Steps to the temple ; The delights of the Muses ; and, Carmen Deo Nostro by Ric. Crashaw ...
Crashaw, Richard, 1613?-1649., Crashaw, Richard, 1613?-1649. Delight of the Muses., Crashaw, Richard, 1613?-1649. Carmen Deo Nostro.

Charitas Nimia. Or the dear Bargain.

LOrd, what is Man? why should he cost thee
So dear? what had his ruine lost thee?
Lord, what is Man? that thou hast over-bought
So much a thing of nought?
Love is too kind, I see, and can
Make but a simple Merchant man.
'Twas for such sorry Merchandise,
Bold Painters have put out his Eyes.
Alas, sweet Lord, what wer't to thee
If there were no such Worms as we?
Heav'n ne'rtheless still Heav'n would be.
Should Mankind dwell
In the deep Hell,
What have his Woes to do with thee?
Let him go weep
O'r his own wounds;
Seraphims will not sleep
Nor Sphears let fall their fatihful rounds.
Page  177 Still would the youthful Spirits sing,
And still thy spacious Palace ring.
Still would those beauteous Ministers of Light
Burn all as bright,
And bow their flaming heads before thee,
Still Thrones and Dominations would adore thee,
Still would those ever-wakeful sons of fire
Keep warm thy praise
Both nights and days,
And teach thy lov'd name to their Noble Lyre.
Let froward Dust then do its kind;
And give it self for sport to the proud wind.
Why should a piece of peevish Clay plead shares
In the Eternity of thy old cares?
Why shouldst thou bow thy awful Brest to see
What mine own madnesses have done with me?
Should not the King still keep his Throne
Because some desperate Fool's undone?
Or will the World's illustrious Eyes
Weep for every Worm that dies;
Will the gallant Sun
E'r the less Glorious run?
Will he hang down his Golden head
Or e'r the sooner seek his Western bed,
Because some foolish Fly
Grows wanton, and will dye?
If I were lost in misery,
What was it to thy Heav'n and thee?
What was it to thy precious blood
If my soul Heart call'd for a floud?
Page  178 What if my faithless soul and I
Would needs fall in
With guilt and sin,
What did the Lamb that he should dye?
What did the Lamb that he should need?
When the Wolf sins, himself to bleed?
If my base Lust,
Bargain'd with Death and well-beseeming Dust
Why should the white
Lamb's bosome write
The purple name
Of my sin's shame?
Why should his unstain'd Brest make good
My blushes with his own heart-blood?
O my Saviour make me see
How dearly thou hast paid for me
That lost again, my Life may prove
As then in Death, so now in Love.