Theophila, or, Loves sacrifice a divine poem / written by E.B., Esq., several parts thereof set to fit aires by Mr. J. Jenkins.

About this Item

Title: Theophila, or, Loves sacrifice a divine poem / written by E.B., Esq., several parts thereof set to fit aires by Mr. J. Jenkins.
Author: Benlowes, Edward, 1603?-1676.
Publication: London :: Printed by R.N., sold by Henry Seile ... and Humphrey Moseley ...,; 1652.
Rights/Permissions: To the extent possible under law, the Text Creation Partnership has waived all copyright and related or neighboring rights to this keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above, according to the terms of the CC0 1.0 Public Domain Dedication (http://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). This waiver does not extend to any page images or other supplementary files associated with this work, which may be protected by copyright or other license restrictions. Please go to http://www.textcreationpartnership.org/ for more information.
Link to this Item: http://name.umdl.umich.edu/A27387.0001.001
Cite this Item: "Theophila, or, Loves sacrifice a divine poem / written by E.B., Esq., several parts thereof set to fit aires by Mr. J. Jenkins." In the digital collection Early English Books Online. https://name.umdl.umich.edu/A27387.0001.001. University of Michigan Library Digital Collections. Accessed May 22, 2025.

Pages

THEOPHILA'S LOVE-SONG.

STANZA. 31.

SELF! ô, how mean an Harmonie it breeds! JESUS! All Names this NAME of Names exceeds! This Name's GODS Mercie at full Sea, 'tis LOVES

32.

High Tow'r, Ioyes Loadstone; This, my Spirit moves. Hark: Rise my Love, my Fair One, Come away; Lingring breeds Losse; I am thy Leader, Light, and Way.

33.

What Speed Speeds self can make, Soul, flie withall; GREATNES and GOODNES most Magnetical! Shoot, like a Flashof Fire, to th' ruby Wine,

34.

His precious BLOOD, transcendently Divine! (How poor those costly pearls were, drunk by Some) My LORD, drink Blood to me! Let It to th' Worlds Health come!

All Hope's unanchor'd but in THAT. THOU art, 'Bove Indies Womb, rich to my Love-sick Heart! Flesh-fair Endowments are but Skin-deep Brags,

36.

Varnisht Corruption; Wealth is but Cares Bags; The Bag impostom'd choaks. Gold, Beauty, Fame Are sublunary Mysts to SAINTS Seraphick Flame.

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JESUS! THIS fans my Fire, which has at best But Grains of Incense, Pounds of Interest. Go, Int'rest; Take the Principal, Thine own:

38.

Divine LOVE loves thy LOVELINES alone! What Flames to THINE proportionable be! LORD, had'st not first lov'd Man, Man could not have lov'd THEE!

Why lov'st us, but because THOU would'st? O, why For Lepers would the UNDEFILED die? That Pen was dipt i'th' Standish of thy Blood,

40.

Which wrot th' Indenture of our termless Good! O, LOVE, 'bove Wish! Never such LOVE enroll'd! Who think their utmost Flames enough for THEE, are cold.

41.

Whose HIGHNES did not to be low disdain, Yet, when at Lowest, Highest did remain! Who bow'dst HEAV'NS Altitude, refresh with Flowrs,

42.

With JESSES Sov'raign Flow'r, my fainting Pow'rs, Which sink (as shaft-struck Hart embost) twixt Grief, And Ioy: Grief for my Sin, Ioy for thy free Relief••

43.

Wrackt is with bitter-sweet Extreams my Minde, Shell'd, sheath'd, cag'd, coffin'd in her treacherous friend; Her always tempting mass of Flesh She bears,

44.

Her Hopes, did they not sprout from Thee, were fears: HOPE, Thou Perfume of LOVERS, for thy Sake LOVE'S generous, throws at All: Life's but a petty Stake;

Page 58

Scarce worth the Prize. LOVE makes two Spirits but one; Me, Counterpart to thy Indenture, own; I, active then as Light, tread Air and Flame,

46.

Without or Wing, or Chariot; and disclaim All the faint Sweets of Earth. Thy SPIRIT views How in Loves torrid Zone thy sweltring Martyr stews.

Row me, ye Dove-wingd Oars, whom Hope do's buoy, To wisht-for Hav'n, flowing with Tides of Ioy! Yet wish I not, my Joy, thy Ioyes Above,

48.

Meerly for Ioy; nor Pleasures of thy LOVE, Only for Love of Pleasure; No, let free Spiritual Languors teem! Fruitful, yet Virgins be!

Give, give me Children, or I die! LOVE, rest Thy Head upon the Pillows of my Breast! When me THOU shalt impregn'd with Vertues make

50.

A fruitful Eden, All the Frutage take! Thy Passion, Ionathan, below did move; Rapt SPIRITS, in high Excess flame with intensest Love!

My Life is hid with THEE in GOD! Descry THY SELF, ô, THOU, my plighted SPOUSE, that I May ever glorious be! That my joy'd Soul

52.

With THEE may make up Marriage! and my whole Self THEE for Bridegroom have! My Hope still sends Up Come, that I may enter with thy feasted Friends!

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53.

O, That long-long'd for COME! ô, COME! mine Eyes, LOVES Sentinels, watch, like officious Spies! Strike Sparks of JOY t'enflame LOVES Tinder! make

54.

The Exile view her Home, the Dreamer wake! Tears raise the Fire of LOVE! Ease Sighs of Air, Fires Passion, watry Tears, and earthy self Despair!

55.

My Sighs, condens'd to Drops, compute Hours spent! Cancell the Lease of my Clay-Tenement, Which payes deer Rent of Groans! ô, grant a Writ

56.

Of Ease! I languish out, not live! Permit A Passe to SIONS MOUNT! But, I resigne My green-sick Will, though sick of LOVE, to that of Thine!

57.

Waitings, which ripen Hopes, are not Delayes; Presence how great, how true's LOVE, Absence saies: While Lungs my Breath shall organ, I'l press still

58.

Th' Exinanition of my o'regrown Will. Behold, I quickly come. O're-joyd I'm here! O Come! Till then, each Day's an Age, each Hour a Year.

59.

JESU! (That NAME'S Ioyes Essence!) hasten on! Throng amorous Sighs for Dissolution! Fastidious Earth, avant; With Love-plumes soar,

60.

My Soul, to meet thy SPOUSE, Can'st wish for more? Only Come! give a RING! Re-eccho then, O, Come. Even so, LORD IESV, Come! Amen. Amen.

Page 60

LXI.

Who's this Inamor'd VOT'RESSE? Like the Morn From Mountain unto Mountain born? Who first, with Night-drops dew'd, seem'd Turtle Dove forlorn?

LXII.

But now, e're warped Body, neer Decay, Stands, Bow-like, bent, to shoot away Her Soul, Ere prone Looks kiss her Grave, e're her last Day,

LXIII.

She (LOVE-fill'd) wants no Mate, has rather one Body too much. I'th' SPIRITS Throne CHRISTS Peace is fullest Quire! Such Loneness, least alone!

LXIV.

When soft-flying Sleep, Deaths Sister, Wings do's spread Over that curtain'd Grave, her Bed, Then, with prophetick Dreams the HIGHEST crowns her Head.

LXV.

Behold, a comely PERSON, clad in white, The all-inlightning Sun, lesse bright Than that illustrious FACE of HIS, which blest her Sight.

LXVI.

To Her, in MAJESTIE, His Way HE broke, And, softly thus to Her HE spoke. Come, Come away. My JESUS? saies She. So, She woke.

LXVII.

Her Pray'rs, more passionate, than witty, rise, As Sols Postilion, bright; her Eyes, Wrastling with GOD for GRACE, bedew Loves Para∣dise.

LXVIII

Betimes, when keen breath'd Winds, with frosty Cream, Peri'wig bald Trees, glaze tatling Stream: (For May-games past, white-sheet-peccavi is Winters Theme.

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LXIX.

Those Day-breaks give good Morrows, w^ch she takes With Thanks, so, doubly Good them makes. Who in GODS Promise rests, in GODS Remembrance wakes.

LXX.

SAINTS nothing more, SAINTS nothing lesse regard, Than LOVES SELF, than self-Love; unscar'd, Though rackt into an Anagram, their Souls being spar'd.

LXXI.

Through Vertuous Self-mistrust They acted move Like Needle, toucht by th' Stone of Love. Blest Magnet, which attracts, and Souls directs ABOVE!

LXXII.

Were She but mortal, She were satisfy'd, So GOD liv'd in Her, till She dy'd; His WORD, her Deed, his WILL, her Warrant; BOTH, her (Guide.

LXXIII.

Thus, this DEVOTA breaths out yerning Cries. Let not Dust blinde my sensual Eyes, When as my Spirits Energie transcends the Skies!

LXXIV.

VIRTUES raise Souls. All's FILIAL to ABOVE; Low'st Step is Mercenary Love; Fraternal are the Sides that SAINTS Ascent improve.

LXXV.

Manna to my enamour'd Soul, art THOU! The SPIRIT of Heav'n, distill'd, do's flow From thy ASPECT; By That, from Brutes, we ANGELS grow.

LXXVI.

Had I, ô, had I many Lives, as Years; As many Loves, as Love hath Fears; All, All were THINE, had I as many Hearts, as Hairs!

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LXXVII.

From THEE my JOY-EXTENSIONS spreading flow; Dilating, as Leaf-gold! be n't slow, O, THOU, my All, and more! Love-lorn, THEE still I woo!

LXXVIII.

The Widow press'd, till THEE to grant She bound; The VIRGIN sought THEE, till she found; The Publican did knock, till opening, knocking crown'd.

LXXIX.

Though nought but dross I in my self can spie, Yet melted with THY beaming EYE, My Refuse turns to Gold, by mystick Alchymie;

LXXX.

Then, whet thy blunt Sythe, Time, and wing thy Feet: Life, not in Length, but Use, is sweet: Come, Death, (the Body brought a bed o'th' SOUL) Come, fleet!

LXXXI.

Be Pulse, my passing-Bell; be Skin, my Herse: Nights sable Curtains that disperse The Rayes of Day, be Shroud: Dews, weep my funeral Verse!

LXXXII.

Pittie me, Love-sick Virgins! Then, She swound; O'recome with Zeal, She sunk to th' Ground: Darts of intolerable Sweets her Soul did wound.

LXXXIII.

She lay with flaming LOVE empierc't to th' Heart: Wak't, As She bled, She kist the Dart; Then sigh'd. Take all I am, or have! All, All THOU art!

LXXXIV.

Then, sunk again. Reviv'd, LOVES BOW She bent And marry'd String to Shaft, and sent Ejaculations, which the Skies, like Lightning, rent.

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LXXXV.

Piercing Them through (feather'd with Sighs) to show She little pay'd, yet much did owe: The Feathers sung, and fir'd, as they did upward go.

LXXXVI.

No ice-fring'd Cloud may quench LOVES soaring Flame: LOVE is more strong then Death, or Shame. Grown up all Soul, the Flesh sinks in a triple Qualm.

LXXXVII.

I charge ye, SION VIRGINS, let Her still Enjoy her disencloystred Fill In These high Extasies of UNION and WILL.

LXXXVIII.

Do not with Claps of Hands, or noise of Feet, Awake Her from what is more sweet, Till the bright rising Day-star light Her to HEAV'NS Street.

LXXXIX.

Yeeld Her, what her unfetter'd Rapture gives, Since She's more where She loves, than lives: Transanimations, scaling HEAV'N, break carnal Gyves.

XC.

In LOVES triumphant Chariot plac't She is; Concentrick are her JOYES with HIS Encharioted in Fire, her Spirit HEAV'N-ripe for Blisse.

XCI.

They're only sound, who Thus are lost in Trance; Transported to the High'st Advance, With Him, who was in Spirit rapt to' expreffeles Glance.

XCII.

Return'd; She cry'd. O, slay me thus again! Ne're lives she who thus ne're is slain! How sweet the Wounds of LOVE! No Pleasure to LOVES pain!