A book for boys and girls, or, Country rhimes for children by J.B.

XXIX. Upon a Ring of Bells.

BElls have wide mouths and tongues, but are too weak, Have they not help, to sing, or talk, or speak. But if you move them they will mak't appear, By speaking they'l make all the Town to hear.

When Ringers handle them with Art and Skill, They then the ears of their Observers fill, With such brave Notes, they ting and tang so well As to out strip all with their ding, dong, Bell.

Comparison.

These Bells are like the Powers of my Soul; Their Clappers to the Passions of my mind: The Ropes by which my Bells are made to tole, Are Promises (I by experience find.)

My body is the Steeple, where they hang, My Graces they which do ring ev'ry Bell: Nor is there any thing gives such a tang, When by these Ropes these Ringers ring them well.

Let not my Bells these Ringers want, nor Ropes; Yea let them have room for to swing and sway: To toss themselves deny them not their Scopes. Lord! in my Steeple give them room to play. If they do tole, ring out, or chime all in, They drown the tempting tinckling Voice of Vice: Lord! when my Bells have gone, my Soul has bin As 'twere a tumbling in this Paradice!

Or if these Ringers do the Changes ring, Upon my Bells, they do such Musick make, My Soul then (Lord) cannot but bounce and sing, So greatly her they with their Musick take. But Boys (my Lusts) into my Belfry go, And pull these Ropes, but do no Musick make: They rather turn my Bells by what they do, Or by disorder make my Steeple shake.

Then, Lord! I pray thee keep my Belfry Key, ••et none but Graces meddle with these Ropes: ••nd when these naughty Boys come, say them Nay, ••rom such Ringers of Musick there's no hopes.

O Lord! If thy poor Child might have his will, And might his meaning freely to thee tell; He never of this Musick has his fill, There's nothing to him like thy ding, dong, Bell.