Wit restor'd in several select poems not formerly publish't.

On Christ-church windowe, and Magd•…•…len Colledge wall.

YEe men of Galilee why gaze yee so On Mandlins necessary print, as though T'had bin enough for that pure virgin's sonne That was incarnate, dyed, & rose, to have done Those heavenly acts, that ransom'd al from hell And yet no visible effigies tell The eye, the manner how. Ye misconceive VVho think these sacred mysteryes must leave Impression onely in the soul; how then Shall those that bear more shape than mind of men, (Unlesse their outward sense informe them) know VVhat accidents their Saviour long ago Sustain'd? each wise man sees 'tis not the fate Of every ideot to be literate. And who can then forbid (ye Lay) to look And read those things without or line or book. Besides (if modestye may judge) what ist But a supply to each Evangelist? Long may the learned study, peace and scratch Before the forme of th' mainger, or the cratch Wherein Babe Christ was layd be understood. Each bungling joyner now may ken what wood The stall was made of where the long eared steed

And his associate Oxe did stand and feed. Each practis'd oastler knowes their meat, can say There is their provender, this is their hay. Yee now may learne the naked shepherds hew The stripling boy, and him it'h cap of blew, As perfectly as it had seene the clownes Each day a sunning on the jewish downes; 'Tis strange the dogg's not there, perhapps the Curr VVas left behind, for feare of noise or stirre: But veiw the venerable face whereon The horne and candle cast reflection, Observe it well if ere you chance to meet In paradise, you'le know't as soon as see't, Tis reverent Iosephs portraiture, see how▪ The very image seemes to cringe and bow, Marke well his beard, his eyes, his nose, if ought Be mist, tis yours, and not the painters fault. Then lead your eyes unto the beauteous one Who nere knew man, yet mother to a sonne. Doth not her face more fully speake her heart And joy, than text or comment can impart? But oh how little like her selfe when shee VVhose upcast, downe cast lookes, behold the tree? That fatall tree whereon the Lord of breath Expos'd himselfe to th'tyranny of death; VVas ever sorow so set forth? and yet To make the quire of heavinesse compleat,

The lov'd disciple bears his part, and so Doth that brave lasse that clips the Crosse below. Consult allauthors, English Greek & Lattin, You nere saw truer greife or finer sattin. Foule fall the bird whose undiscerning mute Presumes to turpifye so rich a suite; T'was very strange they durst so boldly greeve When those untutor'd hacksters of the Shreeve Close by sat armed Cap-a-pee with speares, And swords, and glittering helmets, or'e their eares Bestriding fiery steeds so markt so made Bucephalu's himselfe was but a jade Compar'd to these, why? who would be but vext To see such pal•…•…ryes here, and none it'h text? Next let your eyes and thoughts be fixt upon The sad-sad story of the passion; See how from side, from feet, from hands as yet The crimson blood trills down, you'l sweare twere wet; Were Thomas here himselfe, he would not linger But sooner trust his eyes then erst his finger. Mark how death's sable cloud doth over-spread His lips, his cheeks, his eyes, his sacred head. Behold death drawn to th'life, as if that hee Thus wrackt and stretch't upon th' accursed tree,

Had been of purpose nayld to th' crosse to try The Painters cunning hand, more than to dye. He left him dead, but twas not in the power Of grave, or hell to keep him, there one houre Beyond his own determination. Three dayes are past, and Ionah's type is done He walkes, and in full glory leaps from tombe: As Lazarus from th' earths insatiate wombe, But not to dye againe: meane while the guard Who vigilantly slept, soon as they heard Deaths prisoner, and their's so strangely rise Start up with frighted hearts and gastly eyes. They stare and muse, and sweare, the heardsmen talke Strange things, but nere till now saw dead men walke: Do but take notice how the rascalls look As if some prodigie had thunderstrook The villaines hearts, or some strange power had showne Medufae's head, and turnd them all to stone. Sure small perswasion would have made the Elves For feare of further paines to hang themselves: And blame them not, the Lord was now cal∣cin'd Bright as the Sun, his body so refin'd That not the sawcinesse of mortall eye Could stare upon such lustre and not dye. His glorifi'd humanity can stay

No more on earth, heaven calls, he must away; Yet ere he part hee'le take his leave, th'eleven, Attend, and see him ravisht into heaven. Their eyes (untill an interposing cloud Did interdict accesse of sight, and shrowd His godlike countenance from mortall ken) Still waite upon th'ascending Lord; but when Distance had snat cht him from their view, they lift Their hands to th' skie, as if they made some shift To draw him down againe, such was their love Thei•…•…e scarse assent to his ascent above. Where once more, note, the text supplyed which tells Th'Apostles were spectators and none else But count byth' pole you'l find th' eleven in∣creast Their troops amount to five or sixe at least. Were Luke alive, hee'd thank the painters wit, Who saw his oversight and mended it. Let's yeeld to reason then, let him that lists Dispute the number of th' Evangelists; If Judgement ever please this thing to lift Or Greenbury or none must be the fift I've done, bur first Ile pray, hayle holy cloth And live in spight of rottennesse or moth. Nor time nor vermine ere shall dare to be Corruptors of so much Divinitie; But men of Galilee why do ye gaze, On that which may delight, but not amaze?

That's left for us; let any wise man bend His eyes towards our orientall end Hee'•…•…e blesse himselfe indeed, grow wise; with∣all Approaching take the window for a wall And then conclude that Wadehams perspective Nor Lincolnes stately types can long survive; They'le break for envie (spight of wise) to find Us to transcend themselves so farre behind; But Ile not prayse our own, 'tis far more fit To leave the talke to some fine Maud'lin wit, Who may enroule in some well languish•…•…t staine As we their walls, so they our lights againe Only I feare they will, (least we surpasse) Pull down their hall to build up Eastern glass.