  to  see  what  thine  hath  seen : 
He  is  thy  parallel :  his  present  stage 
And  thine  are  the  two  tropics  of  man's  age. 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN. 


423 


I  I. 


'Jam  ruit  in  Venerem. 

His  strength  increasing,  now  he  burns  to  prove 
The  pleasing  pains,  and  flatt'ring  sweets  of  love. 


ECCLES.  XI.  9. 

Rejoice^  O  young  man^  and  let  thy  heart  cheer  thee^  but 

)  &c. 


TjOW  flux,  how  alterable  is  the  date 
*•*     Of  transitory  things  ! 

How  hurried  on  the  clipping  wings 
Of  Time,  and  driven  upon  the  wheels  of  Fate  ! 


424  HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 

How  one  condition  brings 
The  leading  prologue  to  another  state  ! 

No  transitory  things  can  last : 

Change  waits  on  Time,  and  Time  is  wing'd  with  haste , 
Time  present  's  but  the  ruin,  of  Time  past. 

Behold  how  change  hath  inch'd  away  thy  span  ; 

And  how  thy  light  doth  burn 
Nearer  and  nearer  to  thine  urn  ! 
For  this  dear  waste,  what  satisfaction  can 

Injurious  Time  return 
Thy  shortened  days,  but  this  the  style  of  man  ? 

And  what  's  a  man  ?     A  cask  of  care, 
New-tunned  and  working  :  he  's  a  middle  stair 
'Twixt  birth  and  death  ;  a  blast  of  full-ag'd  air. 

His  breast  is  tinder,  apt  to  entertain 

The  sparks  of  Cupid's  fire, 
Whose  new-blown  flames  must  now  inquire 
A  wanton  julep  out,  which  may  restrain 

The  rage  of  his  desire, 
Whose  painful  pleasure  is  but  pleasing  pain : 

His  life 's  a  sickness,  that  doth  rise 
From  a  hot  liver,  whilst  his  passion  lies 
Expecting  cordials  from  his  mistress'  eyes. 

His  stage  is  strew'd  with  thorns,  and  deck'd  with  flowers  : 

His  year  sometimes  appears 
A  minute  ;  and  his  minutes  years  : 
His  doubtful  weather 's  sunshine  mix'd  with  showers  ; 

His  traffic,  hopes  and  fears  ; 
His  life's  a  medley,  made  of  sweets  and  sours  ; 

His  pains  reward  his  smiles  and  pouts ; 
His  diet  is  fair  language  mix'd  with  flouts ; 
He  is  a  nothing,  all  composM  of  doubts. 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN.  4*5 

Do,  waste  thine  inch,  proud  span  of  living  earth, 

Consume  thy  golden  days 
In  slavish  freedom  ;  let  thy  ways 
Take  best  advantage  of  thy  frolic  mirth ; 

Thy  stock  of  time  decays, 
And  lavish  plenty  still  foreruns  a  dearth  : 

The  bird  that 's  flown  may  turn  at  last ; 
And  painful  labour  may  repair  a  waste, 
But  pains  nor  price  can  call  my  minutes  past. 


BEN. 

Expect  great  joy  when  thou  shalt  lay  down  the  mind 
of  a  child,  and  deserve  the  style  of  a  wise  man  ;  for  at 
those  years  childhood  is  past,  but  oftentimes  childish- 
ness remaineth  ;  and,  what  is  worse,  thou  hast  the 
authority  of  a  man,  but  the  voice  of  a  child. 


EPIG.  ii. 

TO    THE    DECLINING    MAN. 


Why  stand'st  thou  discontented  ?     Is  not  he 
As  equal-distant  from  the  top  as  thee  ? 
What  then  may  cause  thy  discontented  frown  ? 
He  's  mounting  up  the  hill  j  thou  plodding  down. 


HIEKOGLYPHICS  OF 


12, 


Ut  Sol  ardore  viriti. 

Now  like  the  sun  he  glows  with  manly  fire ; 
Invokes  the  muse,  and  strikes  the  Thracian  lyre. 

DEUT.  XXXIII.  25. 

As  thy  days^  so  shall  thy  strength  be. 


1  HE  post 

Of  swift-foot  time 

Hath  now  at  length  begun 

The  kalends  of  our  middle  stage  : 

The  number'd  steps  that  we  have  gone,  do  show 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN.  427 

The  number  of  those  steps  we  are  to  go : 

The  buds  and  blossoms  of  our  age 

Are  blown,  decayM,  and  gone, 

And  all  our  prime 

Is  lost  : 

And  what  we  boast  too  much,  we  have  least  cause  to 
boast. 

Ah  me! 

There  is  no  rest : 

Our  time  is  always  fleeing, 

What  rein  can  curb  our  headstrong  hours  ? 

They  post  away  :  they  pass  we  know  not  how  : 

Our  Now  is  gone,  before  we  can  say  now  : 

Time  past  and  future  's  none  of  ours  : 

That  hath  as  yet  no  being  ; 

And  this  hath  ceas'd 

To  be  ; 
What  is,  is  only  ours  :  how  short  a  time  have  we  ! 

And  now 
Apollo's  ear 

Expects  harmonious  strains, 

New-minted  from  the  Thracian  lyre ; 

For  now  the  virtue  of  the  twy-fork'd  hill 

Inspires  the  ravish'd  fancy,  and  doth  fill 

The  veins  with  Pegasean  fire  : 

And  now  those  sterile  brains, 

That  cannot  show 

Nor  bear 
Some  fruits,  shall  never  wear  Apollo's  sacred  bow. 

Excess 

And  surfeit  uses 

To  wait  upon  these  days  ; 

Full  feed  and  flowing  cups  of  wine 

Conjure  the  fancy,  forcing  up  a  spirit 

By  the  base  magic  of  debauch' d  delight ; 


428  HIEEOGLYPHICS  OF 


Ah  !  pity,  twice-born  Bacchus'  vine 

Should  starve  Apollo's  bays, 

And  drown  those  muses 

That  bless 
And  calm  the  peaceful  soul,  when  storms  of  care  oppress. 

Strong  light, 

Boast  not  those  beams 

That  can  but  only  rise 

And  blaze  awhile,  and  then  away : 

There  is  no  solstice  in  thy  day  ; 

Thy  midnight  glory  lies 

Betwixt  th'  extremes 

Of  night, 
A  glory  soiPd  with  shame,  and  fool'd  with  false  delight. 


Hast  thou  climbed  up  to  the  full  age  of  thy  few  days  ? 
Look  backwards,  and  thou  shalt  see  the  frailty  of  thy 
youth,  the  folly  of  thy  childhood,  and  the  waste  of  thy 
infancy ;  look  forwards,  thou  shalt  see  the  cares  of  the 
world,  the  troubles  of  thy  mind,  the  diseases  of  thy  body. 


EPIG.  12. 

TO   THE    MIDDLE-AGED. 


Thou  that  art  prancing  on  the  lusty  noon 
Of  thy  full  age,  boast  not  thyself  too  soon  : 
Convert  that  breath  to  wail  thy  fickle  state  ; 
Take  heed,  thou  'It  brag  too  soon,  or  boast  too  late. 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN. 


429 


Et  Martem  sfirat  et  Arma, 

And  now,  rejoicing  in  the  loud  alarms, 

He  pants  for  war,  and  sighs  for  deeds  of  arms. 

JOHN  III.  30. 

He  must  increase,  but  I  must  decrease. 

'TpIME  voids  the  table,  dinner  's  done  : 
•*"       And  now  our  day's  declining  sun 
Hath  hurried  his  diurnal  load 
To  the  borders  of  the  western  road  ; 
Fierce  Phlegon,  with  his  fellow-steeds, 
Now  puffs  and  pants,  and  blows  and  bleeds, 


430  HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 

And  froths  and  fumes,  remembering  still 
Their  lashes  up  th'  Olympic  hill ; 
Which,  having  conquerM,  now  disdain 
The  whip,  and  champ  the  frothy  rein, 
And  with  a  full  career  they  bend 
Their  paces  to  their  journey's  end : 
Our  blazing  taper  now  has  lost 
Her  better  half;  nature  hath  crost 
Her  forenoon  book,  and  clear'd  that  score, 
But  scarce  gives  trust  for  so  much  more  : 
And  now  the  gen'rous  sap  forsakes 
Her  seir-grown  twig  :  a  breath  e'en  shakes 
The  down-ripe  fruit :  fruit  soon  divorc'd 
From  her  dear  branch,  untouch'd,  unforc'd. 
Now  sanguine  Venus  doth  begin 
To  draw  her  wanton  colours  in, 
And  flees  neglected  in  disgrace, 
Whilst  Mars  supplies  her  lukewarm  place : 
Blood  turns  to  choler :  what  this  age 
Loses  in  strength,  it  finds  in  rage  : 
That  rich  enamel,  which,  of  old, 
Damask'd  the  downy  cheek,  and  told 
A  harmless  guilt,  unask'd,  is  now 
Worn  off  from  the  audacious  brow  ; 
Luxurious  dalliance,  midnight  revels, 
Loose  riot,  and  those  venial  evils 
Which  inconsiderate  youth  of  late 
Could  plead,  now  want  an  advocate  : 
And  what  appear'd  in  former  times 
Whisp'ring  as  faults,  now  roar  as  crimes  j 
And  now  all  ye,  whose  lips  were  wont 
To  drench  their  coral  in  the  font 
Of  fork'd  Parnassus  ;  you  that  be 
The  sons  of  Phoebus,  and  can  flee 
On  wings  of  fancy,  to  display 
The  flag  of  high  invention  ;  stay, 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN.  431 

Repose  your  quills  ;  your  veins  grow  sour, 
Tempt  not  your  salt  beyond  her  power  ; 
If  your  pall'd  fancies  but  decline, 
Censure  will  strike  at  every  line, 
And  wound  your  names  ;  the  popular  ear 
Weighs  what  you  are,  not  what  you  were  : 
Thus,  hackney-like,  we  tire  our  age, 
Spur-gallM  with  change  from  stage  to  stage. 


Seest  thou  the  daily  light  of  the  greater  world? 
when  attained  to  the  highest  pitch  of  meridian  glory, 
it  stayeth  not;  but  by  the  same  degrees  it  ascended, 
it  descendeth.  And  is  the  light  of  the  lesser  world 
more  permanent  ?  Continuance  is  the  child  of  eternity, 
not  of  time. 


EPIG.  13. 

TO   THE    YOUNG    MAN. 


Young  man,  rejoice ;  and  let  thy  rising  days 
Cheer  thy  glad  heart :  think'st  thou  these  uphill  ways 
Lead  to  death's  dungeon  ?     No  ;  but  know  withal 
A  rising 's  but  a  prologue  to  a  fall. 


43* 


HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 


Invidiosa  Senectus. 

Envious  old  age  obscures  thy  feeble  light, 
And  gives  thee  warning  of  approaching  night. 

JOHN  XII.   35. 

Yet  a  little  while  is  the  light  with  you. 

'"pHE  day  grows  old,  the  low-pitch' d  lamp  hath  made 
A       No  less  than  treble  shade, 
And  the  descending  damp  doth  now  prepare 

To  uncurl  bright  Titan's  hair  ; 
Whose  western  wardrobe  now  begins  to  unfold 

Her  purples,  fring'd  with  gold, 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN.  433 

To  clothe  his  ev'ningj  glory,  when  th'  alarms 
Of  rest  shall  call  to  rest  in  restless  Thetis'  arms. 

Nature  now  calls  to  supper,  to  refresh 

The  spirits  of  all  flesh  ; 
The  toiling  ploughman  drives  his  thirsty  teams 

To  taste  the  slipp'ry  streams  ; 
The  droiling  swineherd  knocks  away,  and  feasts 

His  hungry  whining  guests  : 
The  box-bill  ouzel,  arid  the  dappled  thrush, 
Like  hungry  rivals,  meet  at  their  beloved  bush. 

And  now  the  cold  autumnal  dews  are  seen 

To  cobweb  ev'ry  green  ; 
And  by  the  low-shorn  rowens  doth  appear 

The  fast-declining  year : 
The  sapless  branches  doff  their  summer  suits, 

And  wane  their  winter  fruits  ; 
And  stormy  blasts  have  forc'd  the  quaking  trees 
To  wrap  their  trembling  limbs  in  suits  of  mossy  freeze. 

Our  wasted  taper  now  has  brought  her  light 

To  the  next  door  to-night ; 
Her  sprightless  flame,  grown  great  with  snuff,  doth  turn. 

Sad  as  her  neighb'ring  urn  : 
Her  slender  inch,  that  yet  unspent  remains, 

Lights  but  to  further  pains  ; 
And,  in  a  silent  language,  bids  her  guest 
Prepare  his  weary  limbs  to  take  eternal  rest. 

Now  careful  age  hath  pitch'd  her  painful  plough 

Upon  the  furrow'd  brow  ; 
And  snowy  blasts  of  discontented  care 

Have  blanched  the  falling  hair : 
Suspicious  envy,  mix'd  with  jealous  spite, 

Disturbs  his  weary  night  : 
He  threatens  youth  with  age  ;  and  now,  alas  ! 
He  owns  not  what  he  is,  but  vaunts  the  man  he  was. 

F  F 


434  HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 


Gray  hairs,  peruse  thy  days ;  and  let  thy  past 

Read  lectures  to  thy  last : 
Those  hasty  wings,  that  hurried  them  away, 

Will  give  these  days  no  day  : 
The  constant  wheels  of  nature  scorn  to  tire 

Until  her  works  expire  : 

That  blast  that  nipp'd  thy  youth,  will  ruin  thee  ; 
That  hand  that  shook  the  branch,  will  quickly  strike  the 
tree. 


S.  CHRYS. 

Gray  hairs  are  honourable,  when  the  behaviour  suits 
with  gray  hairs  :  but  when  an  ancient  man  hath  childish 
manners,  he  becometh  more  ridiculous  than  a  child. 

BEN. 

Thou  art  in  vain  attained  to  old  years,  that  repeatest 
thy  youthfulness. 

EPIG.  14. 


TO   THE    YOUTH. 


Sees  thou  this  good  old  man  ?     He  represents 

Thy  future,  thou  his  preterperfect  tense  : 

Thou  goest  to  labour,  he  prepares  to  rest : 

Thou  break'st  thy  fast,  he  sups ;  now  which  is  best  ? 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN, 


435 


I  s. 


Plumbeus  in  lerram. 

The  sun  now  sets  ;  all  hopes  of  life  are  fled  ; 
And  to  the  earth  we  sink  like  weights  of  lead. 

PSALM  XC.    IO. 

The  days  of  our  years  are  threescore  years  and  ten. 

CO  have  I  seen  th'  illustrious  prince  of  light 

Rising  in  glory  from  his  crocean  bed, 
And  trampling  down  the  horrid  shades  of  night, 
Advancing  more  and  more  his  conq'ring  head ; 
Pause  first,  decline,  at  length  begin  to  shroud 
His  fainting  brows  within  a  coa  -black  cloud. 


436  HIEROGLYPHICS  OF 

So  have  I  seen  a  well-built  castle  stand 
Upon  the  tip-toes  of  a  lofty  hill, 
Whose  active  power  commands  both  sea  and  land, 
And  curbs  the  pride  x>f  the  beleaguerers'  will : 
At  length  her  ag'd  foundation  fails  her  trust, 
And  lays  her  tott'ring  ruins  in  the  dust. 

So  have  I  seen  the  blazing  taper  shoot 

Her  golden  head  into  the  feeble  air ; 

Whose  shadow-gilding  ray,  spread  round  about, 

Makes  the  foul  face  of  black-brow'd  darkness  fair : 
Till  at  the  length  her  wasting  glory  fades, 
And  leaves  the  night  to  her  invet'rate  shades. 

E'en  so  this  little  world  of  living  clay, 
The  pride  of  nature,  glorified  by  art, 
Whom  earth  adores,  and  all  her  hosts  obey, 
Allied  to  Heaven  by  his  diviner  part, 

Triumphs  a  while,  then  droops,  and  then  decays ; 

And,  worn  by  age,  death  cancels  all  his  days. 

That  glorious  sun,  that  whilom  shone  so  bright, 
Is  now  e'en  ravish'd  from  our  darkened  eyes  : 
That  sturdy  castle,  manned  with  so  much  might, 
Lies  now  a  mon'ment  of  her  own  disguise  : 

That  blazing  taper,  that  disdainM  the  puff 

Of  troubled  air,  scarce  owns  the  name  of  snuff. 
Poor  bedrid  man  !  where  is  that  glory  now, 
Thy  youth  so  vaunted  ?  where  that  majesty 
Which  sat  enthron'd  upon  thy  manly  brow  ? 
Where,  where  that  braving  arm  ?  that  daring  eye  ? 

Those  buxom  tunes  ?  those  Bacchanalian  tones  ? 

Those  swelling  veins  ?  those  marrow-flaming  bones  ? 

Thy  drooping  glory's  blurred,  and  prostrate  lies, 
Grov'ling  in  dust :  and  frightful  horror,  now. 
Sharpens  the  glances  of  thy  gashful  eyes ; 
Whilst  fear  perplexes  thy  distracted  brow : 


THE  LIFE  OF  MAN.  437 


Thy  panting  breast  vents  all  her  breath  by  groans, 
And  death  enerves  thy  marrow-wasted  bones. 

Thus  man  that 's  born  of  woman  can  remain 
But  a  short  time  :  his  days  are  full  of  sorrow  ; 
His  life  's  a  penance,  and  his  death  's  a  pain  ; 
Springs  like  a  flower  to-day,  and  fades  to-morrow  : 

His  breath  's  a  bubble,  and  his  day  Js  a  span ; 

'Tis  glorious  .misery  to  be  born  a  man ! 


CYPR. 

When  eyes  are  dim,  ears  deaf,  visage  pale,  teeth 
decayed,  skin  withered,  breath  tainted,  pipes  furred, 
knees  trembling,  hands  fumbling,  feet  failing ;  the 
sudden  downfall  of  thy  house  is  near  at  hand. 

S.  AUGUST. 

All  vices  wax  old  by  age  :  covetousness  alone  groweth 
young. 

EPIG.  15. 


TO    THE    INFANT 


What  he  doth  spend  in  groans,  thou  spend'st  in  tears 
Judgment  and  strength 's  alike  in  both  your  years  ; 
He  's  helpless  ;  so  art  thou  ;  what  difPrence  then  ? 
He  's  an  old  infant ;  thou,  a  young  old  man. 


Printed  by  GEORGE  WATSON,  5,  Kirby  Street,  Hatton  Garden. 


I 

I 


PR  Carles,  Francis 

3652  Emblems,  divine  and 

E5  moral 

1866 


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