J. Cleaveland revived poems, orations, epistles, and other of his genuine incomparable pieces never before publisht : with some other exquisite remains of the most eminent wits ... that were his contemporaries.

On Christ-Church windows.

YOu that prophane our windows with a tongue Set like some clock, on purpose to go wrong; Who, when you were at Service, sigh'd, because You heard the Organs musick, not the Dawes, Pitying our solemn State, shaking your head, To see no ruines from the floor to th' Lead: To whose pure nose our Cedar gave offence, Crying, It smelt of Papists frankincense, Who walking on our marbles, scoffing said, Whose bodies are under these tomb-stones laid? Counting our tapers works of darkness, and Choosing to see Priests in blew aprons stand, Rather than in rich coapes, which shew the art Of Sisera's prey embroider'd in each part: Then when you saw the Altars Bason, said, Why's not the Ewer on the Cup-board laid? Thinking our very Bibles too prophane, 'Cause you ne're bought such covers in Duck-Lane. Loathing all decencie, as if you'ld have Altars as foul, and homely as a grave. Had you one spark of reason, you would finde Your selves like idols, to have eyes, yet blinde; 'Tis onely some base niggard, Heresie, To think religion loves deformity.

Glory did never yet make God the lesse, Neither can beauty defile holinesse. What's more magnificent than heav'n? yet where Is there more love and piety than there? My heart doth wish (were't possible) to see Pauls built with precious stones and porphyrie; To have our hals and galleries out-shine Altars in beauty, is to deck our swine With Orient pearl, whilst the deserving Quire Of God and Angels, wallow in the mire. Our decent coapes onely distinction keep, That you may know the Shepherd from the sheep, As gawdy letters in the Rubrick show How you may holy-days from lay-days know; Remember Aarons robe; and you will say, Ladies at Masques are not so rich as they. Then are th' Priests words like thunder-claps, when he Is lightning like ray'd round with majestie; May every Temple shine like those at Nile, And still be free from Rat or Crocodile: But you will urge, both Priest and Church should be The solemn pa••tners of humilitie, Do not some boast of rags? Cynicks deride The pomp of Kings, but with a greater pride. Meekness consists not in the cloaths, but heart▪ Nature may be vain-glorious well as Art: We may as lowly before God appear, Drest with a glorious pearl, as with a tear.

In his high presence, where the Stars and Sun Do but eclipse, there's no ambition. You dare admit gay paint upon a wall, Why then in glasse that's held Apocryphall? Our bodies temples are, look in the eye, The window, and you needs must pictures spy; Moses and Aaron, and the Kings Arms are Daub'd in the Church, when you the warden were. Yet you ne're fin'd for Papist, shall we say▪ Banbury is turn'd Rome, because we may See th' holy Lamb and Christopher? nay more, The Altar-stone set at the Tavern doore? Why can't the Ox then in th' Nativity, Be imag'd forth, but Papists buls are nigh? Our pictures to no other end are made, Than is your time and's bill, your death and's spade, To us they are but Memento's, which present Christ best, except his Word and Sacrament. If 't were a sin to set up imag'ry, To get a child were flat idolatry. The models of our buildings would be thus Directions to our houses, ruines to us, Hath not each creature which hath daily breath, Some thing which resembles heaven or earth: Suppose some ignorant Heathen once did bow To Images, may not we see them now? Should we love darkness, and abhor the Sun, 'Cause Persians gave it adoration? And plant no Orchards, because apples first

Made Adam and his lineal race accurst. Though wine for Bacchus, bread for Ceres went, Yet both are used in the Sacrament; What then if these were Popish reliques; few Windows are elsewhere old, but these are new, And so exceed the former, that the face Of these come short of th' outside of our glass: Colours are here mixt, so that rainbows be (Compar'd) but clouds without varietie. Art here is Natures envie; this is he, Not Paracelsus, but by Chymistrie Can make a man from ashes, if not dust, Producing off-springs of his minde, not lust. See how he makes his Maker, and doth draw All that is meant i'th'the Gospel, or i'th' Law. Looking upon the Resurrection, Me thoughts I saw the blessed Vision, Where not his face is meerely drawne, but mind, Which not with paint, but oyl of gladnesse shin'd: But when I view'd the next pane, where we have The God of life transported to his grave, Light then is dark, all things so dull and dead; As if that part of th' window had been lead. Ionas his whale did so mens eyes befool, That they have beg'd him th' Anatomy school. That he saw ships at Oxford one did swear, Though Isis yet will barges hardly bear:

Another soon, as he the trees espi'd, Thought them i'th' garden on the other side. See in what state (though on an asse) Christ went, This shews more glorious than the Parli'ment. Then in what awe Moses his rod doth keep The Seas, as if the frost had glaz'd the Deep; The raging waves are to themselves a bound, Some cry, Help, help, or horse and man are drown'd. Shadows do every where for substance pass, You'd think the sands were in an hour-glass, You that do live with Surgeons, have you seen A spring of blood forc'd from a swelling vein: So from a touch of Moses rod, doth jump A Cataract, the rock is made a pump: At sight of whose o're-flowings, many get Themselves away, for fear of being wet. Here you behold a sprightfull Lady stand, To have her frame drawn by a Painters hand; Such lively look and presence, such a dress King Pharaohs daughters image doth express, Look well upon her gown, and you will swear The needle, not the pencill hath been there. At sight of her, some gallants do dispute, Whether i'th' Church 'tis lawfull to salute? Next Iacob kneeling, where his Kid-skin's such, As it may well cozen old Isaacs touch. A Shepherd see'ng how thorns went round a∣bout, Abrahams ram, would needs have helpt it out;

Behold, the Dove descending to inspire Th' Apostles heads with cloven tongues of fire, And in a superficies there you'l see The grosse dimensions of profundity: 'Tis hard to judge which is best built & higher, The Arch-roof in the window, or the quier. All beasts as in the Ark are lively done; Nay, you may see the shadow of the Sun: Upon a Landskip if you look a while, You'l think the prospect at least 40 mile; Ther's none needs now go travel we may see At home Ierusalem and Ninivy. And Sodom now in flames: one glance will dart Farther then Lynce with Galilaeus art, Seeing Eliahs Chariot, we fear There is some fiery prod'gy in the aire, VVhen Christ to purge his Temple holds his whip, How nimbly hucksters with their baskets skip. St. Peters fishes are so lively wrought, Some cheapen them, and ask when they were cought. Here's motions painted too: Chariots so fast Run that they're never gone though alwayes past, The Angels with their Lutes are done so true, VVe do not onely look, but harken too, As if their sounds were painted: thus the wit Of th' pencil hath drawn more then there can sit.

Thus as (in Archimedes sphear) you may In a small glass the Universe survey; Such various shapes are too ith' imag'ry as age and sex may their own features see, But if the window cannot shew your face, Look under feet, the Marble is your glass; VVhich too, for more then ornament, is there, The stones may learne your eyes to shed a tear, They never work upon the conscience; They cannot make us kneel, we are not such As thinke there's Balsome in the Kisse, or Touch, That were grosse superstition we know; There's no more pow'r in them then the Popes Toe. The Saints themselves for us can do no good, Much lesse their pictures drawn in glasse, or wood, They cannot seal, but since they signifie, They may be worthy of a cast oth' eye, Although no worship: that is due alone, Not to the Carpenters, but Gods own son: Obedience to blocks deserves the Rod, The Lord may well be then a jealous God. Why should not statues now be due to Paul, As to the C••sars of the Cappitoll; How many images of great Heirs, which Had nothing but the din of being rich,

Shine in our Temples? kneeling always there Where, when they were alive, they'd scarce appear? Yet shall Christs Sepulcher have ne're a Tomb? Shall every Saint have a Iohn Baptists Doom? No Limb of Marie stand? must we forget Christs Crosse, as soon as past the Alpha∣bet? Shall not their heads have room in th' win∣dow, who Founded our Church, and our Religion too? We know that God's a spirit, we confesse, VVe cannot comprehend his name, much lesse Can a small glasse his nature: but since he Vouchsafed to suffer his humanity; Why may not we (onely to put's in minde Of 's God-head) have his manhood thus en∣shrin'd. Is our Kings person lesse esteem'd, because We read him in our Coins as well as Laws? Do what we can, whether we think, or paint, All Gods expressions are but weak and faint, Yet spots in Globes must not be blotted thence, That cannot shew the World's magnificence. Nor is it fit we should the skill controu•• Because the Artist cannot draw the Soul.

Cease then your railings and your dull com∣plaints, To pull down Galleries and set up Saints Is no impiety: now we may well Say that our Church is truely visible: Those that before our glasse scaffolds prefer VVould turn our Temple to a Theater. VVindows are Pulpits now; though unlearn'd, one May read this Bibles new Edition. Instead of here and there, a verse adorn'd Round with a Lace of paint, fit to be scorn'd. Even by vulgar eyes, each pane presents VVhole Chapters with both Comment and Contents, The cloudy mysteries of the Gospel here Transparent as the Crystal do appear, 'Tis not to see things darkly through a glasse Here you may see our Saviour face to face; And whereas feasts come seldom, here's discri'd A constant Christmas, Easter, VVhitsuntide, Let the deaf hither come, no matter though Faiths sence be lost, we a new way can show, Here we can teach them to believe by th' eye These silenc'd Ministers do edifie: The Scriptures ray's contracted in a glasse Like Emblems do with greater virtue passe, Look in the book of Martyres and you'l see More by the pictures than the History: That price for things in colours oft we give, Which wee'd not take to have them while they live,

Such is the power of painting that it makes A loving sympathy 'twixt men and snakes, Hence then Paul's Doctrine may seem more Di∣vine, As Amber through a glasse doth clearer shine: Words passe away, as soon as headache gone, We read in books what here we dwell upon, Thus then there's no more fault in imag'ry Then there's in the practice of piety; Both edifie: what is in Letters there Is writ in plainer Hieroglyphicks here; 'Tis not a new Religion we have chose, 'Tis the same body but in better cloaths; You'l say they make us gaze when we should pray; And that our thoughts do on the figures stray, If so, you may conclude us beasts; what they Have for their object is to us the way. Did any ere use prospective to see No further then the glasse; or can there be Such lazie Travellers so giv'n to sin, As that they'l take their dwelling at the Inne? A Christians sight rests in Divinity, Signs are but spectacles to help faiths eye, God is the Center; dwelling on these words, My Muse a Sabbath to my brain affords; If their nice wits more solemne proof exact, Know, this was meant a Poem not a Tract.