Emblems with elegant figures newly published by J.H.

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EMBLEMS With elegant FIGURES, newly published. By J. H. Esquire.

LONDON, Printed by R. DANIEL

To the most Honour∣ed Vertuous Lady, M^rs. DOROTHY STANLEY.

MADAM,

NOne can wonder that I bring these EMBLEMS under your Protection. For I and this Book have acquir'd so near a Relation, that I must (for my own sake,) do it what good I can: And the best way I know to advance it's condition,

is to prefix your Name. Had they been high Discourses of the best Philosophy (whether Ancient or Moderne,) or choice pieces of Philologie, I should have offered them to your noble Husband M^r. THOMAS STANLEY, whom our Island stands admiring to see him now (as once the great Ale∣xander) conquer the world, when 'tis scarce thirty years since first he came into it; There being no glo∣ry that Greece or Rome, or their Successors can boast, which his matchlesse Genius hath not made his own, and ours too, by a noble communication. Therefore to him also I inscribe these EMBLEMS. I am bold thus to present them, that as Chappells (which before were but Lime and Stone) they may

grow venerable by their Dedicati∣on: and Likewise be an Emblem of the humble respect and servi∣ces of

MADAM

Your most obedient Servant R. D.

The Preface To the READER

THese Emblems falling un∣der my perusall, I could d•• no lesse then acknowled•• what I find to be trut•• which is, that Helicon h•••••• found another Channell in a full stra•• to glide to Heaven, Virtue is embalmed Verse, and Divine love so enamored w•• humane Wit and Art, that by an holy co••••∣lation they have both together broug•••• forth (without adultry,) this happie Ch•• of such heavenly beauty, that it wounds 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Reader not as other Poesies with da•••• of wanton sensuality, but with 〈◊〉〈◊〉 influence of that Divine love where w•••••• it self is so replenished, and feeds the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 with excesse of appetite. But high 〈◊〉〈◊〉

••••iums doe often serve but to per∣••••x security with doubt, and breed a su∣••••tion, that either the Authour wanteth ••••rth, or the impression vent: the last of ••hich concernes the Printer, the other my 〈◊〉〈◊〉. As for the Printer, I am confident his ••••es are, that the Buyer will be a greater ••••ner then the Seller: and as for my self, must confesse it is nothing but the worth the Book that prompted me to these: and though it needs no warmth from another ••••me, it being its own abundant commen∣••tion, yet I must ingenuously confesse and ••••de this Verdit, On my credit tis good, and ••ing read with an impartial Eye, if it ••••des thee not prone to approbation, it will ••ake thee so. But whither the matter be ••ore full of Divinity, or the stile of learn∣••••g and Art, I leave as a Querie: and so

farewell.

John Quarles.

In commendation of the Authour and his Work.

IT were some kind of Guilt but to reherse How wanton sin once domineerd in verse: Vice then usurp't the chiefest wits we know; But now the choysest in religion flow. See here are flames that shoot both heat and light, To warm our hearts, & make our darknesse brig•• That we inflam'd might love, and loving see The holiest raptures clad in poetrie. How sad's the world! Vertue no place can win, Vnlesse by pleasure it be usher'd in. Such is thy holy cosenage, which gaines Men to that goodnesse by thy pleasing straines; Which else they would neglect, if th' had not bin Brib'd by delight in those, to let it in. How poysoned is the world that there must be Some poyson us'd for its recoverie! How sick too is the world, whose health must b•• Procured by its own infirmity! To work this riddle cure, there's not in all Thy Book a line, but is medicinall.

Thomas Wall, M. A. OXON.

The Praeludium.

FRown on me shades, and let not day Steal in a needle-pointed Ray, To make discoveries wrap me here In folds of night, and do not fear The Sun's approach, so shall I find A greater light possess my mind. O do not, Children of the Spring! Hither your charming odours bring Nor with your painted smiles devise To captivate my wandring eyes: Th' have strayd too much, but now begin Wholy t' employ themselves within, What do I now on Earth? O why Do not these members upward flie? And force a room among the Starres And there my greatned self disperse As wide as thought, what do I here Spred on soft down of Roses, there That spangled Curtain which so wide Dilates its lustre, shall me hide. Mount up low thoughts and see what sweet Reposure Heaven can beget, Could you the least complyance frame How should I all become one flame, And melt in purest fires? O how My warmed Heart would sweetly glow And wast those dreggs of Earth that stay

Glew'd to it, then it might away And still ascend till that it stood Within the Centre of all good, There prest, not overwhelm'd, with joyes Under its burthen fresh arise, There might it loose it self, and then With loosing find it self agen: There might it triumph and yet bee Still in a Blest Captivitie, There might it—O why do I speak Whose humble thoughts be far too weak To apprehend small Notions, nay Angells be non-plus'd though the day Break clearer on them, and they run In Anogees more near the Sun. But oh! what pull's me? how I shall In the least moment headlong fall; Now I'm on Earth again, not dight As formerly in Springing light, The self-same Objects please that I Did even now as base deny, Now what a powerfull influence Has Beauty on my slavish sence: How rob I Nature that I may Her wealth upon one Cheek display, How doth the Gyant Honour seem Well statur'd in my fond esteem, And Gold, that Bane of Men, I call Not poys' nous now, but Cordiall; Since that the worlds great eye the Sun Has not disdain'd to make 't his own, Now every Passion swayes and I

Tamely admit their Tyranny, Onely with numerous sighings say The Basest things is breathing Clay. But sure these vapours will not e're Draw Curtaines o're my Hemisphere. Let it clear up and welcom day It's lustre once again display, Thou (O my sun!) a while maist lie As intercepted from mine eye, But love shall fright those Clouds, and thou Into my purged eyes shall flow, Which (melted by my inward fires Which shall be blown by strong desires) Consuming into teares shall feel Each tear into a Pearl congeal, And every Pearl shall be a stem In my Celestiall Diadem.

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SPARKLES OF DIVINE LOVE.

1

What am I without thee but one running headlong? Aug. Conf. lib. 4. cap. 1.

LOrd! send thine hand Uuto my rescue, or I shall Into mine own ambushments fall, Which ready stand To d' execution All, Layd by self-love, O what Love of our selves is that That breeds such uproares in our better state?

2

I think I pass A meadow guilt with Crimson showers, Of the most rich and beauteous flowers, Yet Thou, alas! Espy'st what under lowers Tast them, they 're Poyson, lay Thy self to rest, there stray Whole knots of Snakes that solely wait for prey.

3

To dream of flight Is more then madness, there will be Either some strong necessitie Or else delight, To chain us, would we flee, Thus do I wandring go And cannot poysons know From wholsome simples that beside them grow.

4

Blind that I am! That do not see before mine eyes These gaping dangers that arise Ever the same, Or in varieties Far worse, how shall I scape Or whether shall I leap, Or with what comforts solace my hard hap?

5

Thou! who alone Canst give assistance, send me aid, Else shall I in those depths be laid, And quickly thrown, Whereof I am afraid, Thou who canst stop the sea In her mid-rage, stop me Least from my self, my own self-ruine be.

EPIGRAM 1.

Should'st thou not sometimes man in dangerstand Thy Lord would not so freely reach his hand, But now he helps at need, thus do we see That sometimes danger brings securitie.

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1

Toyes of toyes, and vanities of vanities did withhold mee. Aug. Conf. l. 8. c. 11.

EVen as the wandring Traveller doth stray Lead from his way By a false fire, whose flame to cheated sight doth lead aright, All Paths are footed over but that one Which should be gone: Even so my foolish wishes are in chase Of every thing but what they should embrace.

2

We laugh at children that can when they please A bubble raise, And when their fond Ambition sated is Again dismisse Thee fleeting Toy into its former aire: What do we here But act such tricks? yet thus we differ, they Destroy, so do not we: we sweat, they play.

3

Ambitious towring's do some gallants keep From calmer sleep, Yet when these thoughts the most possessed are They grope but aire, And when they 're highest in an instant fade Into a shade; Or like a stone that more forc't upwards shall With greater violence to its centre fall.

4

Another, whose conceptions onely dream Monsters of fame. The vain applause of other mad-men buyes With his own sighes Yet his enlarged Name shall never craul Over this ball: But soon consume, thus doth a trumpet's sound Rush bravely on a little. then's not found.

5

But we as soon may tell how often shapes Are chang'd by apes; As know how oft mans childish thoughts do vary And still miscarry: So a weak eye in twilight thinks it sees New species, While it sees nought, so men in dreams conceive Of scepters, till that waking undeceive.

EPIGRAM 2.

Why frets thou that thy soul doth dote upon These guilded trifles of corruption? Thy self's the very cause, what remedy And thine own hearts a Traytor to thine eye.

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Thou art with me in secret O Lord, whipping me oft with the rods of fear and shame▪ Aug. Conf. lib. 8. chap. 11.

NO sooner wretched man beginning is To do amiss, But fear doth give alarm's, and wake The drousie conscience, which doth shake The raging Passions, yet they forward run Pursuing alwayes what they first begun,

Thus doth depraved man at first begin. To act his sin, And put his hand to that his heart Doth with such opposition thwart, Half punishing before, thus Serpent sin To sting and poyson doth at once begin,

But when w' have acted what deprav'd desire Did first require; The torturer Guilt doth banish fear, Aud sin doth like her self appear Arm'd with her venom'd snakes which ready stand To punish what her self did first command.

By this means conscience disturb'd doth so Enraged grow That she whips out all peace, so we Snatch't from our false securitie Are torne by our own tortures, such as ne're The worst offender can from tyrant fear.

Then we suppose each twig that is behind mov'd by the wind Would give a lash, we think a hare Flying detest's us, if we heare A lamkin bleat for milk, we think 't doth cry Mother, yon man's a sinner, come not nigh:

Meanwhile the silken bonds of sleep Cannot us keep Or if one slumber seaze our eyes, Legions of ugly dreams arise, That in the night we wish for day, in day (Finding no ease) we wish the light away.

While that thy fiery steed did run Poor Absalon Thy circkling knots of golden hair Onely so many halters were And to thee (fairest of the earth!) that earth Gave not a death-bed that had given the birth.

EPIGRAM 3.

So fatall 'tis! he that commits a crime Is his own executioner that time; And is with secret sorrows onely rent, Since sin it self is its own punishment.

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1

So I was sick and in torture, turning me up and down in my bonds, Aug. Conf. 8. cap. 11.

SHould'st thou not (Lord!) dispence. Thy powerfull influence, We all should freez Like Scythian seas Bound up in flinty ice, and all The suns kind warmth in vain should fall: Nor would dame Nature let her riches come out of her womb: But since thou let'st thy rays run free, And spirit gives To all that lives Each severall thing continues, but by thee.

2

Thus art thou sweetly hurl'd Even through the little world, But once bereave What first thou gave What a lean dulnesse soon doth thwart The dead and putryfying heart? No high affections then advance the soul and make it roul About the woolly clouds to play, And censure all That's here, as small As the least Atome that sports in a ray.

3

Then is mortality A most enforcing lie And clay is grown, As hard as stone Nor can our cunning make it loose Till that thy heat do interpose, Thus do our wounds corrupt and gaping stand Till that thine hand Do gently close and pull these darts Which so have bin By the sent in To our insensate and obdurate hearts.

EPIGRAM 4.

What art thou sick to death, go and reside 〈◊〉〈◊〉 yon red Hospitall that stands so wide: ••as ••is a wound, what though, by it thou'lt be ••ealed of whatsoever infirmity.

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••as hungry within, because I wanted thee my inward meat O my God. 3. Conf. cap. 4.

••N vain you court my wanton taste Choycest of Natures delicates! ••ere is no strength in such repast ••hough gained by excessive rates ••ee onely counterfeit a feast, Devour what aire, earth, sea, can give Thou'lt not one moment longer live.

••o, but accelerate thy fall ••hough stuff'd with whatsoever spice ••he East can yield, though fancy shall Assisted by proud lust) devize ••o swallow at one bit this All. Art thou so blind thou canst not see Thy self thus tantalized bee?

〈◊〉〈◊〉 that thy parched gums be dry The other are not reall) and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hunger gripe thy stomack, fly To him who'll lead thee by the hand. Where thou may'st streams of life espy There drink thy fill at any rate Thou canst not be intemperate.

There is the true Ambrosia Food worthy the Aetheriall soul, Which shall due nourishment conveigh, Such as no hunger can controul: But it thy fainting limbs will stay With due refreshment, which shall bee As long-liv'd as Aeternity:

O do but taste and see how far These Sodom-apples do deceive, They do beguile the eye as fair Rich Balls of gold; but th' taste bereave And in an instant vanish'd are, The other tasted truly fill And further touch't are sweeter still.

Mad Prodigalls we may a while Hurried away by lust go eat Husks with the nasty hogs, but still We no society beget Till that our father doth us fill And we return, O let us go Since we such entertainment know.

EPIGRAM 5.

••t hungry Boy? go to yon vine there see ••he grapes of life in purple clusters be, ••ere meet with Israels sheepheard, 'tis his vine ••••'s gardner both and sun to dress and shine.

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1

How long! How long! why is not this hour the period of my filthiness. Aug. Conf. 2. lib. 8.

EVen as the splitting mariner Blasted with storms ••oth in short sighs his vowes profer, And so performs 〈◊〉〈◊〉 broken accents what his tongue ••ould not but in the utterance wrong▪

2

〈◊〉〈◊〉 doth the soul, when that the weight Of sin doth lie ••pon her crazie shoulders, straight Her groanes do crie ••ishing she knows not what, yet more ••hen any language can implore.

3

How long, my father! wilt me leave? How long I must 〈◊〉〈◊〉 an inhabitant of th' grave involv'd in dust, ••hou who createdst all canst raise 〈◊〉〈◊〉 out of ashes if thou please.

4

How every passion is become Mine enemie, And drawes me further from the home Where I should be: Yet thou canst curb them, thou alone Who ne'r wast swaid by passion.

5

Oh when shall snowy Innocence My inmate be! And I freed from my load of sence, Flie up to thee; Drown me in blood then Ile appear, Washt in that crimson river, clear.

6

Look, (Lord!) upon my miseries How they appea•• Scribled and fragmented in sighs Before thee here Stop them I pray; yet I confess These groanings are my happiness.

7

'Tis the first step to health to know We are not well; I ope my wounds unto thee so, Poure oyl and heal: And when they're closed up take care They prove not deeper then they are.

EPIGRAM 6.

Most happy Rhetorick of sighs, that bear's such strong perswasions to Jehovahs eares! Which stand most firm, when faltring tongue doth fall; And when thou speakest worst speak'st best of all:

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1

Take up and Read; Take up and Read. Aug. lib. 8. cap. 12.

UNhappy boy! How art thou now become Thy self thy Tombe? Within what darkness dost thou lie? Such as that glorious Prince of light Whose smiles inamell every flower Cannot affright, But that these vapours still condense the more▪

2

How are thine eyes Courted with whatsoere The terming eare Or pregnant nature can devise? Yet what a winter is within? What marble freezings which congeal? Though they have been Bath'd in warmed showers, which from thine eyes did steal

3

Insatiate soul! Which hast devoured each art Yet hungry art, And like an empty ship dost roul: Where wilt thou once contented rest Exempt from all this fluctuation, And fixt thy brest Where 't may repose in a secured station?

4

Turn but thine eye And view that folded Oracle That lately fell, Heard'st not thou some soft murmur crie? TAKE UP AND READ; obey, there is (If tho•• canst ope thy purged eare) High misteries That can direct thy feet; thine eyesight clear.

5

Thou never took In hand an harder lesson, then Thou did'st begin Prying the secrets of this book: For it will teach thee how to set, In paths that cannot tread awry, Thy wandring feet: And shew thee where the source of blisse doth lie.

EPIGRAM 7.

Take up these leaves; within that little Room Lie endless depths; 'tis Gods Autographum. The hardest Book, and easiest: which can give Death to the dying: Life to them that live.

[illustration]

The unlearned rise and take heaven by violence; and we with our learning without affection, behold! where we wallow in flesh and bloud! Aug. Conf. lib. 8. cap. 8.

VAin curiosity! yee lead The mind in mazes, make her tread A-side, while that she toyles and is not fed.

O empty searchings! do I care If I can slice yon burning sphere To the least atoms, and yet near come there.

Though I can number every flame That fleets within that glorious frame; Yet do not look on him that can them name.

Though I can in my travell'd mind The earth and all her treasures find Yet leaving pride swolne into hills behind.

Though I can plum the sea, and try What monsters in her womb do lie; Yet n'ere a drop fall from my frozen eye.

Am I the better, though I could All wisdome with a breath unfold, And a heart boundless as the Ocean hold?

No not a whit unless that he By whom these glorious wonders be Lead me and teach mine eyes himself to see.

Yet may a modest ignorance Unto so great an height advance, And of such sparkling beauties gain a glance.

He that's all wisdom do'es not care How full our teeming fancies are Of touring notions if our hearts be clear!

They are but wildfires that remain With rouling flashes in the brain If that the heart thereby no heat doth gain.

He is the wisest that doth know To whom he doth allegiance ow, To whom his rebell passions ought to bow.

Who with a rude yet heedy eye His maker finds in every flie, And Treads to heaven by humilitie.

Who with a watchfull heediness An omnipresence doth confess; And not by cobweb Theorems express.

Let others seek to know, they shall But into greater blindness fall; And ere their course be run know nought at all.

Since what we know is but a gleam, That ow's its lustre to a beam, Which from that inf'nite spring of light doth stream.

EPIGRAM 8.

Each minute learn, and by that learning know The more thou clim'st, the more thou art below: Still let thy brain strength to thy heart dispence, And think the greatest wisdom's Innocence:

[illustration]

1

•• Lord behold my heart, which thou pi∣tiedst in the bottomless pit. Aug. Conf. lib. 4. cap. 2.

LOrd! dost thou see, This ruddy piece of clay how it doth flie Up towards thee! Ambitious of a sweet tranquillity! Within thy bosome, loe How speedily 't doth go? Featherd by active fire, Whereby it mount's and towers up higher Then its own groveling thoughts could reach Before that thou didst teach, How doth it throw And leave below Those which wear shackles, but now trophies are? Oh how it flashes Reduc't to ashes? Yet were alive till now. Those darts are med'cines which destructive were And cut but beds for balm to flow ••••ilst the ascending day forgets 'twas ere below.

2

Yet this was once Grave to it self, bound in most potent chaines (Corruptions) Whilst a chil'd poison did congeal my veines,

Which speckledtombestones were▪ Then durst no day appear But darkness shrowded all, And thick Egyptian damps did fall; I knew not I benighted was, Or else a night did cause Pleas'd that I lay Without a ray Till thou, (great world of light!) broke out 〈◊〉〈◊〉 the•• My chains did fall, I that was all One issicle, became One tear, and now my veines ran bloud again•• Take Lord what thou thy self didst frame And on thine Altar deign to cherish thine own fla••••▪

EPIGRAM 9.

••'me thine, and for my homage, take my heart 〈◊〉〈◊〉 'Tis, though a little, yet my greatest part (Which can as well not lie, as think) and say I give but what I cannot keep away.

[illustration]

Who took me by the hand, and brought me out of that darkness wherewith I was in love? Aug. Soliloq. cap. 37.

1

VVHilst sable bands of night did bind My drousie mind; And my eyes useless were when day Was shrunk away: Whose was that ray That stole so kindly in and shew'd Glimses of light again? both how Stars in their vaulted sea do flow, ••nd how the Sun's tryumphant toyles renew'd.

2

Who wa'st that taught mee deeds of night are mere deceit? And all the light she seems to set Are counterfet: And if but met By smallest twinklings disapear: That, wayes are then uncertain, and We can't in any surety stand ••isturbed, or by danger or by fear.

3

Who wrought upon me that great cure As to endure, Like th' royall eagle, with a straight And unmov'd sight The flowing light? Who taught me joy? when that mine eyes Were more possest with strengthened gleames Sent from associated beames: Who taught me failing shadowes to dispise?

4

Thou center of all light! whom none Can look upon: Who when the world but new begun Didst give a sun With light to run: Thou! from whose sight no lurking cave No, nor the most retyring deep, Which the still reeling sea doth sweep, Lies hid; no, nor the secrets of the grave.

5

Thou! who canst stop the sun, and cause him soon to pause; O on this Scythian breast of mine Keep a straight line, And nere decline; That by degrees this grosness may That now attends me, be calcin'd To dust, and I from dregs refin'd Mounted upon thy love, may fly away.

EPIGRAM 10.

Let the sun cherish day, I cannot see The best approach of sight, unless through Thee: Yet Thee I cannot, though I labour still For Thou art Glory inaccessible.

[illustration]

••ebriate my heart, (Oh God! with the sober intemperance of thy love Aug. Meditat. cap. 37.

NOw love I all excess; now let me be An enemy to all sobriety! ••n the faint hart, whose nimble footing stray ••ong the devious forrests all the day, ••••ilst that her foes as swift as lightning press ••ind, yet not so swift as merciless, ••d scorching heat her parched intralls dry ••••at in her self her greatest dangers lie; ••en she com's near cold streams, who as they pass 〈◊〉〈◊〉with their silver footings clear the grass ••asure her thirst, but rather covets more ••e naturall julip then she did before: ••s so with me (my God!) but I have been ••sued with enemies that to lodg within; ••ose rage know's no regress, But boyles up higher ••e Arsenall, mine heart is set on fire, ••ich will devour untill that ashes be ••e weak resisters of its cruelty. 〈◊〉〈◊〉waters prove but fewell, nay the sea ••r'd on would onely oyl and sulphur be. 〈◊〉〈◊〉shower thy rayes upon it, (Lord!) & smoother ••e violence of one flame by another; ••en to refresh me send cool showers, that may ••rease such potent feavers, and allay: ••solve those clouds that interpose, so shall ••alming tempests in my bosome fall: 〈◊〉〈◊〉 is my wasting out into the main

That they may draw me to the shore again: But when I am on shore, oh how I gape Furrowed with clifted chinks; oh how I leap And fly asunder, that I nothing seem But one great ruine, when the fiery beam Of thy fierce wrath descendeth, and doth roul Hells sad preludium into my soul. But Thou, whose open side produc't a floud As white as Crystall yet all stayn'd with bloud Drown me within those waters, let me lie Within that watry tomb, so shall I flie From death to life and all my ruines be Nothing but reparation by Thee.

EPIGRAM. 11.

••e cheers the Heart of man; but love doth give ••e principles of life, and make it live. ••s else but carrion; or a freezing Sun; ••cending flames; wings without motion.

[illustration]

1

••ove, when it come's doth captivate all the other affections, and draw them unto it self. Aug. Manual. cap. 18.

TYrannick love! whose active fires Plumes slow desires; And make's them swiftly taper up, Till flattering hope Stroke them and win them to her breast, Though not to rest: Yet in that motion they close In some repose, ••s steel hovering 'bove loadstones quiet growe's.

2

Emperour of heart! who do'es dilate Her narrow state; That she outgrow's the earth aud's even As wide as heaven: Yet not so vast but thou art king, Thou centrall spring! From whom all passions first began To flow, and than ••evolve into thee, as their Ocean.

3

Tyrant o'th soul who if thou please Her powers to raise, They tryumph for to meet thee, and Take thy command: Thine who knit'st altogether here Yon azure sphere, This floting ball or what doth lie Ope to the eye, All are conjoyned by thy mystick tie.

4

Thou, who can'st sweeten dangers, that We do not hate Their griffy visages, nor fear Their threats; but rear Our thoughts above all injury; Or if we lie But in thy fetters how we rove, And sore above! That's circle's infinite whose center's love.

EPIGRAM 12.

What's love? what's God? Both the like greatness hold One is Omnipotent, the other would: ••oth are attractive and diffusive; yea ••od is himself but abstract charity.

[illustration]

••ord thou hast made me for thee, and my heart is unquiet till it Rest in thee. Aug. Conf. lib. 1. cap. 1.

LOrd! what is man? 〈◊〉〈◊〉 mass of wonders cluster'd in a span: One who can tell ••he eye, yet his best part invisible, As great a piece ••f beauty, as wise nature can express: But who can find The uncontrouled swiftness of his mind? How't can reflect ••pon it self, and by its intellect, When it shall please, ••lime highest mountains, plum the deepest seas: Or nimbly wind, ••o either pole, and see where all's calcin'd To save by heat Whom cold doe's all in glassy shackles set. Or ere the eye ••an turn it self, clamber the azure skie: Yet cannot she ••ind rest at all, till that she rest in thee, Thee, who did'st lay ••er active substance in the cell of clay; Yet hast indued ••nd deck't her with thine own simil•••• That there might be ••ome little ectypes of thy Majestie,

Though he could chase Old time into his cradle, yea and trace Each planet as He through his azure circuit doth pass, And subt'ly eye How multiformious Meteors strangely fly: But can the heart Find any settlement? although all art Should court, and be Transformed into one great flattery? No, no, till thou Who art alone all fulness, sweetly flow Into 't and be The cause of hunger by society. Then may she rest In thee, who art her center, and though prest With sorrowes even As low as hell, bounce up as high as Heaven.

EPIGRAM 13.

Can the earth dance? the Ocean fall asleep? Or can the thoughts of man their quiet keep, 'Till they be home from all their travells brought To him, who know's all wisdom at a thought?

[illustration]

1

••ill pierce heaven with my mind, and be present with thee in my desires. Aug. Manual. cap. 14.

VVEak chains, bind flesh and bloud, and tie Lethargick sense; You cannot impede me, when I flie Hurried away from hence ••u shall not clog me, but my raised flight Shall bring me to my wish't for height.

2

Where am I now convaid? oh how My winged feet Spurn all those golden lamps that glow Beneath, with night beset! ••y (a strange pilgrim) I securely run In paths that lie above the sun.

3

Swell heart into a world and keep That humid sea: Become, my bosome, one great deep That it may lodge in Thee: ••••at glorious sun with his Celestiall heat will warm't, and mak't evaporate.

4

Spring-head of life, how am I now Intomb'd in Thee? How do I since th' art pleas'd to flow, Hate a dualitie? How I am annihilated? yet by this Acknowledge my subsistence is

5

Still may I rise; still further clime Till that I lie (Having out-run-short-winded time) Swath'd in Eternitie: So may my youth spend and renue, so night Never alternate with my light.

6

But should my God withdraw awhile His glorious face Yet would not I my self beguile But with a strickt embrace So closely joyn with him, that wheresoere He were, I would strive to be there.

7

Nay should he strike me down so low As hell, yet I Would grasp him: He is there I know: He in those depths doth lie So should I surfet on all happiness; 'Tis solely heaven where he is.

EPIGRAM 14.

What is Mans body? clay, or lead his soul? The nimblest swiftest substance that can roul It self ere thought; and by its power bring down, Or mount to heaven, and so mak't its own.

[illustration]

••h thou fountain of life, let my thirsting soul drink of Thee. Aug. Med. cap. 37.

Faint, I faint: these channels here Though they seem Crystall, run not clear; What nasty heaps of rubbish lie Within these waves? I die; I die; How bitter are they? poysons be Though fiercest, not so harsh as they: Yet have I drunk; but now a more Heat bake's my bowells then before. Oh! what an Aetna hath posse'st The feeble ruines of my breast? How't fall's to cindars? how I have My bosom turn'd into my grave! Go, go, my former loves! I will No more your false embraces fill. Weave robes of short liv'd Roses set, ••illy's in bands of Violet: Rare clouds of Myrrhe, that none may press To view your secret wantonness. Such fumes but choak me; nor have I Leisure to wanton ere I die. See how I breath out ashes. 'Las! Doe's there no silver rillet pass That may asswage? would heaven bestow One welcome drop to cool me now! Oh for a Moses that would make This rock of mine dissolve and break

To a clear stream where I might lie Exempt from all this misery, And bathe. Oh would some Angel sit And point me to a welcom pit. Thou spring of life run over me Thou center of eternitie, Enlive me once again, and show What thy unbounded power can do. Do but direct me and Ile flie Where all thy liquid treasures lie; More then may drench whole worlds; and bless Them with their quickning delugies When I have setled there, oh then I shall not know to thirst agen.

EPIGRAM 15.

The living spring of life is cool; but yet Doth quench one, and beget a greater heat. Still satisfie's; yet leave's a thirst behind And is the sacred Bath and Spaw o'th' mind.

[illustration]

1

Love doth repress the motions and with∣hold the slipperiness of youth. Aug. Manual. cap. 19.

VVHat is this life? A scene of strife; A theatre of sorrow; On which we play Perhaps to day ••ut break a limb to morrow:

2

Weak stage of Ice For flatteries To cheat and juggle on! Which vanish ere They can appear, And as they come, are gone.

3

What safety can Thou yield poor man? That tread's thee with such joy; What are the treasures Of all the pleasures Which ere they'r tasted, cloy.

4

Then happy he That can be free By potent counter-charms: And nimbly leap And so escape Thy still approching harms.

5

But all those whom Love hath ore' come, Contemn thy Magick, and Do bravely flee Thy tyranny And in full freedom stand.

6

Oh happy mind That leave's behind Those things that creep below: And clamber's up By constant hope Where reall pleasures flow.

7

Then youth no more Obtaine's a power To cheat the roving sight; But reason crown'd And so inthron'd Doth solely bid what's right.

EPIGRAM. 16.

••ince of the passions, royall Love! who, when Thou pleasest, canst thus metamorphise men: ••ust make's her vassailes beasts: thou contrary, ••ake'st each heart where thou raigne'st a Deity.

[illustration]

The Heart of man not fixt in desires of Eternitie can neither be firm nor sta∣ble. Aug. Manual. cap. 25.

YOu whose clear countenances do not know Assembling clouds and storms of woe, Whose golden streams of minutes sweetly run In an unalter'd motion, Who sit on shore, while other wretches be Ludibrium's of the raging sea, Who surfet on what pleasures can behap, Who lull••blind fortune in your lap, Enjoying what wild fancie can invent: Pray! can you say you are content? Do not your labouring thoughts inlarge and still Grow far more empty as they fill Pray! what gradations make you? can you stand? How often do you countermand Ere you can think? and pray! is every thought Chain'd and in order brought? Could you with patience view those traverses wherewith your soul still moving is Did they lie open to the sun? or deem That ever you conceived them? Vast soul of man! who cannot find in thee A circumscrib'd infinitie What can outrun thy swiftness? what can less Then swelling thee, brook emptiness. That if not fill'd, earth leap's, and gain's a room And so prevent's a Vacuum.

But ramble still, and feed thy fury, groan, Cause ther's no worlds but one. Thou doest but multiply thy cares and toss Like men amazed at a loss. Or like a crazy vessell which doth lie On th' drunken tyranny Of each insulting wave, whilst every blast Jussell's and threaten's that her last. But wer't thou freed from thy domestick harms And wound within thy Makers arms, How would these twilights vanish, what a day Would't instantly it self display: Then might'st thou prepossess thy heaven, and so In this thine exile happy grow. This is our jayle, our night, till happy we Gain there, both day and liberty.

EPIGRAM 17.

••an flames fly downward? can the earth ascend? ••an liquors separate? and dry things blend? ••is as unlikely that without a God ••he heart of man can find a period.

[illustration]

1

Mine enemy hath laid many nets for my feet, and fill'd all the way with ambushments.

Hasten, can I view those eyes From whence there flie's ••ch strong attractive beams; and stay Lingring i'th way? ••hen thou canst soon deceive my toyl 〈◊〉〈◊〉the short magick of a smile.

2

••irest of women! no: oh how Upon thy brow ••throniz'd bands of graces sit? How on thy white ••••me out bloud-thirsty roses? which, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Hemispheres, [thy cheekes] inrich.

3

〈◊〉〈◊〉 could I come! (how art thou dight With ambient light?) 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Phenix-like in her tomb-nest, Sleep on thy breast: 〈◊〉〈◊〉 from thy od'rous bosom draw ••••ole snowy-clouds of Cassia.

4

But oh! what ambushments orespread The way I tread? How crooked are those paths of mine How serpentine! What ranks of peevish thornes beset My torn and more then weary feet?

5

But look how either side doth smile And would beguile; How all's with Amethysts beset; How negro-jet Mingle's with Alablaster? how The scatter'd Topasses do glow!

6

What virgins do on either hand Assailing stand? Whom could they not orecom. if none Thy face had known? Their beauty is but borrowed; thine Doth with a native lustre shine.

7

But I'le be blind, untill I be Restor'd by thee: They are but shadows and are gone Ere they can run Into thy sight. Thy beauty shall Stand while the dying sun shall fall.

EPIGRAM 18.

••rust not the world; when't smiles, it will betray, ••nd when secure, doth the most dangers lay: ••••t break her snares, and all her charmings flie, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 th' art, at best, in splendid slavery.

[illustration]

〈◊〉〈◊〉 love which doest ever burn and art never extinguish't, enlighten me with thy flames. Aug. Mannual. cap. 10.

MY wishes cannot reach so far With empty towrings; as to rear ••ge piles of marble, that may rise ••••d fiercely emulate the skies: ••annot wish me gardens, where ••errestiall planets may appear, ••nd rise and set by courses: no, ••annot all this madness know; ••••ght I bathe in Pactolus, swim 〈◊〉〈◊〉 yellow Tagus; might each limb ••••ale after it more Ore, then may ••••ng poverty on India: 〈◊〉〈◊〉 are not wish so high; yet are ••••y royall wishes higher far. 〈◊〉〈◊〉! could I, though the restless sun ••ould not his usuall journey run, ••••y self supply his light, and rear ••ithin my heart a taper, far ••armer then his: but should he go ••s usuall progress; I might flow ••ith double fires; but 'las! I wish ••••apes of impossibilities: 〈◊〉〈◊〉, whose disbanding members have ••••ouldred themselves within the grave ••annot get up, and walk; and knit ••••s limbs as they at first were set:

Sure no! can I revive again My palsied heart, my frozen brain? What can my strength command them cease Their monstrous shakings, and confess They were diseas'd; till thou display The powerfull influence of thy ray. Alas! I cannot; till thou shine And fright away these clouds of mine I shall be darkned: com, oh com! Break in upon me, here's a room Thy subtle joyes can pierce, and gain And entrance in the depths of men: Though wee be all polluted, yet Thy viceroy doth rise and set Upon base thistles; and will close With weeds, as soon as any rose: Burn me, oh! burn me; so I shall Enjoy no meaner funerall Then the great world: and nimbly flee Unclog'd with matter unto thee.

EPIGRAM 19.

••••w monstrous are man's wishes? and how vain ••••w he do'th pray and then, unpray again? ••••at strange Chimera's does his fancy frame 〈◊〉〈◊〉 beg his ruine in a specious name?

[illustration]

How shall we sing the Lords song in a strange land? Psal. 137. v. 4.

VVHil'st by the reedy bancks of aged Cam, My golden minuts softly went and came; Nothing was wanting to content; unless 〈◊〉〈◊〉 minde fit for to grasp such happiness: ••y wishes still were ratifi'd, and still ••onfirm'd, nor had I any law but will; Whether severer thoughts my minde posse'st, ••nd freed her from her load of flesh, and dre'st ••er like her self, and carried her on high, ••eyond the narrow reach of thought or eye. Or if some serious follies call'd m' away ••ow boldly and securely durst I stray. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 little from my self, that so I might ••eturn with the more spirit and delight. ••o have I seen a painter when his eyes ••ere wearied with intentive poaring rise ••nd leave his curious labor, and refrain Till that his eyes might gather life again; Thus did I out-run time, nor did I know ••ow to complain that any hour went slow. ••ut nothing now at all remain's with me ••ut the sweet Torment of the Memory. ••ood in fruition's somewhat; lost, no more Then an half cured wound, or easie soar; ••r like a dose of Honey, when't doth fall ••pon the tongue sweet, and in th' stomack gall. But what divor'st me from these pleasures say, Tell me (my Muse!) what ravish't them away;

Could not the silver Thames continue them? Or were thy minde and wishes not the same? Or did'st thou climb too high, and so awake That monster envy which thy slumbers brake? Or did'st thou finde those faithless who lest ought▪ Or were thy great design's abortive brought? Or did thy sins, like pullies, draw thee back, And make thy thoughts, so strongly bended, slack•• What ere it is; now I am fal'n, and now Under my care's must either break or bow; And that great Fabrick of Leucenia, Which should to th' last of time my name conveigh•• Must lie unperfit, and dismembred so, And be at most a monstrous Embryo! Nay my sublimer thoughts must stoop t' invent Some stratagems 'gainst famine and prevent Contempt [the worst of evils] and sharp cold. But whether run I? I let go my hold. Conquer thy sorrows Hall 'tis patience can Alone secure thee, though all sorrow's ran At once upon thy head, 'tis fear alone That giv's these scar-crow's arms; they else ha•••• non He is a man whose resolution dar's The worst of evil's, who command's his fears. Els what poor things we are? how weak? how blind Apt to be troubled by each wanton Winde. Nay man the best of creatures, is below The weakest of them, if he tremble so.

EPIGRAM 20.

What a mad thing is grief? should we devise To harm our selves with other's injuries? And wound our hearts, with every sleight offence? When we may be shot-free by patience;

EPIGRAM 20.

What a mad thing is grief? should we devise To harm our selves with other's injuries? And wound our hearts, with every slight of∣fence? When we may be shot-free by patiēce;

EMBLEMS With elegant Figures, not before published.

By I. H. Esq

Book II.

—Ex frigore FLAMMA.

LONDON Printed by ROGER DANIEL, Anno Dom. 1658.

[illustration]

SPARKLES OF DIVINE LOVE.

Book. II.

—Ex frigore FLAMMA.

Printed by Roger Daniel Printer to the Universitie of Cambridge. 1648.

SPARKLES OF DIVINE LOVE.

1

I am come a light into the world, and whosoever believeth in me shall not abide in darkness. John 12. v. 46.

COnceive not, happy malecontent! although Thou stand'st below, But thy inlarged eye may freely rove, And soar above; Nay all that ambient Darkness clear's the light Unto thy sight, And all those silver-streakes of light which were Seemingly hid before, do now appear.

2

Although the space of Heaven, which doth lie Before thine eye, Seem's small; thy bulk's too little and unfit To measure it, What seem's an inch will quickly unbeguile And prove a mile; Stars seem like spangles; but a tube let's see This massie globe of th' Earth 's far less then they.

3

Trust not from this thy sense with things that are Above her sphear; Shee's purblinde, and at distance cannot see Things as they be, Reason may help, but not secure her: either May err together. Nothing more wilde, and weak, and erring, than The reason of poor incollected man.

4

But faith, which seeme's to overthrow her quite, Set's her aright; And drawe's remotest objects home unto her; That what before Was small and too too bright she could not see; May now agree; Faith is the best prospective, they who rest Without her, seeing most, do see the least.

EPIGRAM 1.

••••ey talk of killing monsters, 'lass! Faith is View her attempts) the greatest Hercules. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 things the most impossible doth know 〈◊〉〈◊〉 to believe, and that because th' are so.

[illustration]

〈◊〉〈◊〉 thou of little faith why did'st thou doubt. Matth. 14. vers. 31.

DO'st thou behold, this little ball? These fleeting bubbles? this round toy? Which children well may play withall, And with a wanton breath destroy.

Though it be small, upon it lie's The spreading heavens contracted face; And the vast volume of the skies Designed in so strait a space.

That sea of light, which sent forth streams And yet is inexhaustible And never poor) of golden beams Can on these lines his courses tell;

Whether he towards the Crab doth roul, Or give's the Ram a fleece of gold, Whether we warmth in's presence feel Or in his absence biteing cold;

There's near a lesser light but here (Whether 't be fix't or more unstaid) Doth in a fained course appear And in its motion is displaid.

Yet ne're the less, doth every one (Uninterrupted undisturb'd) Go in its former motion, Free, and no more then ever curb'd:

The sun gild's and benight's the moon; whom th' Ocean flatter's as before, And doth, where shee'l lead him run, Nor are the planets wandrings more;

They do not sure; and if thine eyes Discover what thou art within; That spirit which imprison'd lies What a vast essence will be seen?

Stay her within the bounds of sence Imagination's infinite; But with that heavie load dispence, Then she can take a vaster flight;

Nay grasp whole heaven, though it be Without all measure and all end; For in her strength and power be The greatest things to comprehend.

EPIGRAM. 2.

••his globe ha's somewhat in't of every star, ••ans soul of each thing some small character, ••ow els could a pure intellect be seen ••o turn at any time, to any thing?

[illustration]

1

••ho against hope, believed in hope. Rom. 4. vers. 18.

HOw come's this chrystall liquor, which before Crept through the aufractuous cavern of the earth, ••o mount aloft? and so directly soar ••s if ashamed of so mean a birth, And so would force it self among the clouds, From whenceit first ran down in woolley flouds,

2

••n wise Philosophie, which can reveal ••••to the sence most hidden mysteries; ••riddle this strange Theoreme? and tell ••••ence such a hidden cause retired lies? 〈◊〉〈◊〉 nature such strange operation is As sometimes teacheth fools, & blinde's the wise.

3

••••cause some sulphure lurk's in privie veines, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 make's the wanton water boyl above? 〈◊〉〈◊〉 doth the unconstant Oceans trembling plain ••••s diurnall reflux hither move? ••nd forcing passage fill the spring-head so ••hat the imprison'd waves do upward go;

4

What ere it is, learn (soul!) by this to scorn The poor and humble dwellings of the earth, Be on thy own wings, up to heaven born And gain rest there, where thou had'st first 〈◊〉〈◊〉 bi•••• Although that here below thou think'st th' 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Thy freedomes but a glorious slavery.

5

Learn to believe impossibilities, (Such as are so to reason, not to hope) To pose thy sence, and contradict thine eyes To set in darkness, and in light to grope; Struggle with that, which doth least easie seen A little child can swim along the stream.

6

This is the way; heaven stand's on high, and t•••• Who would go thither, must be sure to clime Labor in this is easie, wh'ould not chose To gain a scepter, with a wearied lim; Virtue is ever proudest in her toyles And think's thick showres of sweat her grea•• spoyl

EPIGRAM 3.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 the heavens thou wouldst thy sight direct, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 stubborn reason unto faith subject. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 canst thou else with humane mists dispēse▪ 〈◊〉〈◊〉 reason sees but with the eyes of sense.

[illustration]

〈◊〉〈◊〉••as afraid least thou wouldest hear me, and deliver me instantly from the dis∣ease of lust, which I rather wished might be satisfied. Aug. Conf. lib. 8. Cap. 7.

1

THe Ermine rather chose to die A Martyr of its purity, ••••en that one uncouth soile should stain 〈◊〉〈◊〉 hitherto preserved skin:

2

〈◊〉〈◊〉 thus resolv'd she thinks it good 〈◊〉〈◊〉 write her whitenesse in her blood 〈◊〉〈◊〉 I had rather die, then e're, ••••ntinue from my soulnesse cleere.

3

Nay I suppose by that I live That onely doth destruction give. Mad-man I am, I turn mine Eye On every side, but what doth lie

4

Within I ••an no better find, Then if I ever had been blind. Is this the reason thou dost claime Thy sole prerogative, to frame

5

Engines again thy self? O fly Thy self as greatest enemy; And think thou sometimes life wilt get By a secure contemning it.

〈8 pages missing〉〈8 pages missing〉

EPIGRAM 6.

••ee how these poisnous passions gnaw & feed Upon the tortur'd heart in which they breed: And when (their poison spent) these Vipers dy, The worme of conscience doth their room supply

[illustration]

I said in the cutting off of my daies, I shall goe to the gates of the grave. Isa 38 10.

MY Life is measur'd by this glasse, this glasse By all those little Sands that thorough passe. See how they presse, see how they strive, w^ch shall With greatest speed & greatest quicknesse fall. See how they raise a little Mount, and then With their own weight doe levell it agen. But when th'have all got thorough, they give o're Their nimble sliding down, and move no more. Just such is man, whose houres stil forward run, Being almost finisht ere they are begun. So perfect nothings, such light blasts are we, That ere w'are ought at all, we cease to be. Do what we will, our hasty minutes fly; And while we sleep, what do we else but die? How transient are our Joyes, how short their day! They creep on towards us, but flie away. How stinging are our sorrows! where they gain But the least footing, there they will remain. How groundles are our hopes! how they deceive Our childish thoughts, and onely sorrow leave! How reall are our fears! they blast us still, Still rend us, still with gnawing passions fill. How senselesse are our wishes! yet how great! With what toil we pursue them, with what sweat! Yet most times for our hurts, so small we see, Like Children crying for some Mercurie.

This gapes for Marriage, yet his fickle head Knows not what cares waite on a marriage-bed. This vowes Virginity, yet knowes not what Lonenesse, griefe, discontent, attends that state Desires of wealth anothers wishes hold: And yet how many have been choak't with Gold? This onely hunts for honour: yet who shall Ascend the higher, shall more wretched fall. This thirsts for knowledge: yet how is it bought With many a sleeplesse night & racking thought This needs will travell: yet how dangers lay Most secret Ambuscado's in the way? These triumph in their Beauty, though it shall Like a pluck't Rose or fading Lillie fall. Another boasts strong armes: 'las Giants have By silly Dwarfes been drag'd unto their grave. These ruffle in rich silk: though ne're so gay, A well plum'd Peacock is more gay then they. Poor man, what art? a Tennis-ball of Errour; A ship of Glasse toss'd in a Sea of terrour: Issuing in blood and sorrow from the wombe, Crauling in teares and mourning to the tombe. How slippery are thy pathes, how sure thy fall? How art thou nothing when th'art most of all?

EPIGRAM 7.

••hus the small sands within their Christal glide, ••nd into moments times extent divide; ••ll man himself into like dust returne. ••••e young mans hower▪ glasse is the old mans Urne.

[illustration]

••••de 4, 15. The Lord cometh with ten thousand of his Saints to execute judge∣ment upon all.

Heare and tremble! Lord, what shall I doe I' avoid thy anger, whether shall I goe? ••hat, shall I scale the Mountains? 'las they be ••••re lesse then Atoms if compar'd with thee. ••hat, shall I strive to get my selfe a Tombe, ••ithin the greedy Oceans swelling Wombe? ••all I dive into Rockes? where shall I flie ••••e sure discovery of thy piercing Eye? ••as I know not; though with many a teare Hell they mone thy absence, thou art there. ••ou art on Earth, and well observest all 〈◊〉〈◊〉 actions acted on this massie Ball: 〈◊〉〈◊〉 when thou look'st on mine, what can I say? ••••re not stand, nor can I run away ••••ine eyes are pure and cannot look upon ••nd what else, Lord, am I?) Corruption. ••ou hatest sinnes, and if thou once begin ••east me in the Scales, I all am sinne. ••ou still continu'st one, O Lord; I range ••arious formes of crimes, and love my change. ••••d, thou that mad'st me, bid'st I should present 〈◊〉〈◊〉 heart unto thee: O see how it's rent ••various Monsters; see how fastly held, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 stubbornly they doe deny to yield. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 shall I stand, when that thou shalt be hurl'd Cloudes, in robes of fire to Judge the world,

Usher'd with golden Legions, in thine Eye Carrying an all enraged Majesty, That shall the Earth into a Palsie stroke, And make the Clouds sigh out themselves smoa•• How can I stand? yes, Lord, I may: although Thou beest the Judge, thou art a party too. Thou sufferedst for these faults, for w^ch thou sh•••• Arraigne me; Lord, thou sufferedst for them all They are not mine at all: these wounds of thi•••• That on thy glorious side so brightly shine, Seal'd me a pardon: in those wounds th'are hi•• And in that side of thine th'are buried. Lord, smile again upon us: with what grace Doth mercy sit enthroniz'd on thy face? How did that scarlet sweat become thee when That sweat did wash away the filth of men? Hovv did those peevish thornes adorn thy bro•••• Each thorne more richly then a Gem did glo•• Yet by those thorns (Lord, how thy love abound Are we poor wormes made capable of Crown Come so to Judgement, Lord: th' Apostles 〈◊〉〈◊〉 No more into their drowsy slumber fall, But stand and hearken how the Judge shall say Come come, my Lambs, to Joy, come come aw••••

FINIS.

EPIGRAM 8.

〈◊〉〈◊〉 the first Trumper sounding shall disperse 〈◊〉〈◊〉 terrour through the fainting universe. 〈◊〉〈◊〉 who that Thunder would undaunted bear, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 often be acquainted with it here.

FINIS.