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Ad Libri Lectorem.
WRite on, and haue the Palme: continue still
In sacred style, to treate of Powres diuine:
Inuoke no mortall Grace: for, Angels will
From Heauen descend, to grace this Tract of Thine,
Changing each blacke into a golden line.
Write on: O blessed Subiect! God, and Men,
In Heauen, and Earth, approoues, applaud thy paines:
Zeale seekes not Art: yet, see no barren Pen
To common Trifles hath enlarg'd the reines,
Nor suckt the borrowed blood from stranger veines.
Hence, All distrest may to their Soules apply
True, sauing Comfort: for, the Loue that could
Enforce a God for wretched Man to die,
Curst, crost, and scornd, tormented, bought, and sold
And all for such, to whom such Grace he would,
Cannot, in Iustice, but extend reliefe
To such as mourne their sinnes, and rue his griefe.
Thrice happy then be Thou, stird vp to spend
The Guifts he giues thee, to so blest an end.
N. Deeble.