Steps to the temple ; The delights of the Muses ; and, Carmen Deo Nostro by Ric. Crashaw ...

CARMEN DEO NOSTRO, Te Decet HYMNUS. SACRED POEMS, COLLECTED, CORRECTED, AUGMENTED, Most Humbly PRESENTED, TO MY LADY THE COUNTESSE OF DENBIGH.

By her Most devoted Servant RICH. CRASHAW.

In hearty acknowledgement of his immortal Obli∣gation to her Goodness and Charity.

CRASHAWE, THE ANAGRAM HE WAS CAR.

WAs Car then Crashaw, or was Crashaw Car, Since both within one name combined are? Yes, Car's Crashaw, he Car; 'tis Love alone Which melts two hearts, of both composing one, So Crashaw's still the same: so much desired By strongest Wits; so honor'd so admired; Car Was but He that enter'd as a friend With whom he shar'd his thoughts, and did commend (While yet he liv'd) this Work; they lov'd each other: Sweet Crashaw was his friend; he Crashaws Brother: So Car hath Title then; 'twas his intent That what his Riches pen'd, poor Car should Print; Nor fears he check, praising that happy one Who was belov'd by all; disprais'd by none. To wit, being pleas'd with all things, he pleas'd all: Nor would he give, nor take offence; befal What Might; he would possess himself: and live As dead (devoid of interest) t' all might give Disease t' his well composed mind; forestall'd With Heavenly Riches: which had wholly call'd

His thoughts from Earth, to live above in th' Air A very Bird of Paradise. No care Had he of earthly trash. What might suffice To fit his soul to Heavenly exercise. Sufficed him; and may we guess his hart By what his Lips bring forth, his onely part Is God and Godly thoughts. Leaves doubt to none But that to whom one God is all; all's one. What he might eat or wear he took no thought, His needful food he rather found then sought. He seeks no Downs, no Sheets, his Bed's still made If he can find, a Chair or Stool, he's laid, When day peeps in; he quits his restless rest; And still, poor soul, before he's up he's drest. Thus dying did he live, yet liv'd to dye In th' Virgins Lap, to whom he did ayply His Virgin thoughts and words, and thence was styl'd By foes, the Chaplain of the Virgin mild While yet he liv'd without: his Modesty Imparted this to some, and they to me. Live happy then, dear soul; injoy thy rest Eternally by pains thou purchasedst, While Car must live in Care; who was thy friend Nor cares he how he live, so in the end, He may injoy his dearest Lord and thee; And sit and sing more skilful songs Eternally.

THOMAS CAR.

TO THE Noblest and best of LADIES, THE COUNTESSE OF DENBIGH:

Perswading her to Resolution in Religion, and to render her self without further delay ino the Communion of the Ca∣tholick Church.

WHat Heaven-intreated Heart is this? Stands trembling at the Gate of Bliss; Holds fast the door, yet dares not venture Fairly to open it and enter, Whose Definition is a doubt 'Twixt Life and Death, 'twixt in and out.

Say, lingring fair! why comes the birth Of your brave Soul so slowly forth? Plead your pretences (O you strong In weakness) why you choose so long In labor of your self to lie, Nor daring quite to live nor die: Ah linger not, lov'd Soul! a slow And late consent was a long no, Who grants at last, long time try'd And did his best to have deny'd, What Magick bolts, what Mystick Barrs Maintain the Will in these strange Warrs! What fatal, what fantastick Bands, Keep the free Heart from its own Hands! So when the year takes cold, we see Poor Waters their own Prisoners be, Fetter'd, and lock d up fast they ly In a sad self-capti•…•…ity▪ Th' astonisht Nymphs their floods strange fate deplore To see themselves their own severer shore. Thou that alone canst thaw this cold, And fetch the Heart from its strong Hold; Almighty Love! end this long War, And of a Meteor make a Star. O fix this fair Indefinite And mongst thy shafts of Soveraign light Choose out that sure decisive Dart Which has the Key of this close Heart, Knows all the corners of't, and can controul The self-shut Cabinet of an unsearcht soul. O let it be at last, Love s hour; Raise this tall Trophee of thy Pow'r; Come once the conquering way; not to confute But kill this Rebel-word, Irresolute,

That so, in spight of all this peevish strength Of weakness, she may write Resolv'd at Length. Unfold at length, unfold fair Flow'r And use the season of Love's show'r, Meet his well-meaning wounds, wise Heart▪ And haste to drink the wholsome Dart; That Healing shaft, which Heav'n till now Has in Loves Quiver hid for you, O Dart of Love! Arrow of Light! O happy you, if it hit right, It must not fall in vain, it must Not mark the dry regardless dust. Fair one, it is your Fate▪ and brings Eternal Words upon its Wings. Meet it with wide-spread Arms; and see It's seat your soul's just center be. Disband dull fears; give faith the day, To save your life, kill your delay; It is Loves Siege, and sure to be Your triumph, though his Victory. 'Tis cowardise that keeps this Field, And want of Courage not to yield. Yield then, O yield, that Love may win The Fort at last, and let Life in. Yield quickly, lest perhaps you prove Death's prey, before the prize of Love. This Fort of your fair self, if't be not won, He is repulst indeed, but you'r undone.

To the Name above every Name, the Name of JESUS, A Hymn.

I Sing the Name which none can say But touch't with an interiour Ray; The name of our new Peace; our Good: Our Blisse, and supernatural Blood: The name of all our Lives and Loves. Hearken, and help, ye Holy Doves! The high-born Brood of Day; you bright Candidates of blissful Light, The Heirs Elect of Love; whose Names belong Unto the everlasting life of Song; All ye wise souls; who in the wealthy Brest Of this unbounded Name build your warm Nest. Awake, my Glory, Soul, (if such thou be, And that fair Word at all refer to thee) Awake and Sing And be all Wing; Bring hither thy whole Self; and let me see, What of thy Parent Heav'n yet speaks in Thee. O thou art Poor, Of Noble Pow'rs, I see, And full of nothing else but empty Me, Narrow, and low, and infinitely less Then this great Mornings mighty business. One little World or two (Alas) will never do; We must have store. Go, Soul, out of thy self, and seek for More, Go and request

Great Nature for the Key of her huge Chest Of Heav'ns, the self-involving Set of Sphears (Which dull Mortality more feels then hears) Then rouse the nest Of nimble Art, and traverse round The Airy shop of Soul-appeasing sound: And beat a summons in the same All-Soveraign Name. To warn each several kind And shape of sweetness, be they such As sigh with supple wind Or answer Artful touch, That they convene and come away To wait at the Love-Crowned Doors of that Illustrious Day. Shall we dare this, my Soul? we'l do't and bring No other Note for't, but the Name we sing. Wake Lute and Harp And every sweet-lipp'd thing That talks with Tuneful string; Start into life, and leap with me Into a hasty fit-tun'd harmony. Nor must you think it much T' obey my bolder touch; I have authority in Love's Name to take you And to the work of Love this morning wake you; Wake; in the Name Of Him who never sleeps, all things that are, Or what's the same, Are Musical; Answer my Call And come along; Help me to meditate mine immortal Song.

Come, ye soft Ministers of sweet sad mirth, Bring all your Houshold-stuff of Heav'n on Earth; O you, my Soul•…•…s most certain Wings, Complaining Pipes, and pratling strings, Bring all the store Of Sweets you have; and murmur that you have no more. Come, ne'r to part, Nature and Art! Come; and come strong, To the conspiracy of our spacious song. Bring all the Pow'rs of Praise Your Provinces of well-united Worlds can raise; Bring all your Lutes and Harps of Heav'n and Earth; What e'r cooperates to the common mirth Vessels of vocal joys, Or you, more Noble Architects of intellectual noise, Cymballs of Heav'n, or Humane sphears, Solliciters of Souls or Ears; And when you are come, with all That you can bring or we can call; O may you fix For ever here, and mix Your selves into the long And everlasting series of a deathless Song; Mix all your many Worlds, above, And loose them into One of Love. Chear thee my Heart! For thou too hast thy part And place in the great Throng Of this unbounded all-imbracing Song. Pow'rs of my Soul, be proud! And speak loud

To all the dear-bought Nations this Redeeming Name, And in the wealth of one rich Word proclaim New Similes to Nature. May it be no wrong Blest Heav'ns, to you, and your Superior song, That we, dark Sons of Dust and Sorrow, A while dare borrow The name of your Delights and our Desires, And fit it to so farr inferior Lyres. Our Murmurs have their Musick too, Ye Mighty Orbs, as well as you, Nor yields the Noblest nest Of warbling Seraphim to the ears of Love, A choicer Lesson then the joyful Brest Of a poor panting Turtle-Dove. And we, low Worms have leave to do The same bright business (ye third Heav'ns) with you. Gentle Spirits, do not complain; We will have care To keep it fair, And send it back to you again. Come, lovely Name! appear from forth the bright Regions of peaceful Light; Look from thine own illustrious home, Fair King of Names, and come: Leave all thy Native Glories in their gorgeous Nest, And give thy self a while the gracious Guest. Of humble Souls, that seek to find The hidden Sweets Which man's heart meets When thou art Master of the Mind. Come, Lovely Name; life of our hope! Lo we hold our Hearts wide ope! Unlock thy Cabinet of Day

Dearest Sweet, and come away. Lo how the thirsty Lands Gasp for thy golden showrs! with long stretch't hands: Lo how the laboring Earth That hopes to be All Heaven by Thee, Leaps at thy Birth. Th' attending World, to wait thy Rise, First turn'd to Eyes; And then, not knowing what to do; Turn'd them to Tears, and spent them too, Come Royal Name; and pay th' expence Of all this precious patience. O come away And kill the Death of this Delay. O see, so many Worlds of barren years Melted and Measur'd out in Seas of Tears. O see the weary Lids of wakeful Hope (Love's Eastern windows) all wide ope With Curtains drawn, To catch the Day-break of thy Dawn. O dawn, at last, long-look't for day! Take thine own wings and come away. Lo, where aloft it comes! It comes, among The conduct of adoring Spirits that throng Like diligent Bees, and swarm about it. O they are wise: And know what Sweets are suck't from out it. It is the Hive, By which they thrive, Where all their hoard of Honey lies. Lo where it comes, upon the snowy Doves Soft back; and brings a bosome big with Loves. Welcome to our dark World, thou

Womb of Day! Unfold thy fair Conceptions; and display The Birth of our bright joys. O thou compacted Body of Blessings: Spirit of Souls extracted! O dissipate thy spicy Powr's (Cloud of condensed sweets) and break upon us In balmy showrs; O fill our senses, and take from us All force of so prophane a Fallacy To think ought sweet but that which smells of thee. Fair, Flowry Name; in none but thee And thy Nectareal fragrancy, Hourly there meets An universal Synod of all Sweets; By whom it is defined Thus That no Perfume For ever shall presume To pass for oderiferous, But such alone whose sacred Pedigree Can prove it self some kin (sweet name) to Thee. Sweet Name, in thy each Syllable A thousand Blest Arabias dwell; A Thousand Hills of Frankincense; Mountains of myrrh, and Beds of Spices, And Ten thousand Paradises. The Soul that tasts thee takes from thence How many unknown Worlds there are Of Comforts, which thou hast in keeping! How many thousand Mercies there In Pity's soft Lap lie a sleeping! Happy he who has the Art To awake them, And to take them Home, and lodge them in his Heart,

O that it were as it was wont to be! When thy old friends of fire, all full of thee, Fought against frowns with smiles; gave Glorious chase To persecutions; and against the Face Of Death and fiercest dangers, durst with brave And sober pace march on to meet a Grave. On their bold Brests about the World they bore thee And to the Teeth of Hell stood up to teach thee, In Center of their inmost souls they wore thee, Where Racks and Torments striv'd in vain to reach thee. Little, alas, thought they Who tore the fair Brests of thy Friends, Their Fury but made way For thee; and serv'd them in thy Glorious ends. What did their weapons but with wider pores Inlarge thy flaming brested Lovers More freely to transpire That impatient fire The heart that hides thee hardly covers, What did their weapons but set wide the doors I or thee: fair purple Doors, of Love's devising; The Ruby windows which inrich't the East Of thy so oft repeated Rising. Each wound of theirs was thy new morning; And reinthron'd thee in thy Rosy Nest, With blush of thine own blood thy day adorning: It was the wit of Love oreflow'd the bounds Of Wrath, and made the way through all these wounds, Welcome Dear, All-Adored Name! For sure there is no Knee That knows not thee. Or if there be such Sons of shame, Alas what will they do When stubborn Rocks shall bow

And Hills hang down their Heav'n-saluting Heads To seek for humble Beds Of Dust, where in the bashful shades of night Next to their own low Nothing they may lye, And couch before the dazeling light of thy dread Majesty. They that by Love's mild dictate now Will not adore the, Shall then with just Confusion, bow And break before thee.

In the Glorious Epiphany of our Lord God, a Hymn sung as by the Three Kings.

1. KING.

BRight Babe, whose awful Beauties make The morn incurr a sweet mistake;

2.

For whom th' officious Heav'ns devise To disinherit the Suns Rise,

3.

Delicately to displace The Day, and plant it fairer in thy Face;

1.

O thou born King of Loves,

2.

Of Lights,

3

Of Joys.

Cho.

Look up. Sweet Babe, look up, and see For love of thee Thus far from home The East is come To seek her self in thy sweet Eyes.

1.

We, who strangely went astray, Lost in a bright Meridian night,

2.

A Darkness made of too much Day,

3

Becken'd from far By thy fair Star, Lo at last have found our way.

Cho.

To Thee, thou Day of Night; thou East of West! Lo we at last have found the way To thee, the Worlds great Universal East; The general and indifferent day.

1

All-circling point, All-centring sphere, The World's One, Round, Eternal year.

2

Whose full and all-unwrinkled face Nor sinks nor swells with time or place;

3

But every where, and every while Is one consistent solid smile;

1

Not vext and tost.

2.

'Twixt Spring and Frost,

3

Nor by alternate shreds of Light Sordidly shifting hands with Shades and Night.

Cho.

O little all, in thy embrace The World lies warm, and likes his place; Nor does his full Globe fail to be Kist on both his Cheeks by thee: Time is too narrow for thy year Nor makes the whole World thy half Sphere.

1

To thee, to thee From him we flee

2

From him, whom by a more illustrious lye, The blindness of the World did call the Eye;

3

To him, who by these mortal Clouds hast made Thy Self our Sun, though thine own Shade.

2

Farewel, the World's false Light; Farewel, the white Egypt, a long farewel to thee Bright Idol; black Idolatry.

The dire face of inferiour darkness, kist And courted in the pompous Mask of a more speci∣ous Mist.

2

Farwell, farewell The proud and misplac't Gates of Hell, Perch't, in the morning's way And double-guilded as the doors of Day; The deep Hypocrisie of Death and Night More desperately dark, because more bright.

3

Welcome, the World's sure way; Heav'ns wholsome Ray.

Cho.

Welcome to us; and we Sweet to our selves, in thee.

1

The deathless Heir of all thy Fathers day;

2

Decently born, Embosom'd in a much more Rosie Morn, The Blushes of thy all-unblemish't Mother.

3

No more that other Aurora shall set ope Her Ruby Casements, or hereafter hope From mortal Eyes To meet Religious welcomes at her Rise.

Cho.

We (pretious ones) in you have won A gentler Morn, a juster Sun.

1

His superficial Beams Sun-burn't our skin;

2

But left within

3

The night and Winter still of Death and Sin.

Cho.

Thy softer yet more certain Darts Spare our Eyes, but pierce our Hearts.

1

Therefore with his proud Persian spoils

2

We court thy more concerning smiles.

3

Therefore with his disgrace We guild the humble Cheek of this chast place;

Cho.

And at thy Feet pour forth his Face,

1

The doating Nations now no more Shall any day but thine adore.

2

Nor (much less) shall they leave these Eyes For cheap Egyptian Deities.

3

In whatsoe'r more Sacred shape Of Ram, He-Goat, or Reverend Ape, Those beauteous ravishers opprest so sore The too-hard-tempted Nations.

1

Never more By wanton Heyfer shall be worn

2

A Garland, or a guilded Horn. The Altar-stall'd Ox, fat Osyris now With his fair Sister Cow,

3

Shall kick the Clouds no more; but lean and tame.

Cho.

See his horn'd Face, and dy for shame, And Mithra now shall be no name.

1.

No longer shall the immodest Lust Of adulterous Godles dust

2

Fly in the face of Heav'n; as if it were The poor World's Fault that he is fair.

3

Nor with perverse Loves and Religious Rapes Revenge thy Bounties in their beauteous shapes; And punish best things worst; because they stood Guilty of being much for them too good.

1

Proud sons of death that durst compel Heav'n it self to find them Hell;

2

And by strange wit of madness wrest From this World's East the other's West.

3

All-Idolizing worms, that thus could crowd And urge their Sun into thy Cloud; Forcing his sometimes eclips'd face to be A long deliquium to the light of thee.

Cho.

Alas with how much he avier shade

The shamfac't Lamp hung down his head, For that one Eclipse he made, Then all those he suffered!

1

For this he lookt so big, and every morn With a red face confest this scorn; Or hiding his vext cheeks in a hir'd mist Kept them from being so unkindly kist

2

It was for this the day did rise So oft with blubber'd Eyes. For this the Evening wept; and we ne'r knew But call'd it Dew.

3

This daily wrong Silenc't the morning Sons, and dampt their song

Cho.

Nor was't our deafness, but our sins, that thus Long made th' Harmonious orbs all mute to us.

2

Time has a day in store When this so proudly poor And self-oppressed spark, that has so long By the love-sick World been made Not so much their Sun as Shade, Weary of this Glorious wrong, From them and from himself shall flee For shelter to the shadow of thy Tree;

Cho.

Proud to have gain'd this precious loss And chang'd his false Crown for thy Cross.

2

That dark day's clear doom shall define Whose is the Master Fire, which Sun would shine▪ That sable iudgement-seat shall by new laws Decide and settle the Great cause Of controverted light,

Cho.

And natur's wrongs rejoyce to do thee right.

3

That forfeiture of noon to night shall pay All the idolatrous Thefts done by this night of day; And the great Penitent press his own pale Lips With an elaborate Love-eclipse

To which the low world's Laws Shall lend no cause

Cho.

Save those domestick which he borrows From our sins and his own sorrows.

1

Three sad hours sackcloth then shall show to us His pennance, as our fault, conspicuous.

2

And he more needfully and nobly prove The Nation's terror now then erst their love,

3

Their hated loves chang'd into wholsom fears.

Cho.

The shutting of his Eye shall open theirs.

2

As by a fair-ey'd fallacy of day Mis-led before they lost their way, So shall they, by the seasonable fright Of an unseasonable night, Loosing it once again, stumble on true Light,

2

And as before his too-bright eye Was their more blind idolatry, So his officious blindness now shall be Their black, but faithful perspective of thee;

3

His new prodigious night, Their new and admirable light; The supernatural Dawn of thy pure day, While wondring they (The happy converts now of him Whom they compell'd before to be their sin) Shall henceforth see To kiss him only as their rod Whom they so long courted as God,

Cho.

And their best use of him they worship't be To learn, of him at lest, to worship thee.

2

It was their Weakness woo'd his Beauty; But it shall be Their wisdom now, as well as duty,

T'injoy his Blot; and as a large black Letter Use it to spel thy Beauties Better; And make the night it self their torch to thee.

2

By the oblique ambush of this close night Couch't in that conscious shade The right ey'd Areopagite Shall with a vigorous guess invade And catch thy quick reflex; and sharply see On this dark Ground To descant thee.

3

O price of the rich Spirit! with that fierce chase Of this strong Soul, shall he Leap at thy lofty Face, And seize the swift flash, in rebound From this obsequious Cloud; Once call'd a Sun; Till dearly thus undone,

Cho.

Till thus triumphantly tam'd (O ye two Twin-Suns!) and taught now to negotiate you.

1

Thus shall that reverend Child of light,

2

By being Scholar first of that new night, Come forth Great Master of the mistick day;

3

And teach obscure Mankind a more close way By the frugal negative Light Of a most wise and well-abused Night, To read more legible thine original Ray,

Cho.

And make our darkness serve thy day; Maintaining 'twixt thy World and ours A commerce of contrary pow'rs, A mutual Trade 'Twixt Sun and Shade, By confederate Black and White Borrowing Day and lending Night.

1

Thus we, who when with all the Noble powr's That (at thy cost) are call'd, not vainly, ours; We vow to make brave way Upwards, and press on for the pure intelligential prey;

2

At lest to play The amorous spies And peep and proffer at thy sparkling Throne;

3

Instead of bringing in the blissful Prize And fastning on thine Eyes, Forfeit our own And nothing gain But more ambitious loss, at lest of brain;

Cho.

Now by abased Lids shall learn to be Eagles; and shut our Eyes that we may see.

The Close.

Therefore to thee and thine auspicious ray (Dread sweet!) lo thus At lest by us, The delegated Eye of Day Does first his Scepter, then himself in solemn Tri∣bute pay. Thus he undresses His sacred unshorn Tresses; At thy adored Feet, thus, he lays down

1

His gorgeous tire Of Flame and Fire,

2

His glittering Robe,

3

His sparkling Crown,

3

His Gold,

2

His Mirrh,

3.

His Frankincence,

Cho.

To which he now has no pretence. For being show'd by this days light, how far He is from Sun enough to make thy Star, His best ambition now, is but to be Somthing a brighter shadow (Sweet) of thee;

Or on Heav'ns azure forehead high to stand Thy Golden Index; with a duteous Hand Pointing us home to our own Sun The World's and his Hyperion.

To the Queen's Majesty on Twelfth-day.

MADAM,

'Mongst those long rows of Crowns that guild your Race. These Royal sages sue for decent place. The day-break of the Nations; their first ray; When the dark World dawn'd into Christian day. And smil'd i'th Babes bright face, the purpling Bud And Rosy dawn of the right Royal Blood; Fair first-fruits of the Lamb; sure Kings in this; They took a Kingdom while they gave a kiss, But the World's Homage, scarce in these well blown, We read in you (Rare Queen) ripe and full grown. For from this day's rich seed of Diadems Does rise a radiant crop of Royal stems, A Golden Harvest of Crown'd heads, that meet And crowd for kisses from the Lambs white feet. In this illustrious throng, your lofty floud Swels high, fair confluence of all highborn Bloud▪ With your bright head whose groves of Scepters bend Their wealthy tops; and for these feet contend. So swore the Lambs dread Sire, and so we see't, Crowns, and the Heads they kiss must court these Feet. Fix here fair Majesty! may your heart ne'r miss To reap new Crowns and Kingdoms from that kiss;

Nor may we miss the joy to meet in you The aged honors of this day still new. May the great time, in you, still greater be While all the year is your Epiphany, While your each day's Devotion duly brings Three Kingdoms to supply this days three Kings.

The Office of the Holy Cross: For the hour of Matins.

The Versicle.

Lord, by thy sweet and saving Sign,

The Responsory.

Defend us from our Foes and Thine.

Ver.

Thou shalt open my Lips, O Lord.

Res.

And my mouth shall declare thy praise.

Ver.

O God make speed to save me.

Res.

O Lord make haste to help me. Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost. As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end, Amen.

THE HYMN.

THe wakeful Matines haste to sing, The unknown sorrows of our King, The Father's Word and Wisdome, made Man, for Man, by Man's betraid; The world's price set to sale, and by the bold Merchants of Death and Sin, is bought and sold; Of his best Friends (yea of himself) forsaken, By his worst foes (because he would) besieg'd and taken.

The Antiphon.

All hail, fair Tree. Whose Fruit we be. What Song shall raise Thy seemly praise. Who broughtst to light Life out of Death, Day out of night.

The Versicle.

Lo, we adore thee, Dread Lamb! and bow thus low before thee,

The Responsor.

'Cause by the Covenant of thy Cross, Thou hast sav'd at once the whole World's loss.

The Prayer.

O My Lord Jesu Christ, Son of the living God! interpose, I pray thee, thine own pretious death, thy Cross and Passion, betwixt my Soul and thy Judgement, now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to grant me thy Grace and Mercy; to the living and dead, remission and rest; to thy Church peace and concord; to us sinners life and glory ever∣lasting. Who livest and reignest with the Father, in the Unity of the Holy Ghost, one God, world with∣out end, Amen.

For the hour of Prime.

The Versicle.

Lord by thy sweet and saving Sign.

The Responsor.

Defend us from our foes and thine.

Ver.

Thou shalt open my Lips, O Lord.

Res.

And my mouth shall declare thy praise.

Ver.

O God make speed to save me.

Res.

O Lord make haste to help me. Glory be to, &c. As it was in, &c.

THE HYMN.

THe early Prime blushes to say She could not rise so soon, as they Call'd Pilate up, to try if he Could lend them any Cruelty. Their Hands with lashes arm'd, their Tongues with lyes, And loathsome Spittle blot those beauteous Eyes, The blissful springs of Joy, from whose all-chearing ray The fair Stars fill their wakeful fires, the Sun himself drinks day.

The Antiphon.

Victorious Sign That now dost shine, Transcrib'd above Into the Land of Light and Love; O let us twine Our Roots with thine,

That we may rise Upon thy Wings and reach the Skies.

The Versicle.

Lo we adore thee Dread Lamb! and fall Thus low before thee

The Responsor.

'Cause by the Covenant of thy Cross Thou hast sav'd at once the whole world's loss.

The Prayer.

O My Lord Jesu Christ, Son of the living God! interpose, I pray thee, thine own pretious death, thy Cross and Passion, betwixt my Soul and thy Judge∣ment, now and in the hour of my death. And vouch∣safe to grant me thy Grace and Mercy; to the living and dead, remission and rest; to thy Church peace and concord; to us sinners, life and glory everlasting: Who livest and reignest with the Father, in the unity of the Holy Ghost, one God, world without end, Amen:

The Third.

The Versicle.

Lord, by thy sweet and saving Sign

The Responsor.

Defend us from our foes and thine.

Ver.

Thou shalt open my Lips, O Lord,

Res.

And my mouth shall declare thy praise.

Ver.

O God make speed to save me.

Res.

O •…•…ord make haste to help me.

Ver.

Glory be to, &c.

Res.

As it was in the, &c.

THE HYMN.

THe Third hour's deafen'd with the cry Of Crucify him, Crucify. So goes the vote (nor ask them, why!) Live Barabbas! and let God dy. But there is wit in wrath, and they will try A Hall more cruel then their Crucify, For while in sport he wears a spiteful Crown, The serious show'rs along his decent Face run sadly down.

The Antiphon.

Christ when he dy'd Deceiv'd the Cross, And on Death's side Threw all the loss. The captive World awak't, and found The Prisoner loose, the Jaylor bound.

The Versicle.

Lo we adore thee Dread Lamb, and fall Thus low before thee

Tht Responsor,

'Cause by the Covenant of thy Cross Thou hast sav'd at once the whole World's loss

The Prayer.

O My Lord Jesu Christ, Son of the living God! in∣terpose, I pray thee, thine own precious death, thy Cross and Passion, betwixt my Soul and thy Judge∣ment, now and in the hour of my death. And vouch∣safe to grant me thy Grace and Mercy; to the living and dead, remission and rest; to thy Church, peace and concord; to us sinners, life and glory everlasting,

Who livest and reignest with the Father, in the unity of the Holy Ghost, one God, world without end, Amen.

The SIXTH.

The Versicle.

Lord by thy sweet and saving Sign,

The Responsor.

Defend us from our foes and thine.

Ver.

Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord,

Res.

And my mouth shall declare thy praise.

Ver.

O God make speed to save me,

Res.

O Lord make haste to help me.

Ver.

Glory be to, &c:

Res.

As it was in, &c.

The HYMN.

NOw is the Noon of sorrow's night; High in his patience as their spight. Lo the faint Lamb, with weary Limb Bears that huge Tree which must bear him, That fatal Plant, so great of Fame For fruit of sorrow and of shame, Shall swell with both for him; and mix All woes into one Crucifix. Is tortur'd Thirst it self, too sweet a cup? Gall, and more bitter mocks shall make it up. Are Nails blunt Pens of superficial smart? Contempt and scorn can send sure wounds to search the inmost Heart.

The Antiphon.

O dear and sweet dispute 'Twixt death's and Love's far different Fruit! Different as far As Antidotes and Poisons are. By that first fatal Tree Both Life and Liberty Were sold and slain; By this they both look up, and live again.

The Versicle.

Lo we adore thee Dread Lamb! and bow thus low before thee;

The Responsor.

'Cause by the covenant of thy Cross. Thou hast sav'd the World from certain loss.

The Prayer.

O My Lord Jesu Christ, son of the living God! interpose, I pray thee, thine own precious death, thy Cross and Passion, betwixt my soul and thy judgement, now and in the hour of my death. And vouchsafe to grant me thy grace and mercy; to the living and dead, remission and rest; to thy church peace and concord, to us sinners, life and glory ever∣lasting. Who livest and reignest with the Father, in the unity of the Holy Ghost, one God, world with∣out end. Amen.

The NINTH.

The Versicle.

Lord by thy sweet and saving Sign,

The Responsor.

Defend us from our foes and thine.

Ver.

Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord,

Res.

And my mouth shall declare thy praise.

Ver.

O God make speed to save me,

Res.

O Lord make haste to help me Glory be to, &c. As it was in, &c.

The HYMN.

THe Ninth with awful horror hark'ned to those groans Which taught attention even to Rocks and Stones. Hear, Father, hear! thy Lamb (at last) complains Of some more painful thing then all his pains. Then bows his all-obedient head, and dies His own Lov's, and our sin's great Sacrifice. The Sun saw that; and would have seen no more The Center shook, her useless veil th'inglorious Tem∣ple tore.

The Antiphon.

O strange mysterious strife Of open death and hidden life! When on the cross my King did bleed, Life seem'd to die, Death dy'd indeed.

The Versicle.

Lo we adore thee Dread Lamb! and fall thus low before thee

The Responsor.

'Cause by the covenant of thy Cross Thou hast sav'd at once the whole world's loss.

The Prayer.

O my Lord Jesu Christ, son of the living God! interpose I pray thee, thine own pretious death, thy Cross •…•…d Passion, betwixt my soul and thy judge∣ment, now and in the hour of my death: and vouch∣safe to grant me thy grace and mercy; to the living and dead, remission and rest; to thy Church, peace and concord; to us sinners, life and glory everlasting: who livest and reignest with the Father, in the unity of the Holy Ghost, one God, world without end, Amen.

Even-Song.

The Versicle.

Lord, by thy sweet and saving Sign

The Responsor.

Defend us from our foes and thine.

Ver.

Thou shalt open my Lips, O Lord,

Res.

And my mouth shall declare thy praise.

Ver.

O God make speed to save me.

Res.

O Lord make haste to help me.

Ver.

G•…•…ory be to, &c.

Res.

As it was in, &c.

The HYMN.

BUt there were Rocks would not relent at this. Lo, for their own hearts they rend His,

Their deadly hate lives still, and hath A wild reserve of wanton wrath; Superfluous Spear! but there's a Heart stands by Will look no wounds be lost, no death shall dy, Gather now thy grief's ripe fruit, Great Mother-maid! Then sit: thee down▪ and sing thy Ev'n-song in the sad Trees shade.

The Antiphon.

O sad, sweet Tree! Woful and joyful we Both weep and sing in shade of thee, When the dear Nails did lock And graft into thy gracious Stock The hope, the health, The worth, the wealth Of all the ransom'd World, thou hadst the power (In that propitious hour) To poise each precious Limb, And prove how light the World was when it weigh'd with Him. Wide maist thou spred Thine Arms; and with thy bright and blisful head O'r look all Libanus. Thy lofty crown The King himself is; thou his humble Throne. Where yielding, and yet conquering he Prov'd a new path of patient victory. When wondring death by death was slain, And our Captivity his Captive ta'ne.

The Versicle.

Lo we adore thee Dread Lamb! and bow thus low before thee;

The Responsor.

Cause by the covenant of thy Cross Thou hast sav'd the World from certain loss.

The Prayer.

O My Lord Jesu Christ, son of the living, &c.

COMPLINE.

The Versicle.

Lord by thy sweet and saving Sign.

The Responsor.

Defend us from our foes and thine.

Ver.

Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord.

Res.

And my mouth shall declare thy praise.

Ver.

O God make speed to save me.

Res.

O Lord make haste to help me.

Ver.

Glory be to, &c.

Res.

As it was in. &c.

The HYMN

THe Compline hour comes last, to call Us to our own Live's funeral. Ah hartless task! yet hope takes head; And lives in him that here lies dead. Run, Mary, run! bring hither all the Blest Arabia, for thy Royal Phenix' nest; Pour on thy Noblest sweets, which, when they touch This sweeter Body, shall indeed be such, But must thy bed, Lord, be a borrow'd Grave Who lendst to all things all the life they have. O rather use this Heart, thus far a fitter Stone, 'Cause, though a hard and cold one, yet it is thine own. Amen.

The Antiphon.

O save us then Merciful King of men! Since thou wouldst needs be thus A Saviour, and at such a rate, for us; Save us, O save us, Lord. We now will own no shorter wish, nor name a nar∣rower word, Thy blood bids us be bold. Thy wounds give us fair hold. Thy sorrows chide our shame. •…•…hy Cross, thy Nature, and thy Name Advance our claim And cry with one accord, Save them, O save them, Lord.

The Versicle.

Lo we adore thee Dread Lamb! and bow thus low before thee.

The Responsor.

'Cause by the covenant of thy Cross, Thou hast sav'd the world from certain loss.

The Prayer.

O My Lord Jesu Christ, Son of, &c.

The RECOMMENDATION.

THese Hours, and that which hovers o'r my end, Into thy Hands, and Heart, Lord, I commend.

Take both to thine account, that I and mine In that hour and in these, may be all thine.

That as I dedicate my devoutest Breath To make a kind of Life for my Lords Death,

So from his living, and life-giving Death, My dying Life may draw a new, and never-fleeting Breath.

VEXILLA REGIS, The Hymn of the Holy Cross.

1.

LOok up, languishing soul! Lo where the fair Badge of thy Faith calls back thy care, And bids thee ne'r forget Thy Life is one long Debt Of Love to Him, who on this painful Tree Paid back the Flesh he took for thee.

2.

Lo, how the streams of Life from that full Nest Of Loves, thy Lord's too liberal Brest, Flow in an amorous Floud Of Water wedding Bloud. With these he wash't thy stain, transfer'd thy smart, And took it home to his own heart.

3.

But though great Love, greedy of such sad gain Usurp't the portion of thy pain,

And from the Nails and Spear Turn'd the steel point of Fear, Their use is chang'd, not lost; and now they move Not stings of Wrath, but wounds of Love.

4.

Tall Tree of Life! thy Truth makes good What was till now ne'r understood, Though the prophetick King Struck loud his faithful string. It was thy wood he meant should make the Throne For a more then Salomon.

5.

Large throne of Love! Royally spred With purple of too rich a Red. Thy crime is too much duty; Thy burthen too much Beauty; Glorious or grievous more? thus to make good Thy costly Excellence with thy Kings own Blood.

6.

Even ballance of both Worlds! our World of sin, And that of Grace Heav'n weigh'd in Him, Us with our price thou weighedst, Our price for us thou payedst; Soon as the right-hand scale rejoyc't to prove How much Death weigh'd more light then Love.

7.

Hail, our alone Hope! let thy fair Head shoot Aloft; and fill the Nations with thy Noble fruit.

The while our hearts and we Thus graft our selves on thee; Grow thou and they; and be thy fair increase The sinner's pardon and the just man's peace.

Live, O for ever Live and Reign The Lamb whom his own Love has slain! And let thy lost sheep live t' inherit That Kingdom which this Cross did merit. Amen.

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.

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?

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.

Sancta Maria dolorum, Or the Mother of sorrows; a Pathetical descant upon the devout Plainsong of Stabat Mater dolorosa.

1.

IN shade of Deaths sad Tree Stood doleful she, Ah she! now by no other Name to be known, alas, but Sorrow's Mother.

Before her Eyes Her's and the whole World's joyes, Hanging all torn she sees; and in his woes And Pains, her pangs and throes. Each wound of his, from every part, All, more at home in her own heart.

2.

What kind of Marble than Is that cold man Who can look on and see, Nor keep such Noble sorrows company? Sure even from you (My Flints) some drops are due To see so many unkind swords contest So fast for one soft Brest. While with a faithful, mutual, floud Her Eyes bleed Tears, his wounds weep blood.

3.

O costly intercourse Of deaths, and worse Divided Loves: while Son and Mother Discourse alternate wounds to one another; Quick Deaths that grow And gather, as they come and go: His Nails write swords in her; which soon her heart Pays back, with more then their own smart; Her swords, still growing with his pain, Turn Spears, and straight come home again;

4.

She sees her Son, her God, Bow with a load Of borrow'd sins; and swim In woes that were not made for him. Ah hard Command Of Love! Here must she stand Charg'd to look on, and with a stedfast Eye See her life dye: Leaving her only so much Breath As serves to keep alive her death.

5.

O Mother Turtle-dove! Soft sourse of Love, That these dry Lids might borrow Somthing from thy full seas of Sorrow! O in that Brest Of thine (the noblest Nest Both of Love's Fires and Flouds) might I recline This hard, cold, Heart of mine! The chil lump would relent, and prove Soft Subject for the siege of Love.

6.

O teach those wounds to bleed In me; me, so to read This Book of Loves, thus writ In lines of death, my life may copy it

With Loyal cares. O let me here claim shares; Yield something in thy sad prerogative (Great Queen of griefs) and give Me to my Tears; who, though all stone, Think much that thou shouldst mourn alone.

7.

Yea let my life and me Fix here with thee, And at the Humble Foot Of this fair Tree take our Eternal Root. That so we may At least be in Loves way; And in these chaste wars while the wing'd wounds flee So fast 'twixt him and thee, My Brest may catch the kiss of some kind Dart, Though as at second hand, from either Heart.

8.

O you, your own best Darts, Dear doleful hearts! Hail; and strike home and make me see That wounded bosomes their own weapons be. Come Wounds! come Darts! Nail'd hands! and pierced hearts! Come your whole selves, Sorrow's great Son and Mo∣ther. Nor grudge a younger Brother Of grief's his portion, who (had all their due) One single wound should not have left for you.

9.

Shall I set there So deep a share (Dear wounds) and onely now In sorrows draw no dividend with you! O be more wife, If not more soft, mine Eyes! Flow, tardy Founts! and into decent showrs Dissolve my Days and Hours. And if thou yet (faint soul!) defer To bleed with him, fail not to weep with her.

10.

Rich Queen, lend some relief; At least an alms of Grief To' a heart who by sad right of sin Could prove the whole sum (too sure) due to him. By all those stings Of Love, sweet bitter things, Which these torn hands transcrib'd on thy true Heart; O teach mine too, the Art To study him so, till we mix Wounds, and become one Crucifix.

11.

O let me suck the Wine So long of this chaste Vine, Till, drunk of the dear wounds, I be A lost thing to the World, as it to me.

O faithful friend Of me and of my end! Fold up my life in Love; and lay't beneath My dear Lord's vital death. Lo, heart, thy hopes whole Plea! her precious breath Powr'd out in Prayers for thee; thy Lord's in death.

The Hymn of St. Thomas, in Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament.

WIth all the pow'rs my poor Heart hath Of humble Love and Loyal Faith, Thus low (my hidden life!) I bow to thee Whom too much Love hath bow'd more low for me. Down, down, proud sense! discourses dye, Keep close, my soul's inquiring Eye! Nor touch nor taste must look for more, But each sit still in his own door.

Your Ports are all superfluous here, Save that which lets in Faith, the Ear. Faith is my skill; Faith can believe As fast as Love new Laws can give. Faith is my force; Faith strength affords To keep pace with those pow'rful words: And words more sure, more sweet then they Love could not think, truth could not say.

O let thy wretch find that relief Thou didst afford the faithful Thief; Plead for me, Love! Alledge and show That Faith has farther, here, to go,

And less to lean on; because than Though hid as God, wounds writ thee Man, Thomas might touch; none but might see At least the suffring side of thee; And that too was thy self which thee did cover, But here ev n that's hid too which hides the other.

Sweet consider then, that I Though allow'd not Hand nor Eye To teach at thy lov'd Face; nor can Taste thee God, or touch thee Man; Both yet believe and witness thee My Lord too, and my God, as loud as he.

Help, Lord, my Hope increase; And till my portion in thy peace. Give Love for Life, nor let my days Grow, but in new pow'rs to name thy Praise.

O dear memorial of that Death Which lives still, and allows us Breath! Rich, Royal Food! Bountiful Bread! Whose use denies us to the Dead; Whose vital gust alone can give The same leave both to Eat and Live; Live ever Bread of Loves, and be My Life, my Soul, my surer self to me.

O soft self-wounding Pelican! Whose Brest weeps Balm for wounded Man: Ah this way bend thy benign Houd To a bleeding Heart that g•…•…spes for Blood; That Blood, whose least drops soveraign be To wash my Worlds of sine from me.

Come Love! Come Lord! and that long day For which I languish, come away. When this dry soul those Eyes shall see, And drink the unseal'd sourse of thee. When Glory's Sun Faith's shade shall chase, Then for thy veil give me thy Face, Amen.

Thè Hymn for the Blessed Sacrament. Lauda Sion Salvatorem.

1.

RIse, Royal Sion! rise and sing Thy Soul's kind Shepheard, thy Hearts King. Stretch all thy powers; call if you can Harps of Heav'n to hands of man, This Soveraign subject sits above The best ambition of thy Love.

2.

Lo the Bread of Life, this day's Triumphant Text. provokes thy praise The living and life-giving Bread. To the Great Twelve distributed When Life himself at point to dy, Of Love, was his own Legacy.

3.

Come, Love! and let us work a Song Loud and pleasant, sweet and long;

Let Lips and Hearts lift high the noise Of so just and solemn joys, Which on his white brows this bright day Shall hence for ever bear away.

4.

Lo the new Law of a new Lord, With a new Lamb blesses the Board. The aged Pascha pleads not years But spies Love's dawn, and disappears. Types yield to Truths; shades shrink away; And their Night dyes into out Day.

5.

But lest that dy too, we are bid, Ever to do what he once did. And by a mindful, mystick breath, That we may live, revive his Death; With a well-blest Bread and Wine Transum'd, and taught to turn Divine.

6.

The Heav'n-instructed house of Faith Here a Holy Dictate hath, That they but lend their Form and Face, Themselves with reverence leave their place Nature and Name to be made good By a Nobler Bread, more needful Blood,

7.

Where Nature's Laws no leave will give, Bold Faith takes heart, and dares believe In different species, name not things Himself to me my Saviour brings, As Meat in that, as Drink in this; But still in both one Christ he is.

8.

The receiving Mouth here makes Nor wound nor breach in what he takes. Let one, or one Thousand be Here Dividers, single he Bears home no less, all they no more, Nor leave they both less then before.

9.

Though in it self this Soveraign Feast Be all the same to every Guest, Yet on the same (life-meaning) Bread The child of death eats himself dead. Nor is't Love's fault, but Sins dire skill That thus from Life can Death distil.

10.

When the blest signs thou broke shal't see, Hold but thy Faith intire as he, Who, howsoe'r clad, cannot come Lesse then whole Christ in every crumme.

In broken forms a stable Faith Untouch't her precious Total hath.

11.

Lo the Life-food of Angels then Bow'd to the lowly mouths of men! The Childrens Bread; the Bridegroom's Wine, Not to be cast to Dogs or Swine.

12.

Lo, the full, final, Sacrifice On which all Figures fix't their Eyes, The ransom'd Isack, and his Ram; The Manna, and the Paschal Lamb.

13.

Jesu, Master, Just and true! Our Food, and faithful Shepherd too! O by thy self vouchsafe to keep, As with thy self thou feedst thy sheep.

14.

O let that Love which thus makes thee Mix with our low Mortality, Lift our lean Souls, and let us up Convictors of thine own full cup. Coheirs of Saints, that so all may Drink the same Wine; and the same Way. Nor change the Pasture, but the Place, To seed of Thee in thine own Face. Amen.

The HYMN. Dies irae dies illa. In Meditation of the day of Judgment.

1.

HEars't thou, my soul, what serious things Both the Psalm and Sybil sings Of a sure Judge, from whose sharp Ray The World in Flames shall fly away.

2.

O that fire! before whose face Heav'n and Earth shall find no place: O these Eyes! whose angry light Must be the day of that dread Night.

3.

O that trump! whose blast shall run An Even round with th' circling Sun, And urge the murmuring graves to bring Pale mankind forth to meet his King.

4.

Horror of Nature, Hell and Death! When a deep groan from beneath Shall cry we come, we come, and all The Caves of Night answer one call.

5.

O that Book! whose Leaves so bright Will set the World in severe Light. O that Judge! whose Hand, whose Eye None can indure; yet none can fly.

6.

Ah then, poor Soul, what wilt thou say? And to what Patron chuse to pray? When Stars themselves shall stagger; and The most firm Foot no more then stand.

7.

But thou giv'st leave (dread Lord) that we Take shelter from thy self in Thee; And with the wings of thine own Dove Fly to thy Scepter of soft Love.

8.

Dear, remember in that day Who was the cause thou cam'st this way. Thy sheep was stray'd, and thou wouldst be Even lost thy self in seeking me.

9.

Shall all that labour, all that cost Of Love, and ev'n that loss, be lost? And this lov'd soul, judg'd worth no less Then all that way and weariness?

10.

Just Mercy then, thy reck'ning be With my price, and not with me; 'Twas paid at first with too much pain, To be paid twice, or once in vain.

11.

Mercy (my Judge) Mercy I cry With blushing Cheek and bleeding Eye, The conscious Colours of my sin Are Red without and pale within.

12.

O let thine own soft Bowells pay Thy self; and so discharge that day. If sin can sigh, Love can forgive. O say the word, my Soul shall live.

13.

Those Mercies which thy Mary found Or who thy Cross confest and Crown'd, Hope tells my heart, the same Loves be Still alive and still for me.

14.

Though both my Pray'rs and Tears combine, Both worthless are; for they are mine. But thou thy bounteous self still be; And show thou art, by saving me.

15.

O when thy last frown shall proclaim The flocks of goats to folds of flame, And all thy lost sheep found shall be, Let come ye Blessod then call me.

16.

When the dread Ite shall divide Those Limbs of death from thy left side, Let those Life-speaking Lips command That I inherit thy right hand.

17.

O hear a suppliant heart; all crush't And crumbled into contrite dust. My hope, my fear! my Judge, my Friend! Take charge of me, and of my end.

The HYMN. O Gloriosa Domina.

HAil, most High, most humble one! Above the World; below thy Son Whose blush the Moon beauteously marres And stains the timerous light of Stars. He that made all things had not done Till he had made himself thy Son. The whole World's host would be thy guest And board himself at thy rich Brest.

O boundless Hospitality! The Feast of all things feeds on thee. The first Eve, Mother of our Fall, E'r she bore any one, slew all. Of her unkind gift might we have The inheritance of a hasty Grave; Quick buried in the wanton Tomb Of one forbidden bit; Had not a better Fruit forbidden it. Had not thy healthful womb The Worlds new Eastern window been And given us Heav'n again in giving him. Thine was the Rosy Dawn that sprung the Day Which renders all the Stars she stole away. Let then the aged World be wise, and all Prove Nobly, here, unnatural: 'Tis gratitude to forget that other And call the Maiden Eve their Mother. Ye redeem'd Nations far and Near, Applaud your happy selves in her, (All you to whom this Love belongs) And keep't alive with lasting songs. Let Hearts and Lips speak loud, and say, Hail, door of Life, and sourse of Day! The Door was shut, the Fountain seal'd; Yet Light was seen and Life reveal'd; The Fountain seal'd, yet Life found way. Glory to thee, great Virgin's son In bosom of thy Fathers bliss. The same to thee, sweet Spirit be done; As ever shall be, was, and is, Amen.

The Flaming Heart, upon the Book and Picture of the Seraphical Saint Teresa, as she is usually expressed with a Seraphim beside her.

WEll meaning Readers! you that come as friends And catch the precious name this piece pretends; Make not too much haste t'admire That fair-cheek't fallacy of fire, That is a Seraphim, they say And this the great Teresia. Readers be rul'd by me; and make Here a well-plac't and wise mistake; You must transpose the picture quite, And spell it wrong to read it right; Read Him for Her, and Her for Him; And call the Saint the Seraphim.

Painter, what didst thou understand To put her Dart into his hand! See, even the years and size of him Shows this the Mother Seraphim. This is the Mistress flame; and duteous he Her happy fire-works, here, comes down to see: O most poor-spirited of men! Had thy cold Pencil kist her Pen, Thou couldst not so unkindly err To show us this faint shade for her.

Why Man, this speaks pure mortal frame; And mocks with female Frost, Love's manly flame, One would suspect thou meanst to print Some weak, inferiour, Woman Saint. But had thy pale-fac't purple took Fire from the burning checks of that bright Book Thou wouldst on her have heapt up all That could be found Seraphical; What e'r this youth of fire wears fair, Rosie Fingers, Radiant Hair. Glowing Cheek, and glistring Wings, All those fair and flagrant things, But before all, that fiery Dart Had fill'd the Hand of this great Heart.

Do then as equal right requires, Since his the blushes be, and her's the fires, Resume and rectify thy rude design; Undress thy Seraphim into Mine. Redeem this injury of thy Art; Give him the Vail, give her the Dart.

Give him the vail; that he may cover The red Cheeks of a rivall'd Lover; Asham'd that our worl'd, now, can show Nests of new Seraphims here below.

Give her the Dart for it is she (Fair youth) shoots both thy shaft and Thee: Say, all ye wise and well-pierc'd hearts That live and dy amidst her Darts, What is't your tastful spirits do prove In that rare life of her, and Love? Say and bear witness, Sends she not A Seraphim at every shot? What Magazins of immortal Arms there shine, Heav'ns great Artillery in each'love-spun line.

Give then the Dart to her who gives the flame; Give him the veil, who gives the shame.

But if it be the frequent fate Of worst faults to be fortunate; If all's prescription; and proud wrong Hearkens not to an humble song; For all the gallantry of him, Give me the suffring Seraphim. His be the bravery of all those bright things. The glowing Cheeks, the glistering wings; The Rosie hand, the radiant Dart; Leave her alone the Flaming Heart.

Leave her that; and thou shalt leave her Not one loose shaft but Love's whole Quiver. For in Love's Field was never found A Nobler weapon then a wound. Love's Passives are his Activ'st part; The wounded is the wounding heart. O Heart! the equal poise of Love's both parts, Big alike with Wounds and Darts; Live in these conquering Leave's; Live all the same; And walk through all Tongues one Triumphant flame; Live here, great Heart; and love, and dye, and kill; And bleed and wound, and yield, and conquer still. Let this immortal Life where e'r it comes Walk in a croud of Loves and Martyrdomes. Let mystick Deaths wait on't; and wise souls be The Love-slain witnesses of this life of thee. O sweet incendiary! shew here thy Art, Upon this Carcass of a hard cold Heart; Let all thy scatter'd shafts of Light, that play Among the Leaves of thy large Books of day, Combin'd against this Brest at once break in And take away from me my self and sin;

This Gracious Robbery shall thy bounty be And my best fortunes such fair spoils of me. O thou undaunted Daughter of Desires! By all thy Dow'r of Lights and Fires; By all the Eagle in thee, all the Dove; By all thy Lives and Deaths of Love; By thy large draughts of intellectual day; And by thy thirsts of Love more large then they; By all thy brim-fill'd Bowls of fierce desire; By thy last mornings draught of liquid Fire; By the full Kingdom of that final kiss That seiz'd thy parting Soul, and seal'd thee his; By all the Heav'ns thou hast in him (Fair Sister of the Seraphim) By all of Him we have in Thee; Leave nothing of my Self in me. Let me so read thy life, that I Unto all life of mine may dy.

A Song.

LOrd, when the sense of thy sweet Grace Sends up my Soul to seek thy Face. Thy Blessed Eyes breed such desire, I dye in Love's delicious Fire.

O Love, I am thy Sacrifice, Be still Triumphant, Blessed Eyes Still shine on me, fair Suns, that I Still may behold, though still I dye.

Second part.

Though still I dye, I live again; Still longing so to be still slain,

So gainful is such loss of breath, I dye even in desire of death. Still live in me this loving strife Of living Death and dying Life. For while thou sweetly slayest me, Dead to my self, I live in thee.

To Mistrses M. R. Councel concerning her Choise.

DEar, Heav'n-designed Soul! Amongst the rest Of Suiters that besiege your Maiden brest, Why may not I My fortune try And venture to speak one good word Not for my self, alas! but for my dearer Lord; You'ave seen already in this lower sphear Of Froth and Bubbles, what to look for here. Say, gentle Soul, what can you find But painted shapes, Peacocks and Apes, Illustrious Flies, Guilded Dunghils, Glorious Lyes, Goodly surmises And deep disguises, Oaths of Water, Words of Wind? Truth bids me say, 'tis time you cease to Trust Your Soul to any son of Dust. 'Tis time you listen to a braver Love, Which from above Calls you up higher,

And bids you come And choose your room Among his own fair sons of fire, Where you among The Golden throng That watches at his Palace doors May pass along And follow those fair Stars of yours; Stars much too fair and pure to wait upon The false smiles of a sublunary Sun. Sweet, let me Prophesie that at last 'twill prove Your wary Love Lays up his purer and more precious vows, And means them for a far more worthy Spouse Then this world of Lies can give you, Ev'n for him with whom nor cost, Nor love, nor labour can be lost; Him who never, will deceive you. Let not my Lord, the Mighty Lover Of souls, disdain that I discover The hidden Art Of his high stratagem to win your heart, It was his Heav'nly Art Kindly to cross you In your mistaken Love, That, at the next remove Thence he might toss you, And strike your troubled heart Home to himself; to hide it in his Brest The bright ambrosial Nest, Of Love, of Life, and everlasting Rest. Happy mistake! That thus shall wake Your wise soul, never to be won Now with a love below the Sun.

Your first choice fails, O when you choose agen, May it not be among the sons of men.

ALEXIAS. The Complaint of the forsaken wife of Saint Alexis.

The First ELEGY.

I Late the Roman Youth's lov'd praise and pride, Whom long none could obtain, though thousands try'd, Lo here am left (alas,) For my lost mate T' embrace my Tears, and kiss an unkind Fate. Sure in my early woe, Stars were at strife, And try'd to make a Widow e'r a Wife. Nor can I tell (and this new Tears doth breed) In what strange path my Lord's fair footsteps bleed. O knew I where he wander'd, I should see Some solace in my sorrow's certainty; I'd send my woes in words should weep for me. (Who knows how powrful well-writ pray'rs would be) Sending's too slow a word, my self would fly: Who knows my own heart's woes so well as I? But how shall I steal hence? Alexis thou, Ah thou thy self, alas, has taught me how. Love too, that leads thee, would lend thee the wings To bear me harmless through the hardest things: And where Love lends the wing, and leads the way, What dangers can there be dare say me nay? If I be shipwrack•…•…t, Love shall teach to swim; If drown'd, sweet is the death indur'd for him;

The noted sea shall change his name with me, I, 'mongst the blest Stars a new name shall be; And sure where Lovers make their watry Graves, The weeping Mariner will augment the waves. For who so hard, but passing by that way Will take acquaintance of my woes, and say, Here't was the Roman Maid found a hard fate While through the world she sought her wandring Mate; Here perisht she, poor heart; Heav'ns, be my vows As true to me, as she was to her Spouse. O live, so rare a love! live! and in thee The too frail life of femal constancy. Farewel and shine, fair soul, shine there above Firm in thy Crown, as here fast in thy Love. There thy lost fugitive thou hast found at last; Be happy; and for ever hold him fast.

The Second ELEGY.

THough all the Joys I had fled hence with thee, Unkind! yet are my Tears still true to me; I'm wedded o'r again since thou art gone, Nor couldst thou, cruel, leave me quite alone. Alexis's Widdow now is sorrow's wife, With him shall I weep out my weary life. Welcome my sad sweet Mate! Now have I got At last a constant Love that leaves me not. Firm he, as thou art false, nor need my crys Thus vex the Earth, and tear the Skies. For him, alas, ne'r shall I need to be Troublesome to the World, thus, as for thee,

For thee I talk to Trees; with silent Groves Expostulate my woes and much-wrong'd loves. Hills and relentless Rocks, or if there be Things that in hardness more allude to thee; To these I talk in Tears, and tell my pain; And answer too for them in Tears again. How oft have I wept out the weary Sun? My watry hour-Glass hath old time out-run. O, I am Learned grown, poor Love and I Have studied over all Astrology. I'm perfect in Heav'ns state, with every Star My skilful grief is grown familiar. Rise, fairest of those fires; what e'r thou be Whose Rosie beam shall point my Sun to me; Such as the Sacred Light that er'st did bring The Eastern Princes to their infant King. O rise, pure Lamp! and lend thy Golden ray That wary Love at last may find his way.

The Third ELEGY.

RIch, churlish Land! that hid'st so long in thee, My Treasures, rich, alas, by robbing me. Needs must my Miseries owe that man a spite Who e'r he be was the first wandring Knight. O had he ne'r been at that cruel cost Nature's Virginity had ne'r been lost. Seas had not been rebuk't by saucy Oars But lain lock't up safe in their sacred shores Men had not spurn'd at Mountains; nor made wars With Rocks; nor bold hands struck the World's strong bars,

Nor lost in too large bounds, our little Rome Full sweetly with it self had dwelt at home. My poor Alexis, then in peaceful life, Had under some low roof lov'd his plain wife: But now, ah me, from where he has no foes He flies; and into wilful exile goes. Cruel return or tell the reason why Thy dearest Parents have deserv'd to dye; And I, what is my crime I cannot tell, Unless it be a crime t' have lov'd too well. If Heats of Holier Love and high Desire Make big thy fair Brest with immortal Fire, What needs my virgin Lord fly thus from me, Who only wish his virgin Wife to be? Witness, chaste Heav'ns! no happier vows I know Then to a virgin Grave untouch't to goe. Love's truest knot by Venus is not ty'd; Nor do embraces only make a Bride. The Queen of Angels, (and men chaste as you) Was Maiden-Wife, and Maiden-Mother too. Cecilia, Glory of her Name and Blood With happy gain her Maiden vows made good. The lusty Bridegroom made appoach, young man, Take heed (said she) take heed Valerian; My bosome Guard, a Spirit great and strong, Stands arm'd to shield me from all wanton wrong. My Chastity is Sacred; and my Sleep Wakeful, her dear vows undefil'd to keep. Pallas bears Arms, forsooth, and should there be No fortress built for true Virginity? No gap•…•… Gorgon this, none like the rest Of your learn'd Lyes: here you'l find no such jest. I'm yours, O were my God, my Christ so too, I'd know no name of Love on Earth but you.

He yields, and straight Baptiz'd, obtains the Grace To gaze on the fair souldier's Glorious face. Both mixt at last their Blood in one rich Bed Of Rosie Martydome, twice Married. O burn our Hymen bright in such high Flame, Thy Torch, terrestrial Love, has here no name. How sweet the mutual yoke of Man and Wife, When Holy fires maintain Love's Heav'nly life! But I, (so help me Heav'n my hopes to see) When Thousands sought my Love, lov'd none but Thee. Still, as their vain Tears my firm vows did try, Alexis, he alone is mine (said I) Half true, alas, half false, proves that poor Line, Alexis is alone; but is not mine.

Description of a Religious House and con∣dition of Life. (Out of BARCLAY.)

NO roofs of Gold o'r riotous Tables shining, Whole Days and Suns devour'd with endless Dining; No Sails of Tyrian Silk proud pavements sweeping; Nor ivory couches costlyer slumbers keeping; False Lights of fl•…•…iring Gemms; tumultuous joys; Halls full of flattering Men and frisking Boys; Whate'r false shows of short and slippery good Mix the mad sons of Men in mutual blood. But Walks and unshorn Woods; and Souls, just so Unforc't and genuine; but not shady tho: Our Lodgings hard and homely as our Fare, That Chaste and Cheap, as the few Clothes we wear.

Those course and negligent, as the natural Locks Of these loose Groves, rough as th' unpolisht Rocks. A hasty portion of prescribed sleep; Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep, And Sing, and Sigh, and Work, and Sleep again; Still rowling a round Sphear of still-returning pain, Hands full of hearty labours, do much, that more they may, And work for work, not wages; let to morrows New drops wash off the sweat of this days sorrows. A long and daily dying-life, which breaths A respiration of reviving deaths, But neither are there those ignoble stings That nip the bosome of the World's best things And lash Earth-laboring souls; No cruel guard of diligent cares, that keep Crown'd woes awake; as things too wise for sleep: But Reverent Discipline, and Religious Fear, And soft obedience find sweet biding here; Silence, and sacred Rest; Peace, and pure joys; Kind Loves keep house, lie close, and make no noise, And room enough for Monarchs while none swels Beyond the Kingdoms of contentful Cels. The self-remembring Soul sweetly recovers Her kindred with the Stars; not basely hovers Below; but meditates her immortal way Home to the original source of Light and intellectual Day.

Deaths Lecture, the Funeral of a young Gentleman.

DEar Reliques of a dislodg'd Soul, whose lack Makes many a mourning Paper put on black! O stay a while e'r thou draw in thy head And wind thy self up close in thy cold bed. Stay but a little while until I call A summons worthy of thy Funeral; Come then, Youth, Beauty and Blood; All the soft pow'rs Whose Silken flatteries swell a few fond hours Into a false Eternity. Come man; Hyperbolized Nothing! know thy span; Take thine own measure here, down, down, and bow Before thy self in thine Idea; thou Huge emptiness! contract thy self, and shrink All thy wild Circle to a point, O sink Lower and lower yet; till thy lean size Call Heav'n to look on thee with narrow Eyes; Lesser and lesser yet; till thou begin To show a Face, sit to confess thy Kin, Thy Neighbourhood to Nothing. Proud Looks, and lofty Eye-lids, here put on Your selves in your unfaign'd reflexion, Here, gallant Ladies; this unpartial Glass (Though you be painted) shows you your true face: These death-seal'd Lips are they dare give the lye To the loud boasts of poor Mortality: These Curtain'd windows, this retired Eye Out-stares the Lids of large-look't Tiranny:

This posture is the brave one, this that lies Thus low, stands up (methinks) thus and defie, The World; all-daring Dust and Ashes! only you Of all interpreters read Nature true.

Temperance, or the cheap Physitian upon the Translation of Lessius.

GOe now; and with some daring drug Bait thy disease, and whilst they tug, Thou to maintain their pretious strife Spend the dear Treasures of thy life. Goe take Physick, doat upon Some big-nam'd Composition, Th' Oraculous Doctors mystick Bills; Certain hard Words made into Pills, And what at last shal't gain by these? Only a costlier disease, That which makes us have no need Of Physick, that's Physick indeed. Hark hither, Reader, wilt thou see Nature her own Physitian be? Wilt see a man, all his own wealth, His own Musick, his own Health; A man whose sober soul can tell How to wear her Garments well, Her Garments, that upon her sit As Garments should do close and fit; A well-cloth'd soul that's not opprest Nor choak't with what she should be drest. A soul-sheath'd in a Christal shrine; Through which all her bright features shine;

As when a piece of wanton Lawn, A thin aerial veil, is drawn O'r beauties face, seeming to hide, More sweetly shows the blushing bride. A soul, whose intellectual beams No Mists do Mask, no Lazy steams, A happy soul, that all the way To Heav'n rides in a Summers day. Would'st see a man, whose well-warm'd Blood Baths him in a genuine Flood! A man whose tuned humours be A seat of rarest harmony? Would'st see blith looks, fresh Cheeks beguile Age? wouldst see December smile? Would'st see Nests of new Roses grow In a bed of reverend Snow? Warm Thoughts, free Spirits flattering Winter's self into a Spring. In summe, would'st see a man that can Live to be old, and still a man? Whose latest and most leaden hours Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flowers; And when Life's sweet Fable ends, Soul and Body part like friends; No quarrels, murmurs, no delay; A kiss, a Sigh, and so away. This rare one, Reader, wouldst thou see? Hark hither; and thy self be he.

FINIS.